Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(129)

“Do it, Cayenne,” Draden urged. “Wrap him up in silk.”


She moistened her suddenly dry lips. She had no experience to draw on. They were all joking, teasing Malichai. Really, it was more about him than her, although they were all curious.


“I read spiders have seven different types of silk,” Mordichai said. “Use the kind on my brother that will make it difficult for him to get free. Tie him to the chair.”


The others burst out laughing at the idea and urged her to do it. Heart hammering, she lifted a hand toward Malichai. Trap’s hand hit hers so hard she actually felt the sting and then his fingers were clamped tight around her wrist and he jerked her hand into his lap.


That’s mine. It belongs to me, not them. Icicles dripped from his voice. You f*cking never give that to another man.


What am I supposed to do? She genuinely didn’t know.


You say no.


Sometimes the intensity of Trap’s moods wore on Cayenne. She had spent long periods of time alone without the constant bombardment of energy swirling around her before she’d ever met him. Now she felt overwhelmed by every new experience. She felt vulnerable and off balance. She didn’t know how to act and couldn’t seem to find a way to breathe without taking in Trap’s ice.


“I’m tired, Malichai. I’m going to ignore you and go to sleep. I’m ignoring all of you.” Mostly she wanted to ignore Trap and his foul mood. She experimented with tugging at her hand to try to gain her freedom, but Trap just tightened his hold on her and sent her a quelling look with his hooded lids at half-mast.


The men dispersed, going back to their seats. Malichai was last. He winked at her and reached out to tug on the long braid before going back to his seat. The team continued to talk to one another, mostly joking, especially Malichai who joked with everyone. She liked him. Liked the way he distracted the others and got them laughing.


You don’t have to like him so much.


She glanced up at Trap with a smile on her face, but it faded quickly. He wasn’t looking at her, but staring straight ahead, that same glacier in his eyes. The pad of his thumb stroked along the back of her hand, but in his mind, there was a swirling of something unfamiliar, an emotion she couldn’t put a name to.


It’s called jealousy, Cayenne. When a man’s woman looks at another man and f*cking likes that man right in front of him, he feels jealousy.


Jealousy? She echoed the word, not believing it.


Don’t pretend you don’t understand because you’re inexperienced. The most inexperienced girl on the planet knows not to crawl around in other men’s laps and rub her tits all over that man in front of their husband.


Her breath hissed out between her teeth. Holding on to her temper was becoming a problem. I was not crawling around in anyone’s lap. Or rubbing my breasts over him. You know I don’t like to wear clothes. She nearly groaned. She shouldn’t have said that.


Really? Because from where I was sitting you were. You want someone to f*ck you, baby, we can go to the restroom right now. You can strip, not wear a stitch. I’ll be f*cking happy.


That is so not happening. I don’t want you to touch me. In fact, give me back my hand.


You don’t think I can tell when a woman is aroused? From the moment you put on that f*cking dress you were aroused. It was an accusation, nothing less.


It’s silk, she said, unable to believe what she was hearing. When I moved, it moved against my skin…


Exactly. Your skin is silk. What do you think happens when you rub yourself all over a man?


He was impossible. Totally. And unfair. You’re in a foul mood.


Watching you eating another man with your eyes and catching you thinking about him does that to me.


I was not eating him with my eyes, she denied. I’m trying to be friendly to your friends.


Is that what you call it? You were flirting. You actually were going to tie Malichai up. He yanked her hand against his thigh. Hard. Pressing her palm deep into his heat. What the hell do you call that? Your body is mine. Your f*cking silk is mine. Not his. Not any of theirs. Only mine. Only for me. Damn it, Cayenne, get a clue. What did you think he’d be thinking of if you tied him up? I do not want my friends to go to bed at night jacking off thinking about your body and what you might do to them after you tie them up in silk. Or is that what you wanted?


Oh. My. God. You did not just say that to me. That is so disgusting, Trap. Let go of me. I can’t believe you’d say that to me. I was trying to fit in with your team. I thought you wanted me to fit in.


I want you to fit in, not give them the impression you’re willing to f*ck them.


Her breath caught in her throat. Anger ripped through her. Venom rose and she had to fight to keep it from moving all the way into the twin hollow teeth waiting to receive it. She took several deep breaths. One of them had to remain sane. Clearly, Trap wasn’t.


Why are you picking a fight? This doesn’t even make sense. I’m not in the least bit attracted to Malichai and you know it.


You think he’s cute. Hell. You seem to spend a great deal of time thinking about him. I don’t like it and you can f*cking stop it.


Cayenne stared up into his implacable face, those hard features, the lines etched deep, the jaw set. His grip on her hand never once relaxed and she had no hope of pulling away from him. He didn’t look at her, and she hated that as well.