Gray's Girl by Mina Carter Page B

had, some he relished and found he liked, some he wanted to forget as though they’d never happened. Most he wanted to relive, with her. Especially, to his shock, the ones that involved tying her up, or down, and taking what he wanted from her. The cries and whimpers as he tortured her with his lips or fingers, her screaming his name as she came, the sweet taste of her release on his tongue.
    He shuddered at the thought. Since those days, he’d calmed down. He considered himself a gentle lover, considerate. He didn’t want to be considerate with Frankie. Something about her called to the primal animal within. She was his. His to take, to love, to protect. And no one was taking her from him.
    She opened her mouth but a new voice broke the silence instead.
    “Well, look who it is. How are you, Frankie? You’re looking…well.”
    She froze before she turned in his arms. It was just a split second, but enough for him to register and not like the guy based on her reaction. The next words out of her mouth sealed the deal for him.
    “Hello, Robby. I didn’t know you were in town.”
    Robby. Her ex.
    The pleasant expression dropped from Gray’s face as though it had never been and his arms tightened around her protectively. This was the idiot who’d ditched her in favor of shagging some blonde bimbo. Which made him both ecstatic and furious at the same time. Furious because the bastard had hurt Frankie, and ecstatic because that selfsame event had led her back to him. And he didn’t plan on letting her go anytime soon.
    Sweeping a glance over the other man, Gray had to stop his lip from curling in dismissal. Tall for the average guy, he was probably a little over six feet. Midget-sized compared to Gray. His shoulders filled out his shirt, the ubiquitous “I’m a fitness fanatic” look common to desk drivers. Soft muscle built in a gym, not hard, working muscle like Gray’s, earned through blood and sweat on the pitch. Poser. The kind of bloke who twisted words and situations to get what he wanted rather than being decent and on the level.
    “Who’s the Neanderthal, Franks?” Robby looked at him directly, a sneer on his face. “Mind you, I suppose it doesn’t matter. You obviously didn’t pick him for his brains. Good luck mate, she’s a shit shag. I had to keep one on the side…” He paused to cup his groin in a lewd gesture. “If you know what I mean?”
    Fury exploded through Gray, white-hot and all consuming. That was it. He was going to kill the bastard. Bounce the little twat off every surface he could find and then some, messing up the guy’s slimy good looks and leaving a blood trail in his wake. Power surged through him as he pushed Frankie to the side and started forward.
    He could do it. Easily. With his gym-bunny muscle, there was no way Robby would stand up to him. He’d pick the smaller guy apart painfully, then grind him underfoot. Which, in the expensive leather-soled Italian shoes he’d worn for the evening, would be nowhere near as satisfying as it would be if he’d been wearing studs. A brief fantasy of shoving this guy onto the pitch and running him down flashed through Gray’s head and he felt his lips compress into a tight line as he advanced.
    Robby went as white as a sheet, clearly seeing pain and blood in Gray’s eyes. His own. He started to backpedal, mouth opening and closing like some guppy, revealing straight white teeth that weren’t going to be either straight or white by the time Gray was finished.
    “No!” Then Frankie was there in front of him, trying to use her curvy body to stop his murderous march. Her small hands curved around his upper arms as she was forced to walk backward. Her dark eyes pleaded with him. “Just leave it. He isn’t worth it.”
    “That’s it, be a good little boy and do what mummy says,” Robby taunted behind her. “I bet you had wet dreams about your mum, dint’cha, big guy?”
    Gray’s growl was more animal than man as he surged