My gaze narrows on him. “Is that why I wasn’t wearing anything but a shirt to bed?”
“Relax. Like I said, feral Russian cats aren’t my type. I made sure you got into bed. Any missing clothing is all you.”
For a brief moment, I catch myself wondering what kind of womanishis type, if not me. It’s not as if I’ve had the time or the inclination to have steady boyfriends, but I’ve never been at a loss for male attention. The idea that I wouldn’t be good enough for Andriani stings my pride, I’m not going to lie.
But then I remind myself how ridiculous that is. Being held hostage does fucked-up things to your mind, and I’m sure this bizarre attraction I feel to him is nothing more than a by-product of being held prisoner. That has to be all it is.
“Perfect.” I smirk at him. “Glad we’re on the same page since psycho Mafia kidnappers aren’t mine either.”
“Get dressed,” he clips out.
“I’d like to,” I deadpan. “Without an audience.”
“Too fucking bad.” He snaps his fingers. “Do it now. We don’t have time to waste.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. We have nothing but time.”
“No, we don’t.”
He’s still watching me, his jaw hard, his expression unreadable. Something has changed, even if he’s not giving me much to go on.
“Clothing,” he snaps. “Now.”
I flick a glance toward my towel, which is out of reach on the small bathroom counter. “I need to dry off.”
Scorpion’s ice-cold eyes stay on me. “So do it.”
He’s expecting me to get the towel myself. I’ve been naked in front of him before, and he’s made his lack of interest in me painfully obvious. Fine. I’ll play his game.
I freeze my face into a mask, putting myself into the same headspace I use when I’m onstage. I’m not Katya now. I’m someone else.
I throw back the shower curtain and step out. The air is cool, the wet hair cascading down my back even colder, thanks to the time we spent arguing. I snatch up the towel and wrap it around myself, drying off as fast as I can.
“What’s going on?” I ask him, my curiosity getting the better of me when he just stays where he is, stony and silent.
Totally unmoved by the fact that I’m naked and dripping wet, standing two feet away from him.
“You’re getting dressed and we’re eating lunch,” he says coolly.
I finish drying off and wrap the towel around me like a makeshift dress, tucking the corner into my cleavage. “I’m going to need some new clothes if I’m getting dressed.”
He makes a sound of annoyance and disappears from the doorway.
Jerk.
To think, I drank his wine and ate his ridiculously delicious dinner and lowered my guard last night. Those meatballs were out of this world, and I don’t usually eat any protein other than fish.
Is he getting me clothing, or did he just give up on watching me dress in my nonexistent outfit? All I have is his borrowed shirt, which I wore all day yesterday, and my clothing from the day he kidnapped me. I didn’t see any washer and dryer in this shithole, and the idea of Andriani separating the dark clothing from the light is laughable.
I wring out my hair again, wondering what I’m supposed to do. Put on my dirty clothing again?
Huffing an annoyed sigh, I pad into the bedroom, not surprised to find that he’s closed the door. I’m sure it’s locked, but I cross the room to give it a try anyway.
I was right. Locked.
Great. What now?
I glare up at the camera that’s watching me. “Am I going to get some clothing, Andriani?”
