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I roll my eyes and manage to force myself up. It takes effort.
“You’re going to stop rolling your eyes at me. Now walk a straight line.”
“What are you, the police? I’m not driving. I just had a little whiskey.”
“Not a little if this was full. Was it?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“I’m tired,” I say, walking past him toward the door. “If you’re through interrogating me, I’d like to go home.”
I expect him to stop me but when he doesn’t, I pull the door open. I know why he didn’t bother telling me not to because the same soldier who just let us in blocks my path. He looks to Santos for a signal. He must give it because the man folds his arms and remains where he is. He’s built like a fucking tank. So, I close the door and turn back to Santos and wait, hoping the look on my face tells him how much I dislike this and him right now.
“Come,” he says, holding out his hand.
I shake my head.
“Do you understand, Madelena, what it means to belong to me?”
“Do you hear how that sounds?”
“It means I take care of what’s mine.”
That is not the answer I am expecting, and I’m struck mute.
“Come,” he repeats, gesturing for me to take his hand.
I look at it. I see the scar in his palm, the one that matches mine. It reminds me of the first night I met him. I shift my gaze up to his. “Why? Do you have a knife on you somewhere?” I ask to turn things around. Because he and I cannot be, will not be. I may have no choice in a marriage, but I can choose my emotions. I can choose if I give him more than he takes.
And I’ve already decided that I won’t.
He lets out a short exhale. “I didn’t want to do that to you, but it had to be done.”
I raise my eyebrows at that. “Did it?”
“Come, Madelena. You need to sleep. That is all.”
My heart skips a beat then goes into double time to make up for it. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
He chuckles. Literally, he chuckles. I’m not sure if I’m offended or embarrassed. Okay, the latter. He steps toward me. “Is that something you think about?” He brushes the hair back from my face, running a knuckle over my cheekbone, my jaw, while his gaze moves to my mouth.
I bite my lower lip so it won’t tremble beneath his gaze and I swear his eyes grow darker when I do. My heart thuds so hard against my ribs he must hear it.
His grin is wide when he returns his gaze to mine. “Is it, Little Kitty?”
“No.”
“Do you wonder what it will be like?” he asks, walking a slow circle around me. He’s so close I feel his breath with every word. It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “How long have you been imagining it?”
I make a move to pull away, to tell him to fuck off, but he catches me and, with a finger against my chest, traps me at the door.
“Since I told you I’d take you over my knee?” he asks.
I try to ignore the heat that burns my neck and cheeks. I press my thighs together as his finger glides toward my collar bone, traces it. God. This is not happening.
“Because I admit, I felt it too. Wanted it,” he continues. He’s playing with me. I know he is.
