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I probably shouldn’t have lied about having past lovers. Now he’s going to think I’m experienced in bed when I’ve never even been kissed. And the last thing I want to give to this terrible man is my virginity. That’s mine to give, to someone worthy.
He’s not worthy of a single kiss. My gaze drops to his lips. They’re full and look soft, even with the healing split across them.
“Come.” His voice is firm. “We’re having dinner together at the dining table.”
My brain finally restarts, and I remember where I am and what’s going on. I certainly shouldn’t be thinking about kissing or being in bed with this man. He’s my stalker, my captor, he’s pure wickedness.
But I’ve also never experienced attraction like this before. Even on my date with Connor Bane, who is beyond gorgeous, I found him nice to look at but there was no spark of lust. Honestly, I thought I was immune to such primal feelings as lust and desire. In this moment I realize how wrong that assumption was.
I swallow hard. This can’t finally be happening now. Not with this man. It’s all wrong. I refuse to give into my baser instincts.
Finally, I find my voice. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You don’t deserve my company.”
He stands up, gazing down at me from his imposing height. “Have you already forgotten my rules?”
“No. I’m simply choosing not to follow them.” Gathering my fortitude, I fold my arms and sit up straighter in the bed. “There’s nothing you can do to make me comply, so go away. Leave me alone.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and vibrant. Quite opposite to the cold glare he has pinned on me.
Without another word, he lifts me up and hoists my body over his shoulder, then carries me from the room. Shock renders me compliant for all of two seconds, then I kick and scream at him, which he ignores. In the dining room, he drops me into a chair.
“Are you going to be a good girl and stay put?” He crouches down.
I shake my head, fuming. I’ll never be a good girl for him. “Go to hell, stronzo.”
“I didn’t think so,” he grumbles, reaching for me.
Cold steel encircles my wrist as he handcuffs me to the heavy metal table. I glare at him. He takes his seat and begins uncovering the dishes of tonight’s dinner.
My stomach rumbles when the scents hit me. Cardamom, cumin, and garlic, then roast lamb and falafel. The spread contains all of my favorite Middle Eastern cuisine, including baklava for dessert. Next he pours us each a glass of Syrah from my favorite winery.
My chest flutters for a moment, until I remind myself that he’s been stalking me for who knows how long, of course he knows what I like to eat. This has stalker vibes written all over it. There’s absolutely nothing romantic about this dinner filled with all of my favorite things.
Absolutely nothing at all.
As much as I’d like to protest by not eating anything, I can’t resist when he dishes up a plate and sets it in front of me. One bite and my gaze snaps up to meet his. “This is from Al-Amir isn’t it?” I recognize their distinct spice mix.
Al-Amir is the best Lebanese restaurant in the city, but they’re on the other side of town so I rarely eat there, unless it’s a treat.
“It is.” He looks proud of himself.
I ignore him in favor of the food. It’s so good, I hardly care that I’m handcuffed to a table, forced to sit with this man who creepily knows my all-time favorite restaurant, and is surely manipulating me with this meal.
Moaning around my forkful of tender lamb, I close my eyes and savor the spices.
“Did Maks starve you today?”
I glance at him, his expression is serious, bordering on deadly. “No. This is so good, I could eat everything on this table even after having a full meal. But no, I had a salad for dinner earlier.”
His green eyes warm, making the olive color rich and vibrant. The swelling of his one eye has eased, while the bruises have darkened. I’m tempted to ask him what happened, but he’s not my host, he’s my captor, and I have no interest in being polite to him. Heaven forbid he get the wrong idea and think I’m accepting this imprisonment.
He digs into the food on his own plate. I can’t help but notice how his elbows rest on the table, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand instead of the provided napkin. What a brute.
I glance away, annoyed by his lack of manners. My parents put me through years of schooling in etiquette and social graces—only for me to end up here with this neanderthal. What a waste of effort. Which is exactly why I have to fight my way out of this situation. This is not where I belong.
I drink a sip of wine and clear my throat. “I need my phone back. I have work on Monday and I need to be online to do my job. I’ll also need to be onsite at the venue some days, and there are vendors around the city I must visit.”
My job is everything to me, an opportunity for freedom that I can’t mess up. For the time being, I can work from this prison cell, but eventually I’ll need to go to work in person.
