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“You don’t travel much.” He tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans. Through his black sweater, I can see the muscle of his chest and the broadness of his shoulders and arms as the wool hugs his body close. His dark olive skin is visible from the V-neck collar.
I don’t want to find those things attractive. Not on him.
“Those are mine.” I push the blanket off as he counts out the money before pocketing it, moving on to the credit card and the sheet of paper on which Liam had written down his mom’s address and phone number.
He’s already looked through my toiletry bag. I see he’s set my toothbrush and the container of birth control pills out. My laptop is beside them.
He looks over as I still, the room spinning when I swing my legs off the bed.
“What did you give me?” I ask, following his gaze down to find I’m in my bra and panties. I tug the blanket to cover myself, a new alarm sounding. “Where the hell are my clothes?”
He shifts his gaze casually back to the bag as he tucks the empty pouch back into it and picks up Patty, my brother’s stuffed rabbit.
“Aren’t you a little old for this?” he asks, holding it by the ears in his deformed hand the same way he had held Sofia that first night I met him.
I force myself to stand, the stone floor cold against my naked feet. The room spins, but I grab one of the four posts of the bed until it stills.
He watches me. Like before when he stole me off that train, he’s not in a hurry.
I push through the nausea and the dizziness to get to him, and I reach out to take Patty back.
“Don’t touch that,” I tell him.
He grins and lifts it over his head and out of my reach.
“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, catching me when my knees buckle.
I lean against the dresser, close my eyes, force my knees to lock. I look up at him. I’m tall, but not so much next to him. He’s well over six feet.
My head hurts. I touch it, but the pain is inside.
“Sit down before you fall over.”
Another wave of nausea has me clutching my stomach. It feels sour, and he’s right. I have to sit down. He walks me backward and when my knees hit the leather of the chair, I drop onto it. It’s cold beneath my naked thighs, my almost naked bottom.
I look at the chair. It’s out of place. Too masculine and way too modern for this room. For this time. Because looking around, I swear we’ve gone back in time.
“Better?” he asks.
I lean against the back of the chair. No, not better. I feel sick.
Walking over to the nightstand, he picks up the two pills and glass of water I hadn’t even noticed.
“Here,” he says, holding the pills and water out to me.
“I don’t want more drugs.” I shove his hand away.
“Aspirin. It’s a kindness.”’
“A kindness? You’re the reason I feel like this. What the hell did you give me anyway?”
“Are you a doctor? Would you know if I told you? Take the pills, Cristina. Don’t be so stubborn.”
“But I am stubborn, Damian.” Saying his name feels good. It gives me some of my power back. But I look down at the pills in his palm anyway. It’s the damaged one.
“Is it the hand that’s holding them that bothers you?” He doesn’t move to hide it from me. “Disgusts you?”
I look up at him, surprised at the question. Is that what he thinks? “No.”
He appears momentarily surprised by my answer. “Take them. They’re just aspirin.”
I try to gauge if he’s lying, but I can’t imagine he has a reason to drug me again. He has me right where he wants me.
I take the pills and swallow them, draining the whole cup and watching him watch me as I do. I wonder why he asked if the scar tissue disgusts me. Is he sensitive about it? People must stare. They stare at my scar, too. I wonder how far up his arm the damage goes and then remember my own state of undress.
“Who undressed me?”
“I did.”
He hasn’t let his eyes drop from mine. I’m perfectly aware of how much this bra and panty set leaves exposed.
When he turns his attention back to the stuffed rabbit, I force myself to stand and go to the bed again. I grab the throw blanket at the foot of it, wrapping it around myself.
“No need for that,” he says without bothering to turn around. He’s studying Patty. “You’re not the first woman I’ve undressed.”
“Am I the first you’ve drugged?”
“Yes, actually.”
Jerk.
“What else did you do while I was unconscious?”
He turns to me, eyebrows raised. “I had a look. Not as thorough as I’d like, though. Is that what you want to know?” he asks, wolf eyes narrowed on their prey. “Or do you want to know if I touched you?”
