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“What are you doing?” I demand, suddenly finding my voice as Ciaran turns down the sheets on the side of the bed where he’s standing.
He shakes his head. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks shortly. “I’m getting into bed.”
“With me?” My voice comes out as a squeak.
“This is my bed,” he points out, irritation clear in his tone.
I can’t give it up though, no matter what happened earlier. “But I’m using it.”
“Look, woman. I’m tired, I’m annoyed, and I don’t have the inclination to stand here arguing with you when all I want to do is sleep.”
“But…”
“No buts.” He cuts me off. “Either you sleep here, or I can have Liam escort you to the main hall and you can sleep on one of the couches there.”
The very idea sends a shudder through me. I have no doubt whatsoever that Ciaran’s men would be thoroughly entertained to find me there, and the vibe I got from them earlier does nothing to assure me of my safety in such a scenario.
Are you any safer here? The voice in my head trips me up and pushes me over, and though I have no reason whatsoever to trust Ciaran, the fact that he hasn’t - yet - done anything untoward solidifies my decision to stay put and make the best of a bad situation.
I glance at his profile, studying the chiseled jawline and the tense lines etched across his forehead. It's obvious he's on edge, and the memory of his soiled shirt serves as a reminder not to push him further. Despite my fear, his aura of power and mystery captivates me in ways I can't quite comprehend.
A bubble of hysterical laughter builds in my throat, and I force it down.
Jeez, what am I thinking?
I’ve been abducted. I’m a captive, a prisoner.
Right now, I should just be relieved I’m not in any worse position than the one I find myself in right now. The man was covered in blood a few short minutes ago, for goodness’ sake. Hell, some of it might even be his, although I couldn’t see any marks on him when he stripped off and paraded his incredibly muscled body in front of me. But if he’s fresh from - I don’t want to think about how the blood got there - this is probably not the best time to get bratty with him.
It puts things into perspective, and I keep my mouth shut, scooting way over to the very edge of the bed as Ciaran settles into it.
For his own part, Ciaran takes no notice of me whatsoever. He simply pretends like I’m not there, thumps his pillow a couple of times, and rumples up the sheets a little while he settles down as if I’m not there at all.
As I lie on the edge of the bed, the faint sound of Ciaran's steady breathing fills the room. He's not bothered by my presence, it's like I'm nothing more than a mild inconvenience occupying his bed.
The conflicting emotions inside me swirl like a tempest, unsure of which path to follow.
Relief washes over me once again as I realize Ciaran's indifference means he has no intention of harming me. Not right now, anyway. Whatever misfortune has befallen him, his disinterest immediately wards off any potential danger that may come my way. But buried beneath it there’s an illogical frustration that he dismisses my presence so easily. Perhaps he's exhausted, too worn out from whatever ordeal he’s recently experienced. I try to remind myself my safety should be my top priority, even if it means sharing a bed with a man who has taken me captive against my will.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves as I gather my thoughts. Despite the circumstances, I need to stay focused if I want to find a way out of this mess. Keep my wits about me so I can work out if there’s some leverage I can use to negotiate my freedom.
I force my eyes to stay open now I’m no longer alone, but as minutes turn into hours and the darkness deepens, my discomfort grows into something much more profound. It's not the physical proximity that unsettles me; it's the emotional distance between us. The stark contrast between his commanding presence during my capture and his disregard for my existence now creates an internal turmoil I can't understand.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I find myself yearning for some kind of connection, even if it means acknowledging the twisted bond that has formed between us, fueled by proximity and circumstance.
The room is enveloped in silence, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning, but filled with the weight of unanswered questions. I can't help but steal glances at Ciaran, his features softened in turns by sleep and the moonlight filtering through the curtains. There's an air of vulnerability about him now, a stark contrast to the cold and ruthless man he portrays while awake. It's as if he's shed his armor, revealing glimpses of a wounded soul beneath.
It fuels the irrational pull I feel towards him. It’s not Stockholm syndrome, not at all. I’ve survived incarceration with Vito Rossi for long enough to know that.
It’s because - no matter the circumstances - I can’t avoid the soul-deep gratitude that this man saved me from a fate worse than death - the marriage from hell.
I just hope my misplaced appreciation doesn’t cause me to do something stupid.
Chapter Fourteen
CIARAN
