Chapter 11 – BODHI
BODHI
She’s going to be the death of me. Or maybe both of us.
I follow Emma down the corridor, my eyes fixing on the sway of her hips, the strands of hair curling against her neck, and the strong set of her shoulders.
Every primitive instinct I have is screaming at me to grab her, to drag her back into that room and show her exactly what happens when she plays games with a man on the edge.
And she is playing games; she just has no idea who with.
So instead of allowing her tempting body to distract me from the job at hand, I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the pulse of desire and the ache in my knuckles. There’s plaster dust embedded in the cuts, and a hole in the wall that’s going to be hard to explain.
Worth it. If I hadn’t taken my frustration out on that wall, I would have put my mouth on hers, and then we’d both be in trouble.
My bear is pacing, agitated, furious that I walked away from our mate when she was practically begging me to touch her. He doesn’t understand strategy. Doesn’t understand that one wrong move could get her killed.
All he understands is that she’s ours, and that I’m not claiming her or proving to her that we’re the man for her. Frankly, he thinks I’m a disgrace.
The kitchen is empty when we arrive. It’s a massive space, all stainless steel and marble countertops, designed to feed an army of guards and staff. At this hour, between breakfast and lunch, the cooks are elsewhere.
“Sit.” I pull out a stool at the central island and gesture to it. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
Emma raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, instead sliding onto the stool with a defiant grace that makes my cock twitch. Her skirt rides up her thighs as she crosses her legs, and I force myself to look away.
“I’m not hungry.”
She’s being a brat. Whatever’s happened since she woke up this morning, she’s clearly decided to take it out on me.
“I don’t care.” I move to the industrial refrigerator and start pulling out ingredients. Eggs. Cheese. Some vegetables that look fresh enough. “You need to eat and keep up your strength.”
When we get the chance to escape, and we will, I can’t have her too weak to defend herself. She might need to run. She might need to fight.
“You’re very concerned with my nutrition for a kidnapper. Or do you prefer the term sex trafficker?”
Being called that makes me bristle, which, judging by the smug smirk on her face, was her intention.
I crack eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary. “I’m concerned with keeping you alive.”
She needs to act the same around me as she does the others.
“Is that all? There’s nothing else you want me to keep my energy up for?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because she’s staring at me with those expressive green eyes as she plucks a strawberry from the bowl beside her and eats it in a manner that’s borderline obscene.
When I turn my back to her, she sighs. “You’re no fun. So uptight.”
The omelette comes together quickly, muscle memory from years of cooking for myself and my brothers. I slide it onto a plate and set it in front of her along with a fork and a glass of orange juice.
She stares at it as if I’ve offered her poison.
“Eat.” The word comes out as a growl. My instincts are pushing at me, desperate to see our mate fed and cared for. When she blinks at me, I force myself to add, “Please.”
Something softens in her eyes at the please. She picks up the fork and takes a small bite, chewing slowly.
“It’s good,” she admits, sounding almost surprised. Another small mouthful and a moan of pleasure makes me proud as hell.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” I lean against the counter across from her, arms folded, watching her eat. “I’m not completely useless.”
“Just mostly useless?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “Eat your breakfast.”
She takes another bite, then another, and some of the tension in my shoulders eases, satisfied that our mate is being nourished.
It’s a primal urge, one I can’t fully explain, but seeing her chewing feels almost as important as breathing.
Before I know it, I’m passing her diced fruit, yogurt and honey, and anything else I can find that might keep her eating.
Emma catches me watching and holds my gaze as she lifts a piece of food to her lips. Her tongue darts out to catch a bit of cheese that’s clinging to her finger, and then she slides it into her mouth, sucking her finger clean with deliberate slowness.
Fuck.
Heat shoots straight to my groin. I grip the counter behind me, knuckles going white.
“Stop.” My voice comes out loud but strained as I stare at her glistening skin when she draws her finger out. “I hope you washed those hands.”
Or maybe I don’t. Fuck, the thought of her slick still being on her skin makes me want to reach out, snatch her hand from her mouth and bring it to mine.
“What? I’m just eating.” She blinks at me with false innocence. “Like you told me to.”
“Emma.” I warn, stepping toward her, then stopping, torn, as her eyes twinkle with delight.
