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My gaze snaps to his. “I think you should be ashamed of yourself.”
Something pained flickers in the depths of those green eyes. “So I should be.” Yet it is not contrition but arrogance that draws his angular features into hard, imposing lines. “The debt owed was not to your father. It was a debt your father owed to me.”
Gideon had only been seventeen when we’d left. What could my father owe a boy? “What are you talking about?”
“He took something of mine.”
“You’re saying my father stole something?” Firmly I shake my head. “He would never do that.”
“I did not say he stole. I said he took what was mine.” With a predator’s fluid stride, he stalks silently to the edge of the bed, where he leans over and braces his hands on the mattress, his eyes on level with mine. Each word succinct, Gideon says, “He…took…my…bride.”
His bride.
Hardly daring to breathe, I whisper, “Me?”
“Did you not agree to be mine?” Gaze holding mine, he winds the gold chain around his fist. “Did I not give you this necklace as I vowed to make you my wife? Did you not accept it?”
“I… I…” Of course I did. But bewilderment and fear prevent that admission. Because I don’t understand any of this. “Why did he take me?”
“So that this would not happen. I told him to hide you away.” He tugs gently on the chain, drawing me nearer, until my face is a breath from his. Softly he says, “But I have the key to release you, Cora.”
“Then release me.”
“Perhaps I will.” Tormented gaze locked with mine, he skims the backs of his knuckles down the side of my face. The growl deepens his voice as he adds, “But not yet.”
Dropping the chain, he backs away again, abandoning me in the center of the bed, my heart wracked by hurt and confusion, my body alight with yearning and need.
Eyes hard, his gaze sweeps my length. “You are fortunate you did not arrive last night. You’d have received a much different reception.”
How different? “Does that mean it would be better or worse?”
“Better for you or for me?” His eyes gleam with a hot and feral light. “Had I come upon you last night, I would have fucked you and made you mine—and I would have not cared whether you wanted me in return.”
Not cared. I cringe away from those words. Away from this Gideon, who would not have cared for my feelings.
In response to my flinch, his cold laugh is a hateful sound. “So you cannot bear the thought of this touch?” He looks down at his bloodstained hands. “No matter. I have almost a month to persuade you to become mine in another way.”
“What way?” I cry in frustration. “What are you talking about?”
He moves so fast. Abruptly his fingers are twisted in my hair, and he’s kneeling in front of me on the bed, drawing my upper body against his chest, his mouth so close to mine.
“Cora Walker.” My name from his lips is a low, thick rumble. “Will you get down on your hands and knees—and with love in your heart, offer the use of your cunt for my pleasure?”
My breath catches, and I stare at him in disbelief—and growing anger. “Why are you being so cruel?”
His cold green gaze searches mine. “I wonder if I am more cruel to you or to myself, to beg for your heart when I know you will deny me? And yet I cannot stop it. So I will ask this, as well, and we will see who is most hurt by it.” Wrapping the gold chain around his bloodstained fingers, he gently tilts my chin higher, as if to ready my lips for his kiss. “Cora Walker…will you marry me?”
