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His eyes fix on me with the kind of intensity that isolates us in this moment. Everything else fades away as he nails me with his glacier stare, making me shiver inside. He holds me locked in invisible constraints until he’s almost on top of me. Even if I want to, I can’t move. I’m frozen to the spot.
He leans an arm above his head on the wall and crosses one ankle over the other, his stance both relaxed and intimidating as he stares down at me.
“So,” his eyes run over me from top to bottom, “how was last night?”
There’s a bite in his words that’s contradictory to the flash of hurt in his eyes. The whiskey that laces his breath drifts to me on the air. He’s been out drinking?
I want to tell him he’s an asshole, but his masculinity folds around me like a cloak, the power he has over me both frightening and exciting.
“Did he kiss you?” he asks on a drawl, cool amusement masking something else I can’t place.
“On a first date?” I say sarcastically. “Some men are gentlemen, you know.”
First, he looks surprised, then relieved, and then angry. “Are you telling me nothing happened?”
“Like I said, Quincy is a gentleman.”
Predator intent fills his eyes. He moves so close to me, I can see his pupils dilate. “Then it seems it’s not a gentleman you need.”
I pull myself to my full height, my breasts brushing over his chest in the process, but I don’t care. “Why, Gabriel, you look disappointed.” I bat my eyelashes in mock innocence. “What were you hoping for?”
He reaches out so fast I jump in fright and drop the basket when he grabs my wrist.
“I offered you a chance to have it pretty.” His lips thin. “I offered you beautiful. You blew that chance, and now you’re left with hard and ugly.” He squeezes to the point of pain. “You’re left with me.”
There’s so much meaning in those words, I can’t stop the shiver that crawls up my spine.
He releases me with a soft shove and says in a quiet, threatening voice, “Remember, you begged for it.”
Picking up the basket, he pushes it into my arms and walks around me like I’m nothing but an irritating obstacle in his way. If I was infuriated last night, I’m ten times more so now.
“You can’t pass me around like a toy for your men,” I say to his back, “and you can’t decide who I sleep with.”
He stops and takes two steps back to me. His smile is cold and cruel. “That’s where you’re wrong. You’re property, Valentina. You agreed to any duty I see fit. I can share you however I want, but you don’t have to worry about being a toy for my men. I don’t like to share my toys. Last night was a big fucking gift. Not for Quincy. For you.” Heat and possessive intent darken his eyes, making him look more dangerous than ever. “And it’ll never happen again.”
He stalks away with a heavy limp, leaving me trembling with something other than anger. Understanding blooms in me. Gabriel wanted my first experience to be with someone normal. He wanted me to have a taste of how sweet it can be before he submits me to the dark lust I sense in him. I brace my back against the wall and take a few deep breaths. I’m not sure what’s worse, that I find his intention sweet or that I crave the darkness he’s withholding from me.
11
Valentina
That afternoon, Gabriel goes out on a job and doesn’t return for dinner. I’m already in bed when I hear his uneven gait in the kitchen. Rummaging sounds come from the pantry. If he’s hungry, I left his food in the oven. I’m not ready to face him, but I can’t put it off indefinitely. Rather now, than later.
Entering the scullery, I forget my apprehension. Gabriel is removing a bloody shirt over the basin, the medicine kit balanced on the edge.
“Gabriel!”
I run to him, my eyes doing a quick evaluation of his state. There’s a cut in his shoulder through which blood is oozing and several scrapes on his stomach and ribs.
He presses the shirt to the wound and opens the tap. “Shh. Where’s Carly?”
“She went to bed after dinner. What happened?” I take the shirt from him and dump it in the trashcan. It’s torn and stained beyond saving.
“Business.”
He flinches when I touch the wound to assess how deep the cut is.
“This needs stitches. Where are Rhett and Quincy?”
“I sent them to bed. It’s not that serious.” He flashes me an amused smile. “But your concern is flattering.”
“This is no time for jokes.” Taking disinfectant and sterile gauzes from the medicine kit, I start cleaning the wound.
“Good thing blood doesn’t make you queasy.”
I don’t return his smile. I don’t even want to think what sinister activity earned him these injuries.
