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Instead of answering her, I tell her, “No harm will come to you if you just do what I say.”
“This is about my father, isn't it?” she presses.
I don't answer. The SUV comes to a stop, and when I open the door, she tries to scramble down out of my arms, but her body crumbles as soon as she puts weight on her ankle.
I swoop her back up against my chest, anger pulsing hotly through me. “What the hell was that?” I seethe.
She glares up at me and presses her lips together.
I shake my head incredulously. “Nowyou try to run? You realize you're in the middle of nowhere onmycompound with hundreds of guards around. You wouldn't get too far even if your ankle wasn't fucked up.”
“Thanks for that, by the way,” she hisses at me, and I blink, a rare stab of remorse pricking at my conscience. I never intended to hurt her.
I start to apologize to her but catch myself just in time. What the fuck is wrong with me? She's my enemy’s daughter, a trump card, a pawn. Nothing more.
My eyes flick down over her body in that tiny scrap of fabric she calls a negligee. The silky fabric is held up by little straps no thicker than a strand of angel hair pasta. Lace lines the top of it where it dips down over her breasts. The hem stops mid-thigh, and I'm suddenly very aware of how large my hand is on her thigh and where it is.
All I would have to do is move my fingers up an inch, and I'd be right at her little panties.
I’m suddenly dying to know what color they are.
Her face flushes as I stare down at her. She licks her lips, and I feel my cock stiffening in my pants.
I tear my gaze away from her puffy pink lips and stalk through my front door that's already being held open for me by one of my guards. I take her to my bedroom, where I drop her onto the bed gently so as not to jostle her ankle.
“Stay,” I order her.
Her eyes flash at the command.
I smirk at her, enjoying the way her anger makes her brown eyes glow. Her long brown hair is falling all around her shoulders in beautiful waves, and the lamplight picks up the hints of gold in it. My chest tightens at the sight of her.
I scowl at my reaction and stomp off to the bathroom to get the supplies to bandage her foot.
Her toenails are painted a bright pink, and her foot is so small my hand can completely circle her ankle. Her legs are smooth and creamy and poreless, and I have to concentrate to keep my hand from traveling up over their softness. I focus on keeping my attention on stabilizing her ankle.
“Thank you,” she whispers when I'm done.
I look up to see her brown eyes melting down at me and clear my throat before I tell her gruffly. “Don't try to escape. Just be good, and if your father cooperates, you'll be home in no time. There’s no reason this has to be unpleasant for you.”
I turn and begin walking toward the door, needing to get some fresh air and clear my head.
This girl's sweet berry scent and pretty brown eyes are fucking with my head. My cock hasn’t gone down from the moment I saw her in that little negligee, and I’m finding it harder and harder to breathe in her presence.
“Don't put any pressure on that ankle either,” I call back over my shoulder.
I curse underneath my breath and slam the door firmly shut behind me before I do anything else ridiculous—like offer to take care of her and feed her soup in bed.
CHAPTER4
Marissa
This has gotto be the most bizarre kidnapping in the history of kidnappings. Christopher is not mean to me at all. Oh, he tries to be all growly and gruff, but I sense that deep down he wouldn't ever really harm a hair on my head. If that was the case, he would have already done it. And he wouldn't look so apologetic every time he glances at my ankle or checks it for me.
I don’t know what negotiations he's got going on with my father, but I've been here three days already. My ankle must have been a pretty light sprain because I'm already able to put a bit of weight on it. Even so, Christopher glares daggers at me when he sees me. He tells me it needs more rest to fully heal.
And I’ve never been kidnapped before, but even I know it’s strange for the kidnapper to put you in his room. I know this is his room because this is where he comes when needs to take a shower and get dressed in another one of his expensive Armani suits.
Plus, he sleeps in here every night, though he doesn't sleep in the bed with me. There's a chair in the corner of the room where he sits and leans his head back, his hands clasped over his chest. I don't know how in the world he can sleep like that.
