His to Steal

Ch. 14: Reckless (Part Two)

Nicolai

She just glares at me, and when her eyes narrow, I know she's still angry from the other night. I don't blame her; I acted like a complete dickhead. But I can't change my tune now, or she'll definitely scream. I need her to continue her hate parade or she one hundred percent won't believe I've had a turnaround and think I'm here to sneak attack for sure.

I keep my arm tightly around her shoulders, my palm clamped over her mouth, and attempt to ignore the intoxicating scent of her perfume—jasmine and vanilla.

"Sutton. Are you going to be quiet or am I going to need to gag you and then keep old Henry quiet with the gun to his head?" I shift next to her so she can feel my .38 against her thigh.

A shiver runs through her, and her eyes cut to me, fear passing through them for a moment before she finally nods.

"Good girl," I say, removing my hand but staying right next to her in case she makes any sudden movements.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Nicolai?" she seethes, wiping her face with the back of her hand as if having my skin against hers was just too disgusting to abide. "I feel like you humiliated me enough at the park the other night, so what more could you possibly need?"

I ignore her smartass comment and say, "Believe it or not, I am here to help you, if you'll fucking let me."

"Help me?" she asks with a scoff as she sits back against the leather seat. "That's a fucking joke. Why in the hell would you care about helping me?"

"Contrary to what you believe, I don't want to see you get—"

She holds up her hand. "I don't need your help. I am perfectly fine by myself, and I have been since you left." There's a quiver in her voice that I can't ignore, and the desire to reach out and touch her is so strong that I finally just ball my hands into fists until my nails cut little crescent moons into my palms.

Sutton looks me up and down, and with a lazy, half-lidded gaze, she adds, "Whatever you think I need your help with, trust me; Jason has it handled."

I'm confused. Because her words and the idea that that fucker has his hands on her sends a jealous streak through my nervous system that boils my blood, but the way she says them...fuck. All of that blood and energy shoots straight to my dick.

My brain and my hormones wrestle with each other for a moment before I shift in my seat, hoping she doesn't notice my raging hard-on. "I don't want that fucker handling anything, Sutton. That's part of what I need to talk to you about."

"Oh my God, Nicolai! Do you hear yourself right now? What right do you have to tell me who can handle what in my life?"

"I kn—" The car slows and I roll down my window enough to see where we are. Almost to her building. Fuck. "Tap on the partition."

"What?"

"Now. Tap on it and tell him you're on the phone, need to complete your call, and you'll be inside in a moment."

"He'll never let me do that," she protests, shaking her head. "Dominique told him not to take his eyes off me."

My nostrils flare and I wrap my hand around the back of her neck and pull her close to me, my forehead pressing to hers. "Do it, Sutton. Now." I don't have to pretend I'm losing patience with her; she's being obstinate and she's doing it on purpose to piss me off.

"Fine," she grits out, and I release her, sliding around to where the driver won't see me. Glaring at me the whole way, she slides around the opposite side and taps on the partition. "Henry?"