The key turning in the lock has me jumping off of the bed like I’ve been injected with a dose of adrenaline. Every time he comes for a visit I’m never on the bed. Consciously, at least. I’ll never put myself in a more vulnerable position than I already am.
Not that he’s tried anything. His eyes don’t even linger. But still a woman knows very well to never trust a man. I’d rather take my chances on sleeping with the hyenas.
My senses are already hyper aware of him before his foot crosses the threshold. The fine hairs on my arm stand on their ends. A chill sweeps through me. My lungs are short of oxygen. My heart races at a maddening pace.
I clench my hands until the knuckles are bone white. I will myself to calm down by taking long breaths. But how can I? He never did tell me what his motives entail. The quickness of breaths returns with a vengeance.
Now’s not the time, Imogen. You’re alive. Fight to see another day.
God, I hate how his smell of amber is welcome. Anything is better than my own wretched reek.
I protectively keep my arms rested at my middle. There may not be much damage I can do while cuffed but I’ll be damned if I don’t even try.
“Is this a bathroom visit or am I finally allowed a shower?” I can’t hide the venom laced in my tone.
“Hello to you too, Imogen,” he says dryly.
“Fuck off,” I snap. “What? You can dress my wounds but I can’t properly wash myself?”
“If I had let your wounds go untreated they would’ve become infected.”
His methodic voice is like damn rage bait. My cheeks heat. “And I wouldn’t have any damn wounds if you hadn’t tightened these cuffs so fucking tight.”
“You have a very. . .colorful vocabulary .” No apology. Only insults.
I move closer towards him on the instinct to strike. “Fuck you! You fucking asshole!”
He doesn’t retreat. My outburst doesn’t affect him in the slightest. Instead, he closes the distance between us. Meeting my fury with his tranquility.
Him and I. Fire and ice.
“You know at least prisoners get to fucking shower,” I say through clenched teeth.
“You curse frequently when you’re furious.” He observes. All he does is observe. I might as well be under a microscope.
I glare up at him. “I’m sorry. How would you like me to behave?”
The tip of his lip pulls upward for a second. If I had blinked I would have surely missed it. To be honest I don’t even think he realizes what he did. “Sarcasm and foul language. And they call you a princess back home?”
“Get me out of these damn restraints and I’ll show you just how much of a princess I really am.”
“No need for that. I’m already well aware of your capabilities, Imogen.” He waves his hand in the vicinity of his face and I can’t hold back the cruel smirk.
“I can always add a few more.”
“I’m sure you can,” he agrees easily. He then leans down so his face is at level with mine. His scent of amber fills my nostrils. God, I hate how pleasant it is. Why can’t he smell like cigarettes or cheap booze? I know plenty of Made Men back home that do. “But I have other plans for you today.”
Instinctively I take a step back. “Plans,” I echo, my voice trembling.
He stiffly nods his head. “I think it’s time your father knows who you belong to.”
Fire licks my skin, replacing the fear. My voice is as sharp as a blade. “I don’t belong to any one.”
“Until your father agrees with our demands you belong to me and The Donati Famiglia.”
“Well,” I begin with my nose haughtily in the air, “good luck on your so called plans. I’m not interested.”
Closing the distance between us once again he steps forward. His thumb swipes along my chin. Embers rest in the wake of his touch. “You’re acting as if you have a choice here. You either comply or I force you to.”
