Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(63)

Stop.


A low, burning fury in Trap’s mind shook her. She glanced up at his face. Totally expressionless. Eyes so cold they sent a chill through her, yet she could see a blue flame burning beneath the glacier there.


You do not ever picture another man’s mouth between your legs. That’s mine.


She burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. He sounded like he might throw her over his shoulder and march her right out of the store, as if Alain Daughtry, some clerk with the “ew” factor very much in evidence, could be a threat. She forgot about being angry or hurt and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. She was beginning to suspect that Trap’s bursts of jealousy hid something much deeper.


I was picturing your mouth between my legs and remembering how delicious it felt when I tunneled my fingers in your hair. I’m very fond of your hair.


He stared down at her for what seemed like forever. She couldn’t look away, and she had the odd sensation of drowning.


You’re seriously going to say something like that to me in the middle of a shoe shop with my boys not two feet away?


Another mistake. She sighed. She had no idea what she’d done wrong again. Apparently honesty isn’t what you’re looking for, Trap. Maybe you’d better tell me the rules, because I’m totally lost.


She brought her hand up to her hair in agitation, running her fingers through the red hourglass that rose and settled back into the thick black. Alain inhaled sharply, drawing her attention. His gaze was on her breasts. He actually licked his lips, and she could smell the testosterone flooding his body. The scent of musk rose, offending her.


She detested this trip. There was nothing remotely fun about shopping and if she never did it again, she would be quite happy.


“Can I help you?” Alain asked, hurrying over.


He moved close. Too close. Right into her personal space. She found it difficult to control the venom. She glanced up at Trap for guidance. He didn’t look at her, but he caught her arm and pulled her in close, away from the clerk.


“My girl needs shoes. She wears a size five. I’d like to take a look at those ruby boots, the lace-up ones with the heels, those two pairs of heels.” He indicated a black pair with red soles and a red pair with black soles. The red pair had a small black bow on the toe and straps that ran up the ankle, the black peeking around the red. “Also a pair of hiking boots and walking and running shoes. And” – Trap paused until he got the clerk’s full attention – “you can stop ogling my woman. You deal with me. You talk only to me, and you don’t touch her. I’ll try the shoes on her feet. You got that?”


His voice was low. Dangerous. So dangerous, the tone sent another shiver down her spine. Still, the venom retreated. She didn’t have to protect herself from a slimy man who couldn’t control his lust when a female customer came into his store. Alain took one look at Trap’s face with the lines of rough carved deep, then his gaze jumped to the two men on either side of the door, not hiding what they were. He nodded over and over and turned to scurry into the back room.


“Sit there, Cayenne,” Trap said. He gestured toward the seat farthest from the windows and doors.


She sank into the chair and Trap knelt at her feet. He removed the boot with the paper inside and rubbed his large hand over her foot.


“You’ll need stockings as well.”


“I don’t need the heels,” she whispered, glancing toward Draden and Gino. “I don’t go anywhere I could wear them. Just the hiking boots and running shoes.”


I like heels, and I’m going to like them on you. You can wear them for me when we’re alone. Later, you’ll need them.


Need them for what? She wasn’t going to ask. She was done asking questions. She didn’t understand what he meant, but it didn’t matter, because she was never going to repeat this experience again if she could help it. She just wanted it over with. She wasn’t going to protest again. In fact, she was going to sit quietly, endure the torture, and the moment she was back in her home, she was going to her little cave, surrounded by her webs and curl up and just be alone where she could breathe. And that would be after she kicked Trap very hard in the shins.


His hands were warm on her feet, his fingers massaging her calves and heel while they waited. Trap was such a mixture of contradictions that she felt confused, unable to read him. He looked cold. He felt cold. But his touch was completely at odds with both those things.


She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at the two men standing on either side of the door. She kept her gaze fixed on the plate glass window, looking across the street to the man fitting a zoom lens to his camera. He seemed excited. Very excited. His gaze hadn’t left the shop since they’d gone in it, and she watched him as often as possible.


Alain returned with boxes of shoes and set them down beside Trap. “I didn’t realize who you were, Mr. Dawkins. It’s an honor to have you in my store.”


“Doctor Dawkins,” Trap corrected, without looking at the man. “And put your cell phone away. You take a picture of my woman or me, one of my men will remove your cell phone from you. If you’ve already taken a photograph without my consent or knowledge, you’d better delete it now, because if I see that shit on the Internet, or in a magazine, my men will come back to your store and f*ck you up. Do we understand each other?” Trap turned his head and met the clerk’s eyes.