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   Chapter 15

In His Arms By gottabeme123 Characters: 6161

Updated: 2017-12-12 12:03


Rich chocolate hair, tousled griminess, strong arched brows and deep and catastrophic, stormy grey eyes...shackles...sweet heavenly...

Oh.

The bed shakes and bounces as the man beside me wakes up to the insistent knocking breaking me out of my dream as some idiot bangs on the hotel room door repeatedly and louder each time we don“t answer it.

Groaning, I turn over to the edge of the bed to switch on the bedside lamp, in order to avoid having Mr Holt falling when answering the door but his warm hand clutches mine in a tight grip just as I am about to flick the switch, his shadow in the darkness is tense and on full alert.

Pulling me out of the bed he drags me a little way off before shoving me into the closet by the bed. Sitting on my bum under the hanging clothes, my sleep hazed mind is like the explorer network—loading and processing everything at snail“s pace.

What“s going on?

The knocking persists and I vaguely hear a deep voice, probably male, yelling for Mr Holt to open the door. Standing in the tall closet, my head bumps on the clothes rail and I give a small yelp of pain.

Pressing my ear to the door, I listen out for what“s going on outside, murmurings filter through the now still air as I hear the door close. Sharp and confident footfalls click across the marble floor as the murmurings progress on.

What on earth? Peeking through the blinds of the closet door, I look to the glowing alarm clock which shows that it“s two thirty in the morning, which means we only slept for two hours or so before someone woke us up.

That“s not good, how am I going to work tomorrow? I“ll fall asleep on my desk...

The bedroom door opens, the light switches on as a man in a suit come into the room, his dark eyes scanning the bed, flickering momentarily to the closet, he“s handsome no doubt I watch him c

and it went boom and...um...yeah..." I stutter incoherently as his grey eyes burn into my plain brown ones, my heart thumping wildly at our close proximity and our lack of clothes. "Who...who are they?"

He hesitates for a second before pulling away from me, pulling my arms as he does so that I“m sitting and not lying on the bed, his grey eyes stormy and intimidating, as he paces in front of me, probably thinking how to answer my question.

"They“re some people I have a history with," he answers finally, watching me closely, his eyes daring me to ask another question.

A history? What kind of history?

Translation:

"il mio scuse, questo è il mio donna, gradirei se non hai occhio il suo come un pasto,"he speaks to them, fury evident in each word he spits out, throwing me over his shoulder, he walks past the man who is slightly shorter than him smoothly, the men seated on the sofa looking at me in amusement.

"My apology, this is my woman, I would appreciate if you did not have her eye as a meal."he speaks to them, fury evident in each word he spits out, throwing me over his shoulder, he walks past the man who is slightly shorter than him smoothly, the men seated on the sofa looking at me in amusement.

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