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Benedict has seen me, on the third level, and he's staring at me as he comes down the stairs toward me. My whole body starts into a shiver that I can't do anything to stop. Just the sight of him, his hair tousled, his green eyes intense, that expression on his face— it pins me to where I stand, weighing me down until I can't move.
He's dressed for a night of card-playing at a gentlemen's club, the kind thatdoesn'thave strippers. Well, not $2 Bettys anyway. His button-down shirt is opened around his neck, tie completely absent, with a sport jacket tossed over his arm.
"I heard that you've had the doctor called for Maddie," he says with a frown as he stops beside me. "What's wrong?"
"Heatstroke, I think," I reply, trying not to meet his eyes. He's so near, I can smell the faint whisper of cologne. He's such a monster. So why does my skin tingle when he comes close? My breath is hot and tight in my chest, and I finally look up, meeting his gaze.
"It was that stupid equitation master, wasn't it?" He asks, looking furious. The way his brows pull together, for once angry at somebody other than his brother— "I warned my brother," hesays. Oh, nope, I was wrong. He's definitely mad at his brother. "He never listens to anything I say."
"Maybe if you tell him you're planning on murdering him and deposing him, he'll start to." My hand twitches, nearly rising to clap over my mouth, as Benedict stares at me like I've slapped him.
The world shifts around us, under my feet, changing dangerously, threatening to crack open and swallow me up. He could have me killed. He could kill me. His eyes narrow.
I wait for it, unmoving, not breathing, staring him straight in the face.
His lips tilt up at the corners, and he inhales before looking away.
"You are a fucking mystery," he says, and it's quiet between us, the dangerous moment having passed on, a predator deciding I wasn't worth it. Not today, anyway.
The next second blinks by, and he strikes, snake-fast. He grabs me by the shoulders and presses me into the alcove behind me, next to a marble statue of a very naked lady gazing off into the distance.
My back meets the wall as I gasp, air thrown from my body, and he glares down at me.
"I don't think you remember why, exactly, I involved you in my future-planning," he says, making it sound like it was some kind of strategic business meeting for a big company, and not, you know, murder.
"Is that what you call it?" I wheeze, his hands still on me, keeping me pinned to the wall.
We're in the shadows here. No way for anyone to see us, not without us hearing them coming down the stairs, or up, from a long way off.
He's less than six inches from me, fingers clenched around the tops of my shoulders.
"So what's this, a morale improvement seminar?" I can't help it, the way he acts, like he can just do whatever he pleases, infuriates me. "Gotta say, needs work." I hate the way my voice shakes when I talk to him, but I force each word out so he knows I mean business.
His eyelashes flutter as his eyes close and he sighs.
"You have a lot of attitude for someone whose life hangs in my hands," he murmurs, his thumbs digging in just below my collarbones. I wince and jerk my shoulder.
"Stop that," I order him, and when he doesn't move, I shove forward, brushing my chest against his. I twist and duck out of his grip, stumbling out of the alcove and onto the stairs. My breath is rapid and shallow, and I turn to level him with a glare that should ignite his skin into flames if there's any fairness in the world.
Instead he looks back at me, like he's surprised I got out of his grip, or maybe he's more surprised that I'm fighting him.
I don't know, and I don't care.
"I will never be okay with what you're planning, and I am going to make your life hell every step of the way," I spit through clenched teeth. "And don't touch me like that again."
He's silent, surveying me as he stands there, handsome and terrible as ever.
Then his expression shifts. His eyes go half-lidded, and he smiles, almost sweet.
"How would you rather I touch you?" He murmurs and takes a step toward me. All threat has evaporated from how he holds himself, and he reaches out for me. I don't move. Ican't. I'm caught as he changes in front of me, from terrifying menace to…
Something I'm ashamed to admit makes my stomach flutter nervously.
His fingers skate up my bare forearm until where the sleeve of my dress starts at my elbow. His fingertips turn in from there, tracing over the dip of my inner elbow, where I can feel my pulse start to beat madly.
"Don't," I whisper, but still, my legs, my feet, refuse to listen to me. Run. I need to run, up the stairs, or down them, somewhere many someones are, away from this trap that he's laid for me.
"Alright," he replies, casually and pulls away. He glances up the stairs. "Thank you for looking after my niece. Your focus on her well-fair, well—" He clears his throat. "You'll have manyusesin the future, won't you?" The way he says it turns filthy so fast that my heartbeat, which was starting to slow down, fires up to 60MPH in three seconds.
