Except my nerves have been ruled out by my white hot anger. My face burns, rivaling the sun with my fury. “Am I doing this wrong?” I spit at him. No reaction. Not even a blink of his damned eye. It adds fuel to the fire. A dark chortle slips past my lips. My mouth then twists. “Am I not pleasing you?
Positioning myself the best that I can within my restraints I clasp my hands together like I would in church. I then sit prettily on my knees as I look up at him through copper lashes. “Please, please, please, Rico, will you set me free?” I sweeten my voice to the point a tooth would ache, but it tastes sour on my tongue.
“I’m only trying to understand you.”
Another laugh breaks out but this one is more of bafflement and confusion. “Why on earth are you trying to understand me?”
He steps closer, the tips of his shoes touching the tips of my bare toes.
Then he crouches down. Invading my space until I’m engulfed by him. His scent. His presence.
It’s overwhelming and yet for some inexplicable reason I don’t fear him.
Which I very well should.
This is a man who chased me down in the woods, fought me, drugged me and had me locked in a room with no means of escape. If anything I should be terrified.
“Because maybe if I can understand you I can possibly understand myself.” My brows pull together as I stare at him unsure of his motives. His eyes stay on mine. Searching. Endlessly searching. “I’m very well aware it makes no sense. I wouldn’t expect you or anyone to understand.”
“Is that what you want? For someone to understand you?”
A muscle works in his jaw. The only reaction he’s ever given me. “To be quite frank I don’t know what I want.”
“How about what you feel?”
Ever so slowly he reaches his hand out. I stay statuesque as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Even still as the pad of his finger traces my jugular vein.
“You don’t fear death, do you?”
My heart rate spikes. “Any particular reason why you’re asking that?”
“Back in the woods of your homeland you fought like a warrior.”
I counter, “Some would argue I fear death because of how hard I fought for my life. My freedom.”
“No,” he disagrees lowly. With the same finger he tips my chin up. “You fought knowing you wouldn’t win.”
His words taste bitter. With bite I reply, “Stroking your own ego now? Because I think your head is big enough.”
“My head is of normal size and there is no stroking to be had.” The way his response is so literal is almost comedic with his flat tone. But there is no humor to be found. Not on his end. I’m finding Rico to be a literal sense of the word man.
He removes his finger from under my chin and a coldness resides there. Conflicted, I cast my eyes to the floor. “You were impressive.” My eyes return to his. Despite the lack of warmth he’s genuine. Rico doesn’t seem like the type of man to hand out compliments. So his praise? I hate that it means something. AndI despise that it’s the enemy who is recognizing my worth instead of my own pa.
“If you are making fun of me?—”
His fingers pinch my chin gently but with enough force for me to follow his command. “I don’t lie, Imogen.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Why?”
“I don’t see the point.” His candor is as shocking as it is refreshing. This world we live in is nothing but lies.
“Then tell me why you haven’t hurt me yet.”
A pause. “Do you want me to hurt you?”
