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Between the wine and the sleep deprivation I have found myself in over the past several years of living and breathing medicine, of caring for Akila, I have accepted slumber like an old friend. And why fucking not? Having nothing to do and nowhere to go, why not accept a place to hide from the contradictory emotions in my reality? Why not welcome the pull and escape of sleep?
Now, as my mind flickers to life, I can tell it’s been an entire day since I told him about Akila. He didn’t wake me up, but the two times my mind pulled me from slumber, there was food on the bedside table. My health is obviously important to him, but my freedom, not so fucking much.Nutcase.
When my body feels a kind of warmth move through it, I sense him close by. The scent of man and the prickling of my skin all but shout his proximity. I open my eyes to a dimly lit area and roll to my side; the blankets shift around my naked body as I do. Was I naked when I went to sleep last night? Yes, I decide that I was.
Squinting around the space, I find him sitting on the couch opposite me. A lamp beside him illuminates the RV. Leaning forward, he sets his elbows on his knees and clasps his hands beneath his chin. He watches me.
“Are you with him because of her or do you love him?” he asks, his voice low and steady. Pained.
The words beat our last conversation back into my mind, reminding me of my confessions and tears.Sleep.I wish I could just sleep again. Feeling awake, feeling his dangerous heat even at this distance, like a living thing circling me, I can’t even pretend I’m still tired.
“He’s a good man,” I say, attempting to lift my heavy hand to rub my eyes only to find it. . . resisting? Pulled back? I reach my other hand out to grab my wrist but find that one restrained too. I tug at them, feeling one pull the other as I attempt to move.
Growling in confusion, I twist around.
Then it hits me.
The crazy son of a bitch!
“What the fuck have you done?” My breathing jolts and races and skips. The more I raise my arms, the more I feel how they pull each other apart. A rope threads under the frame and knots at each wrist, limiting my movement.
“You want my phone, baby? So you can call that good man to come rescue you from me. The bad guy, right?”
Shit.
I can’t find the words.
He narrows his glowing green-blue eyes in a predatorial way, reminding me of the way he looked at me the night he drugged me. “I’ve changed in the last ten years,” he says, looking at my wrists and smiling. “My tastes have changed. If it’s any consolation, I would have tied you up even if you were here willingly. The rope would be fluffier though.”
I sneer. “It’s no consolation.”
“I haven’t had any complaints yet, baby.”
For reasons unbeknown to me, I hate that sentence most of all. Hate the way it awakens that volatile little beast inside me that screams he ismine. “I’m complaining now,” I lie. Wait. What? Not lie. Iamcomplaining.
“Well, you always were the exception.” Deep, turquoise-coloured eyes stay fixed on mine, every fleck inside them a definable shape and colour. “You’re so beautiful, Shoshanna,” he says. “You’ll forgive me one day.”
“I won’t.” I bite out. “I’ll never ever trust you again.”
His gaze bounces pointedly from my tight scowl to my bound wrists and back again. “Baby. . . you’re gonna have to.”
I blink at him.Fuck.No. I shake my head. I tug at the ropes again, even though I know deep into my soul that he would never hurt me. Fear doesn’t stir me, but butterflies race around deep in my abdomen. “Would you let me leave if I cried? If I begged? If I screamed?”
A devilish grin engulfs his face. “Try me.” Standing, he reaches for the hem of his shirt. Lifting it over his head, he slowly exposes taut tattooed abdominals. He tosses the shirt aside, leaving only a pair of jeans, which hang so low I can see the distinct V of his muscles at the top of his pubic hair.
My mouth waters at the sight of perfect masculinity. A truly impure display that provokes my every cell to vibrate against my will.
The butterflies multiply.
My heartbeat intensifies.
My resolve becomes rickety.
Bronson watches me as he reaches back and retrieves a black handgun from the back of his jeans. I breathe in deeply as he places it flat on the cabinet. It makes a small clicking sound when the metal meets the glass.
I had no idea it was there.
Though, I’m not entirely surprised.
