“Or what?” I snapped. “You’ll do what? Threaten me? Hurt me? Kill me?” Would he? Did I care? “Get away, or I’ll make you.”
Another snort. “With what? You can barely move.”
I hated the mocking in his tone.
“Listen, asshole. I’ve woken up somewhere I don’t know. With someone I don’t know. Trying to recall something I don’t. Fucking. Know.”
His hold on my neck tightened. I wasn’t a fool. I knew I wasn’t even half as strong as he was. That didn’t mean I couldn’t turn the tables.
He was close. I could still feel his breath against my face, even though none of his clothes touched mine. And his voice was clearly coming from slightly to the right, exactly where my sheets were pulling. I quickly padded a hand over where I thought he would be. I hit buttons and fabric, then firmness—his chest, I presumed. I skated my hand upward to where his shirt collar parted, my fingers skimming along warm skin, past his clavicles to his throat. Thick and strong, his pulse thumped against my thumb. Then I squeezed too. My hand didn’t last there long before he shoved it away, but neither did his hand remain on my throat.
“Don’t do to others what you wouldn’t want done to yourself.”
The words were familiar, spitting out of me as if reflexively. It seemed to stun us both because he didn’t argue.
His hand still held mine. He was trembling, and yet his thumb skidded back and forth along my skin. Not unfriendly, yet not sensual either, and for that I was grateful. I couldn’t say why.
“Who are you?” His words were softer now, barely louder than a whisper. Was that confusion?
I hated how the switch in him from aggression to gentleness was messing with my head. I hated it even more when his weight and warmth pulled away and left me cold and clammy. He didn’t attack me. Didn’t punish my rebellion. Didn’t spout hurtful words. All things I expected, with no idea why.
The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted away, and suddenly I was panicking again. He was going to leave me alone in this unknown place, with only the beeping for company, with no idea who I was, where I was, what I was doing here. I grabbed for him.
“Wait,” I rasped, latching tightly onto a thick bicep at least twice the size of my own.
His arm stiffened, his muscles bulging beneath the fabric of his sleeves, smooth and supple in contrast to the hardness beneath. Taut and sinewy with veined ridges pressed against my palm.
He didn’t move or say anything, but his exhales chopped through the silence between machine beeps. I waited, fingers clasped tight around his arm. My tether. I wished I could see his face. I wished I could understand this weird connection I felt deep in my chest.
The air, aside from his scent, smelled lemony and clean yet a little heavy with humidity. I could nearly taste the sea salt on my tongue.
His palm slipped over the back of my hand holding his forearm. Warm and strong despite how his thick skin trembled.For a second, I expected him to squeeze my hand in shared comfort. Instead, he wrenched it away and dropped it unceremoniously.
I couldn’t help my gasp. Something pulled at me deeply when he ripped me away from him. Loss. My chest ached as if he punched his fist clean through it. All for something as silly as shoving me away.
His throat cleared, loud and guttural, as if it were close to my ear. His clothing rustled. Probably adjusting himself as I sat there, head aching, shoulders and neck throbbing, arms itching, not sure what I had to look forward to. I was cast away and drifting off. Not a guiding light in sight.
The rattle of a handle followed by the swivel of a door jolted me from my moment of self-pity. Wrong time, wrong place for that anyway.
“What is going on here?” a new woman’s voice asked, and I braced myself for whatever fresh new wave of hell this was.
Chapter 8
“Wherearethenurses?”This was a new voice, feminine yet firm, almost harsh. And in more French. Heels clacked against the tile. “Adrien, step away from her. She’s our guest. I’m certain even you know what that means.”
That name. I knew that name. How did I know that name?
“Careful of your tone. I’ve cut tongues out for less.”
“Oh, poor me, I’m shivering in my boots.”
“Hmm. Perhaps I should show ourguesthow serious I am. What I do with little liars.” Each word was more clipped than the last. He was back to being the arrogant, aggressive jerk. Lovely.
“Adrien,” the woman huffed out with exasperation.
His fingers dug into the back of my hair, tugging the strands back, my head with it. I cried out from the pain. This position strained my abdomen.
“I’m not lying,” I said between gritted teeth, my fingernails biting into the skin of his wrist.
