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On a rational level, I should hate him. I should still be yelling at him and hitting his granite body with all my strength.
But Mateo hadn’t hurt me, even though he’d had plenty of opportunities to do so since he’d abducted me. He could have acted on the chilling threats he’d made to my father. If he wanted to touch me, my lack of consent wouldn’t prevent him from doing whatever he pleased.
His massive arms surrounding me should incite fear; his sheer, overwhelming size was reminder of his strength and my physical vulnerability.
But so far, he’d only used his big hands to comfort me, stroking my body with tenderness. I knew he could bruise my flesh with minimal effort, but he touched me as carefully as one might handle a small kitten.
I shivered against him. He’d teased me for acting like an angry kitten while I’d been yelling at him. It had pissed me off at the time, but now, I was grateful for his gentle attention. My miserable new reality was setting in, and Mateo’s steady heat was undeniably reassuring.
I didn’t want to be his hostage. But I didn’t want to go home, either. The idea of being held against my will by my father was somehow worse than being Mateo’s captive. I was sure Daddy wouldn’t hurt me, but the revelations about his ruthlessness and cruelty were far more painful than anything Mateo had done to me so far.
In fact, Mateo hadn’t caused me any pain at all. Ever since I’d woken up in his house, he’d tried to ease my distress.
I felt the phantom touch of his hand firming on my neck, remembering when he’d rebuked me for hitting him. My brain seemed to stall out whenever he handled me like that. But it wasn’t unpleasant or scary.
He’d issued vague warnings about consequences if I tried to escape. That made me uneasy, but I shrugged off my budding concern.
If leaving his house meant I would be forcibly taken back to my father and imprisoned in my childhood home, I didn’t have much desire to escape from Mateo. As long as I was here with him, I didn’t have to fully face the awful truth about what Daddy was really like when he wasn’t around me. The indulgent father who’d joined me for childhood tea parties with my dolls couldn’t possibly be capable of condemning Valentina to rape and abuse. It was too painful to even contemplate.
Staying with Mateo would allow me to avoid that pain. Especially if he offered hugs like this one.
My stomach rumbled, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since I’d met with Valentina at the café yesterday afternoon.
That meeting felt like it had taken place weeks ago, even though I knew it had been less than twenty-four hours ago. My entire world had changed, and recalling my easy joy at befriending Valentina seemed surreal. Had I really been gushing about the curriculum at UCLA and giggling about a girls’ shopping trip this weekend just before she’d been taken and terrorized on my father’s orders?
“You need to eat, florecita,” Mateo murmured, pulling me out of my churning thoughts.
“Okay,” I agreed, my voice small. I really was hungry, and I didn’t feel like arguing with Mateo anymore. My morning outburst and subsequent tears had left me feeling wrung-out and weak. I didn’t have any reason to fight him, anyway. Not after he’d just explained the bleak alternative to staying here with him.
He released me from his warm embrace. I swayed toward him as he stepped away, reluctant to lose his reassuring heat. He grasped my shoulders, steadying me.
“There’s a new toothbrush under the bathroom sink,” he supplied. “Why don’t you freshen up a little, and then we can have breakfast. You’ll feel better after.”
Now that he mentioned it, I realized that I did feel kind of gross. I was still wearing yesterday’s dress, and I knew my hair must be a crazy mess.
“I need to shower,” I said softly. Maybe I could cleanse more than just my skin. Hot showers usually helped me clear my head, and I could definitely use some clarity right now.
“There are fresh towels in there, too,” he said. “Use whatever you need.”
I tugged at my dress. “But I don’t have any clothes to change into.”
He traced the line of my jaw, his dark eyes focusing on my features with the strange intensity that made my stomach do funny flips.
“You can wear my clothes.” The offer sounded more like a rumbling decree.
“Your clothes won’t fit me.” I glanced down his huge body. Before my gaze could linger on his powerful muscles, he touched two fingers beneath my chin to redirect my attention to his face.
“We’ll find something that works.” He continued to stare at me with that disconcerting, unwavering intensity.
I shifted on my feet, suddenly hot and off-balance. “But I don’t have any fresh underwear,” I protested just before my cheeks burned with mortification.
