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Keep up the show. Win time.
As long as I don’t spill the beans, Eden and I are safe. If I get myself killed, I’m signing my sister’s death warrant. Bell won’t honor our deal when I’m gone. I have no doubt. He’s not an honorable man. My only option is playing the part of Evie convincingly until Bell finds the men who wants to harm his daughter. Only when he’s eliminated the risk will he let me go back to my sister. Then the charade starts all over again. Like a plastic ballerina in a jewelry box, I’m trapped in this horrible circle of life. I detest Bell with every fiber of my being. He takes first place when it comes to my hatred, but Roman is giving him a run for his money. They’re cut from the same cloth. Roman is a killer. He didn’t blink an eye when he admitted to murdering Warren’s men. The only thing keeping me safe here is that he believes I’m of value to him. When he discovers the truth, the game will be over. No matter how I look at it, the only way of making sure Eden stays alive is to carry on with the act.
Keep up the show.
The first thing I do is I search the bedroom for a weapon. The nightstand drawer isn’t locked, but there’s nothing of use inside.
Taking a ragged breath, I go to the dressing room to continue my search. After inspecting the closets, I should change. From the glare Roman gave me, he didn’t like that I borrowed his clothes. Too bad. I’d rather risk Roman’s irk than face his brother wearing nothing but a blanket.
I gape when I take in the shelves. They’re overflowing with clothes. Female clothes. In my size. There’s a selection of winter and summer outfits, mostly casual wear. Does Roman believe he’ll keep me here until summer? The thought throws me off balance. What am I supposed to make of that? Pushing the disturbing notion aside, I go through every nook and cranny, spending the better part of half an hour in turning everything upside-down, but, like in Roman’s room, there’s nothing I can use to defend myself.
I’m closing a drawer with underwear when a creak comes from the bedroom. My pulse jumps. I freeze, pricking up my ears. A click sounds. I should hurry there to assess the danger, but my feet won’t move. When Roman appears in the doorframe, my heartbeat goes into overdrive. The intensity of his stare makes the blood gush in my ears. He’s blocking the only exit with his powerful body. It’s dangerous to let him trap me.
Pulling myself to my full height, I walk to the door and make to squeeze past him. He slams his palms on either side of the frame. I back up a step, swallowing. He enters. I retreat. We continue this dance of predator and prey until I run out of space and my back hits the wall. He stops flush against me, planting his hands on either side of my face.
His gaze drills into mine as he remarks with ill-disguised anger, “You’re still wearing my clothes.”
A hint of alcohol carries on his breath. He’s been drinking.
I don’t show him my fear. I square my shoulders. “If you give me some space, I’ll rectify that. In fact, I was about to do that before you barged in here.”
“The problem isn’t you wearing them,” he murmurs. “It’s that I don’t want you to take them off.”
The statement makes me reel.
His laugh is husky. “Correction. I don’t want you to take them off just yet.”
More fear unfurls in my belly, but his unscrupulous and unapologetic declaration also ignites a lick of power.
He wants me.
The alcohol makes him honest.
I’ve seen his reaction earlier when he was naked. He was aroused. I’m not stupid enough to think he wants me for my body. Power turns on men like him, and he has complete power over me. However, to him, I’m not Christina. I’m Evie, and Evie has already been promised to another man. He won’t dare to touch her, not if he wants Bell to give him the diamond.
With a quick shift of his hand, he proves me wrong by grabbing my hair. The tug as he closes his fingers into a fist is gentle. Instinctively, I know we’re balancing on a thin edge between control and violence.
He brings his lips to my ear and says in a low voice, “I’m going to fuck you, Evie.”
I go cold. It’s not what I expected. Slapping my palms on his chest, I try to shove him away.
He doesn’t budge. “Just making sure there’s no misunderstanding about my intentions.”
“You can try,” I say with gritted teeth.
His soft laugh is a mocking dare. “I’ll be inside you before the week is out.”
