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I blink at him, feeling like he's putting me on the spot. “Yeah... eh... sure.”
Now he laughs, fond of something, his eyes crinkling in the corners. He takes the box from me and puts it down on the coffee table, grabs my hand and holds it in his, covering mine completely.
“Why would you buy me a bracelet?” I just don't get this. First he says he's taking me out to dinner, and now he's giving me a bracelet?
“Why not?” He looks me dead in the eyes, his steady and observing.
His question lingers while we stare at each other, and the moment is so intense that I think I stop breathing, especially when he reaches out and pulls my hair forward, so it hangs over one shoulder, down my front.
I can't help feeling a little... I don't know.
Why would he buy me a damn bracelet? And why's he looking at me like that?
“I'd like to give you a lot more than just a bracelet, Blaire,” he says. “Anything you want,Iwant togive it to you.”
My chest does that weird squeezy thing and I find myself gripping the bracelet on my wrist with my free hand.
“You don't have to buy me things, Charlie,” I say softly, “I've got my own money.”
His eyes...Fuck.He looks raw with passion and promise, making my chest squeeze even tighter.
“I'm not just talking about things,” he whispers, his words coming out slow and hypnotic. “I'm talking about you and me.”
Now, not only is my chest squeezing, but my heart is in knots.
There's something about Charlie tonight, something about his mood. I can't tell if it's sexually fueled or what.
“Can I use the toilet before we go?” I ask, to stop whatever is going on with him—hopefully by the time I come back, he'll be his normal self.
Letting go of my hand, he stands. “You don't have to ask for permission, baby. You know that.”
I sink into my shoulders, push to my feet, and begin to leave the room.
Really, why would he buy me a bracelet? It has no real use to me. It can't protect me or feed me.
“Blaire-”
Stopping on the threshold, I peer back at Charlie, anxious beyond words—I just want the moment to be over with already.
“-What's that on your back?” he says, glowering at me.
“Huh?” I push my hair aside, trying to see what he sees. “What?”
He's behind me now, pulling the strap down my shoulder. “Those marks.”
I scowl at him, baffled, then I feel him run a finger over one of my scars.
“They're whip marks.” I don't sound too bothered telling him this, because I'm not. Maksim gave them to me, as a gift and a way to remember him, he said.
Charlie stands back and practically gapes at me. He doesn't say anything for a moment. He looks a bit... I don't know... angry? Confused or angry?
“Charlie?”
“Did he...” his voice is so low that I can barely hear him. “Did Maksim do that to you?”
“Do what?” I cannot fathom what he's talking about for a moment. “The marks on my back?”
He nods, swallowing, the large apple in his throat bopping up and down. I'm having a hard time trying to process the look on his face.
