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Remorse. Or guilt?
While I wasn’t certain, when he yanked off the rest of his clothes, I remained frozen. His physique continued to draw me in, creating extraordinary heat, but his change in demeanor continued to startle me. I was forced to remind myself that this wasn’t some fantasy or a chapter in a romance book. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. Nothing good was going to come out of this.
And maybe there’d be additional deaths.
The air vanished in the room, the only sound my heart. He was far too beautiful, in my mind blissful perfection, but I reminded myself that there was nothing perfect in this life. I turned my head on purpose, refusing to be drawn by his good looks or captivating gaze. Every time I reminded myself that I was nothing more than his prisoner was enough to drag me out of the moment of reverie. He didn’t deserve that.
I closed my eyes, almost laughing that the only thing he’d seen me in had been the same ugly green tee shirt, khaki skirt, and tennis shoes that had been with me for almost two years. My parents weren’t wealthy. There was no trust fund, no huge sum of money in my bank account. They’d spent every last dime paying for my apartment for a year. Their generosity had been unexpected, but it also meant my father couldn’t retire early as he’d wanted. Perhaps the guilt was killing me, which had allowed me to make bad decisions.
I heard Kirill’s impatient deep breaths as I fumbled to untie my shoes, falling back on the edge of the bed in order to rip them off my feet, peeling away the socks. When it came to everything else, I had just as much difficulty performing the simple task. There was no reason to feel embarrassed around him, but it hit me hard tonight, prickles covering almost every inch of skin.
Maybe because this change meant something else altogether. It meant the loss of freedom, being tied to his world. An ugly world.
I bit my lip to keep from spewing off my usual rebellious quips. It was time to stop pretending he was anything but what he was.
A killer.
He could easily end my life if I presented a problem. However, if I earned his trust, maybe I’d find a way to escape his prison eventually. I hadn’t asked him what he was going to do with me. Maybe I didn’t want to know. As I folded the clothes, placing everything neatly on the huge dresser, it suddenly dawned on me why a man like Kirill couldn’t have anyone special in his life. He couldn’t handle having anything or anyone as a weakness.
How lonely that must be. No wonder there was nothing that resembled a man with a real life outside of killing people. This beautiful condo that likely costs millions of dollars was nothing but a glorified hotel.
“Am I your whore?” I don’t know why the question came to my mind or why in God’s name I allowed myself to ask it.
I expected his anger, maybe for this round of punishment to begin earlier, not the booming laughter coming from deep within his chest.
“Why would you ask that, malen’kaya ptitsa?”
“I can’t understand you, Kirill. I hate not knowing the horrible things you say to me. It’s not fair.”
He cocked his head, real confusion crossing his face. “I called you my little bird, Candy.”
“No longer a rebel? I see. Because I’m a bird in a cage.”
Now it was easy to see I’d angered him, the hard clench of his jaw adding to his dangerous persona. Gone was the moment of frivolity, replaced by his usual scowl. “You are not my whore, Candy. A whore leaves after I’ve paid for her for whatever satisfaction she can provide.”
“That means you’ve had a lot of them.” I looked away from him, angry with myself for such a ridiculous question but hurt, even jealous. He hadn’t used a condom.
Fuck. I felt his looming presence as he walked closer. What limited air was in the room was stagnant, forcing me to struggle for enough air.
“No, little rebel. I don’t make it a habit of paying for sex, nor do I pick up women in bars. No one has drawn my attention for many, many years.”
Was I supposed to believe him? He forced me to look into his eyes, his thumb and forefinger pulling my chin toward him. I’d be damned if there wasn’t sincerity in his sinfully gorgeous eyes. Every time I thought I’d found a way to hate him in order to shut down my desire, he surprised me. I expected given his dark mood that he’d toss me onto the bed, but he guided me instead, yanking back the covers all the way to the bottom of the bed. When he eased me down, his expression was full of shadows and darkness, but just as primal as before.
He remained standing over me for a few seconds, sliding two fingers down the length of my arm, issuing a deep sigh. “Do not move.”
Where would I go if I did? The place was an utter fortress. I watched as he walked away, unable to stop thinking about his gorgeous butt and muscular thighs. And the dragon. It was silly of me, but the beast’s eyes made me think they were watching me, relaying every inch I moved to his master. The sensations were uncanny, almost frightening. As much as I wanted to look away, I couldn’t. The savage man with the raw, unforgiving look and the cold demeanor was an incredible specimen.
Every move he made was methodical. He took long strides toward the dresser, glaring down at my clothes. “You’ll never wear this garbage again. No woman of mine should be forced to wear something so unflattering.”
There it was. His woman. He’d meant what he’d said. I wasn’t his whore, but I was his possession. Did he plan on parading me around when appropriate, showing me off like a prized china doll? I couldn’t stand the repulsive thought.
I sensed a moment of anger rushing inside of him. Then he shoved my clothes aside so hard they tumbled to the floor, smashing his fist on the dresser’s surface twice before reaching his hand inside a drawer.
He was magnificent in everything he did, and tonight was no exception. His actions reminded me of a man preparing for his last meal before execution, determined to enjoy every moment before the end came. I couldn’t tell what he was retrieving until he turned around slowly, returning then crawling onto the bed.
A long piece of fabric. The asshole was going to tie me to the bed. I bit back a whimper, refusing to let him know I was horrified, angry and uncertain I could remain some good little girl like he wanted. Yet as the explosive heat we shared smashed into me again, I drank in his musky essence before turning my head away.
“Don’t turn away,” he commanded. “Never look away from me.”
