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“Vicious creature.” I press harder, smearing blood across her face and smothering her cries. “I hope you’ve had your shots.”
She can’t breathe. I make sure of that, sealing her airways with the span of my hand and crushing her nose in the process. She flails beneath me, fighting for life.
Whether she sees another sunrise is up to her.
“Believe it or not, I’m a fair man. Gentle, even, when gentleness is earned.” I lean in and touch my lips to her ear. “But I will not remove my hand while you’re being unruly. Not even when the light fades from your eyes. I’ll toss your lifeless body into the Prince William Sound and carry on without thought or regret. Fight me, Frankie. I fight back.”
For the first time in four days, I see something other than righteous fury in her eyes.
Fear bleeds into her pupils, blowing them wider, blacker, swallowing the green.
That’s when she finally realizes she won’t escape. Not now. Not ever. Not while her heart still beats in her chest.
Her decision is instantaneous, her fingers dropping from my wrist, despite her dire need to breathe.
That takes grit, and I reward her for it. I remove my hand from her face and lean back.
She pulls in gasping, life-nourishing inhales, her lungs heaving with the effort to refill. I wait, prepared to follow through on my threat if she screams again.
“Why?” She licks her lips, her voice raw and tiny. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I earned it.” I grab a towel from the bathroom and wrap the bite marks on my hand.
“How…how did you earn this?”
“None of your business.”
“What will make you stop?” At my silence, she argues, “Everyone has a price. My husband will pay. He has more money than you can imagine.”
The husband she intended to leave? Her audacity is offensive. I don’t give a fuck about the husband. I care about loyalty, and hers is underwhelming.
It irks me, but I keep my tone pleasant. “I have money.”
“This is about sex then.” She swallows, her gaze boring into mine. “You like to abuse and rape women? Makes you feel powerful?” Her mouth twists, barbed and mean. “You got mommy issues? Did she beat you? Not give you enough attention? Is that it?”
What the fuck? I haven’t touched this woman in any way that would be considered sexual. I haven’t shared a bed with her. She sleeps alone in her own cabin. I avert my eyes when she showers and uses the toilet. Hell, I’ve gone out of my way to give her space for the past four days.
Because I’m a goddamn gentleman.
“Do I look like a man who has to force a woman?” I absently unwrap my hand and set the towel aside. “Do I give you the impression that I care about or need anyone’s attention?”
Her nostrils flare. She may hate me, but I know she’s attracted to my physical looks. All women are.
“Listen to your gut.” I cock my head, taking in her jeans and oversized sweatshirt. “Do your instincts tell you I’m a violent man? That I’m driven by lust and consumed with the need to fuck a dry cunt? That I would get off on your tears? On your unwillingness to open your legs?”
“Not all rapists are crazed, impulsive animals. Some are calculating and patient. Charming, even.” She sniffs. “Like serial killers.”
“I’ve never forced myself on a woman. They come willingly. Always.”
“Except me.”
We’ll see.
Like she said, everyone has a price.
“Then what?” She jangles the shackle on her wrist and gestures around at the yacht. “What is this about?”
“This is justice.” The corner of my mouth twitches. “Let’s just say I’ve paid my dues, and you’re the reward.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Your inability to understand isn’t my problem.”
“But you made it my problem.” She squints, her eyes glinting with malice. “Come on. Don’t be shy. Give me a peek into your unhinged mind.”
“Well, when you ask so nicely…No.”
“Do you know my husband?”
“Who doesn’t know Monty Novak?”
“Fair point. But do you know him personally? Did he do something to you?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“You mentioned justice and hid a camera in his office. If this is some vendetta—”
“Does he have a lot of those?”
“What?”
“Enemies with vendettas?”
She blinks.
“Is he in the habit of making people homicidal?” I lift an eyebrow. “How many wives has he lost to this problem?”
“I’m his only wife, motherfucker. And no, he doesn’t have enemies. He’s a good man.”
“He’s so good you packed your shit with every intention to sneak away in the night.”
“We had a fight.” She straightens, thrusting her chin. “I wasn’t actually going to leave.”
“Liar.”
She swallows. “So what is it? Is this about Monty or something else?”
“Why does it have to be about anything?” I lower my voice, matching her surly tone. “I want what I want, and right now, that’s you.”
“Why me?”
