Chapter 29 #2
He tensed. “I’m aware. I saw the picture at your place. That no longer matters to me.” A guilty smile flashed across his face as he relaxed. “Now you know that, like you, I also have a temper.”
It came into focus. The picture from the Swan Lake opening night, where Laurel was clearly pregnant, had sent him into a fit of rage. That was why my apartment had been trashed.
His kiss was forceful and intense, and I shut my eyes against it, pretending to be somewhere else, with someone else. The man I was falling for, who I wanted more than anyone else.
“Shawn,” I cried, barely audible.
Juric had a physical reaction to the name like I’d cut him, and for a moment neither of us could breathe.
“I am not the marshal’s brother.” It came out just loud enough to hear over the water, but it was dark and horrifying. Color rose from his neck, rapidly ascending into his face. Then his hands were around my throat, firm. “My name is Ryan. Say it.”
The water that poured from the showerhead felt like it was straight off a glacier. Survive. That was what I had to do. Maybe rescue was on its way now. I could only hope it wasn’t too late.
“Ryan.” It was barely a word.
He sneered, released me, and flung the shower door open in a huff. When hands hooked under the waistband of his drenched boxers, I squeezed my eyes shut. There was a sopping noise as he tossed the fabric into the sink.
When I finally opened my eyes, there was a towel wrapped around his waist. He disappeared from the room, slamming the door behind him.
An anguished sigh fell out of my mouth. I grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed until my body was raw, but I couldn’t get the feel of his hands off my skin. My stomach rolled when I recalled his lips on mine.
There was a robe on a hook, and once the shower had run cold, I cloaked myself in it, leaving my soaked undergarments on.
How much longer would the drugs be in my system?
I didn’t know when I had ingested them, but it felt like hours.
How much longer was I going to feel like this?
Until he was done toying with me and killed me?
As soon as the shower was off, he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.”
He was dressed but still dangerous. All that stood between his hands and my body was a robe that I quickly knotted again. But seeing him now had a focusing effect. The drugs weren’t gone, but they were wearing down. I no longer had the sick urge to smile, and my cut was beginning to hurt again.
“You need to drink some more water.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
He grabbed an empty glass off the counter and filled it with water from the tap, passing it to me. “No drugs. Once you drink all of this, you can have some dinner.”
I had no idea what time it was, but at least twenty-four hours had passed since my last meal. I chugged the water, thirsty anyway, and when I finished, he made good on his promise.
The bathroom door led out into a luxurious bedroom with a king-sized platform bed and a plush leather couch to one side. On the coffee table before it, a bowl of soup and half of a French baguette waited.
“I’m sorry it’s barely warm, but I didn’t want you to get any ideas about throwing it at me.”
I ate, not caring if it was drugged or poisoned, not caring that he sat on the couch beside me, his watchful gaze never leaving me. Did he realize the water and food would eventually give me back some strength?
“If you have any more ideas about escape, there are other men here at the house.”
“I know, the Italians,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s safer if you stay in this room. Or,” he paused, “I can take you back to the basement.”
This made me evaluate the room critically. It had windows and a door that didn’t appear to have a bar over it. But if he was offering to let me stay here, where there were at least a dozen things I could use as weapons, there had to be a reason.
“What’s the catch?”
“This is my room.”
Of course it is. I stifled the knee-jerk reaction to tell him I’d go to the basement. This was another attempt to position me just where he wanted. It would give him more chances to mess with me, physically and psychologically.
Or worse.
But the opportunity was too good to pass up, and he knew it. I’d have to table my hatred. “You expect me to stay here, with you?”
“Yeah, I do. I figure you’re probably tired, and I’ll let you sleep here.”
Implying he wouldn’t allow me to sleep in the basement. But if I were here, where, exactly, was he going to be? He looked as tired as I was.
“You’ll sleep on the couch,” I told him. If he was even planning on sleeping.
“There are clothes in the closet for you.”
I went into the walk-in closet and shut the door, banding an arm around my stomach, trying to hold myself together. The space was almost entirely empty, so there was nothing I could use to defend myself. A single set of folded clothes waited on a bare shelf.
You can do this. I repeated it as a mantra as I slowly pulled on a pair of pajama pants and the long-sleeved shirt meant for me.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked, impatient.
When I came out, he was shirtless and sitting in the large bed, already under the covers. His gaze fell on me like he was excited to see how I’d react. I only made it a few steps toward the couch before he leapt from the bed and wrapped his arms around me.
His mouth was by my ear. “The bed. I’m not discussing it.”
His hold was a vise, and the drugs wore thin now, making it hard to fight. “No. I won’t. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Because you hope to kill me if I fall asleep? That’s not going to happen.”
It’s because I don’t know what you’ll do to me. He dragged me to the bed and forced me to sit on the soft mattress.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” he said. “You can feel free to try to kill me in the morning. But right now, you’ll sleep.”
He’d given an order and waited for me to comply with a hard expression, but how was I supposed to do this? Lie beside him and share a bed with my captor?
His cold, authoritative eyes stared back at me, and it lit the fire I needed. I wouldn’t let him win—I’d just let him think he had. He wasn’t wrong about my plan to kill him when he was asleep. My defiant gaze drilled into him as I begrudgingly lay down and pulled the covers tight up to my neck.
Satisfied, his heavy footsteps carried him to the other side of the bed, where he flipped the light off, plunging the room into darkness. The mattress shifted under his weight.
“No, no!” I said, when his hand slid across my stomach, his body against mine.
“I’ll have to get the handcuffs, the ones you threw in the toilet.” Another challenge, more pressure. “I’d like to believe you’ll just sleep, but I can’t.”
“You want to put your hands on me.”
“Plenty of truth there. What will it be?” He moved his hand so it was more comfortable for him, not so subtly making me aware of its presence. Like I didn’t already know it was there.
In the darkness, he couldn’t see my face crumble. This wasn’t a choice. Just the thought of the metal on my skin made me shiver. Another part of me died inside, more power going to him. “I don’t want the handcuffs.”
It was an eternity before I could tolerate the heavy arm around me. My jaw hurt from how tight I had it clenched, and my hands ached, balled into fists. Every one of my muscles was tense and stiff.
He didn’t move. Only quiet, measured breathing came from him, but I knew he was awake. I could sense him watching, unrelenting. He seemed as uneasy as I was about the arrangement. Wasn’t this his brilliant idea?
Another eternity passed while I tried to wait him out, but sleep overtook me.