“Bodhi.” She mimics me, head tilted to the side and a naughty smile teasing her full lips.
The way she says my name, low and teasing, flirtatious even, makes my bear sit up and pay attention, and my human mind stutter in confusion. What the hell is going on? I’m about to say something, do something, when footsteps echo in the corridor outside.
Piotr saunters in, his oily smile already in place when he spots Emma at the island. Immediately, I know he’s not surprised to see her out of her room. He knew, and he was looking for her.
He’s changed clothes since last night, now wearing a too-tight shirt that shows off the lean muscles he clearly thinks are impressive. They’re not. Not to a bear shifter like me, and not to Emma, who doesn’t give him a second glance as he comes to stand across from her.
“Well, well.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes crawling over Emma in a way that makes me want to rip his throat out, but my brave little mate doesn’t flinch. “The princess is awake. And looking good enough to eat.”
Emma goes rigid on her stool. All the playfulness drains out of her, and a spark of anger flares in her eyes. Her shoulders bunch, lifting closer to her ears, and her hand clenches around the fork.
“Piotr.” I keep my voice flat, bored. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Just came to get some coffee.” He doesn’t move, his gaze still fixed on Emma. “Heard you pulled guard duty on this one. Lucky bastard. I’d volunteer for that duty any day.”
If he thinks his comment is going to endear him to Emma, he’s wrong. She narrows her eyes, but thankfully, keeps her mouth closed.
“I’m sure you would,” I drawl.
“Just saying, in case you need any help.”
I will, but it won’t be him.
My silence seems to offend him. He finally looks at me, something ugly flickering in his expression. “Why are you so protective? You’re sure as hell not rich enough to buy her.”
I shrug, trying to bite back the disgust at myself as I utter my next words.
“Just looking out for the boss’s investments.
Like you should be.” I take one step toward him, then another.
“And if you, or anyone else does anything to fuck that up, I’ll take it personally.
Like, I’ll break every bone in your body, personally. ”
Piotr scoffs but doesn’t look quite so cocky when I take one more step, bringing myself within arm’s reach and letting him feel the difference in our size and power.
“Every. Fucking. Bone.” I hold his gaze, showing him exactly how serious I am. “Kozlov’s orders,” I add with a smile, leaning over to grab an apple out of the fruit bowl beside Emma, and taking a large bite as I angle myself in front of her, blocking his view.
My beast inside me wants to smash his face in for daring to ogle my mate right in front of me, but I’ll have to settle for being a dick.
Piotr’s smile turns nasty. “Just Kozlov’s orders, huh?”
The insinuation hangs in the air. I feel Emma’s eyes on me, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
“Yep.” I take a massive bite and rest my hip against the counter as I fold my arms across my chest.
Piotr’s bravado wavers slightly. Good. Let him be afraid. His gaze drops to my arms, which are about as thick as his waist, before he fixes a thin smile on his face.
“Whatever, man.” He grabs a mug and fills it with coffee, movements jerky with suppressed anger and false bravado. “Enjoy babysitting duty.”
There’s no way he’s giving up that easily. He’s just too clever to argue with me. So, he leaves without another word, just one more lingering look at Emma as he walks out.
When I turn back to her, she’s pushed her plate away, appetite clearly gone.
“I’m finished.” Her simmering anger has given way to defeat.
“You’ve barely eaten half.”
“I said I’m finished.” There’s a tremor in her voice now, the stoic attitude from earlier cracking.
I go still. “You need to keep your strength up.”
She meets my eyes, fury underneath the anger. I see it again, that same desperate courage from this morning. She’s not done. She’s regrouping.
Every rational part of my brain screams this is a bad idea, but I’m already moving toward the pantry door.
“In here.” I hold the door open.
Emma’s startled by my abrupt demand, but showing me that she feels this connection between us, even if she doesn’t understand it yet. She slides off the stool and walks past me into the pantry.
Trusting me even as she gives me some serious side-eye as she passes.
It’s a narrow space lined with shelves of supplies, and barely big enough for two people to stand in comfortably.
When I follow her in and close the door, we’re inches apart, the only light filtering through the gap beneath the door.
I scan the roof and the walls, making sure that I’m right, that there are no cameras inside the property.
Kozlov hardly wants to document what goes on here.