God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1) by Rina Kent

“Like what?”

“Get on my lap.”

“I’m not in the mood for sex, Killian.”

“I won’t fuck you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Gareth could hear your loud sounds of pleasure and then I’d have to throw him out of the plane. So come here.”

She hesitates for a beat before she stands up, then stops. “You just said it. Gareth is right there.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t touch you.” I grab her wrist and pull her so her legs are spread out on my thighs.

Then I wrap my arms around her middle, stroking the skin beneath her top in slow circles.

She stares at me for a beat, her breathing slowly calming down. So I kiss her forehead, enjoying the shiver that goes through her body.

“Better?”

“Yeah.” She sulks. “But I still don’t want to talk to you.”

“You can still use my body heat to calm down.”

“You’d allow yourself to be used?”

“By you? Absolutely.” And I mean that shit. If this woman asks me to cut my chest open and show her the organ she’s asked for, I’d rip it from its tendons and lay it at her feet.

All the other bullshit she asked for won’t be happening, though.

It’s simply impossible.

Her neck reddens, and I swear she’s blushing, probably touched, but then she lets her loathsome mouth take over. “Still doesn’t give you the right to kidnap me.”

“Didn’t you want more from me? I’m taking you to meet my parents.”

Her gaze strays sideways, and I hate it when she breaks eye contact. I have to see her all the time, and she’s never shied away from me, so when she breaks our connection, I feel a weird sense of loss.

As if feeling the change, her gaze slowly meets mine again. “How many have you tried this trick on?”

“You’re the first.”

“Am I supposed to feel special that I beat all the girls—and apparently boys?”

“Five out of five highly recommended, and don’t be homophobic. Doesn’t look well with the rest of your morals.”

“Homophobia has nothing to do with this. I’m just thinking if maybe I’ll find you with a man or a woman in bed in the future.”

“Probably both at the same time.” When she pales, I add. “That was a joke.”

“I thought you don’t joke.”

“I do with you.”

She places a hand on my shoulder, probably for balance, but I choose to think that she also wants to be touching me in some way—the way I am with her.

“Are you bisexual?”

“Nikolai is.”

“And you? Are you attracted to men?”

“Not really. I was attracted to any holes available. Gender didn’t matter.”

“Was?”

“It’s been months since I didn’t care for sex in general, whether with men or women. They were all getting repetitive, bland, and painfully dull.”

“Until you found me,” she whispers.

“Until I found you. On the top of that cliff, you looked so innocent and naive, I wanted to tarnish you in some way, ruin that apparent innocence and see what was behind it.”

“Aren’t you the romantic one?”

“You think?”

“I give up.” She releases a sigh. “I obviously can’t win with you.”

If only she knew how wrong that statement is. It’s more like I haven’t been able to win ever since she came into my life.

My fingers thread in her hair and she closes her eyes, not wanting to enjoy the strokes, but doing so anyway.

“You don’t smoke anymore,” she announces out of the blue.

“I said I’d quit if you’d keep my lips and hands occupied, and I keep my word, baby.”

“You…really quit because of me?”

“Sure did. Second-hand smoke is a serious threat to your health.”

“You’re more of a serious threat to my health.”

“Too bad you can’t quit me.”

“You never know. Maybe one day I’ll find a better man.”

“I’m the only man you’ll have, so get used to it and stop provoking me.” I stroke her hair. “Go to sleep, little rabbit. We have about seven hours to land.”

One more reason why I don’t go home.

I expect her to fight, but she bends her legs so they’re on my lap and rests her head on my chest.

It’s one of the few times she’s let go without starting drama about being in my company. She says that she wants more, but how can she not see that I’ve been fighting more battles than I signed up for ever since she came along?

“It’s unfair that you feel so safe,” she grumbles as her body relaxes in my hold, and her breaths even out as she falls into a slumber. My nose strokes her hair, breathing in the raspberries mixed with alcohol and I also let myself fall asleep.

Because she feels safe, too.





The echo of voices swirls around my head like the buzzing of bees.

“Jesus Christ, Glyndon. That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

My eyes fly open and the first thing I notice is that the weight on top of me is gone and I’m hugging a pillow instead.