He stepped from the shadowed corner of the room—how long had he been standing there, watching me sleep?—and my stomach dropped at the sight of him.
I pushed to my feet and stumbled back, my ankle rolling slightly as I slammed my back against the wall near the fireplace. The cool plaster bit into my shoulder blades.
One quick look to the side confirmed the fireplace was gas, controlled by a switch somewhere. There wasn't a fire poker or any other tools I could use to protect myself. Nothing sharp. Nothing heavy. Nothing.
The man took a slow, measured step forward, his movements predatory, controlled. Then he stopped, turning toward the bar cart as if he had all the time in the world.
As if I wasn't pressed against the wall like a cornered animal.
He said nothing as he turned a lowball glass upright, the crystal catching the firelight, and dropped a few ice cubes from the silver bucket into it. The sound of ice clinking against glass was obscenely loud.
His movements were deliberate, unhurried. Then he lifted an unopened bottle of water, making a point of showing it to me, turning it so I could see the unbroken seal, before twisting the cap with a sharpcrackand filling the glass.
"You must be thirsty.”
He was right, my mouth was dry as sand and my lips felt like they would crack. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, thick and useless.
But I wasn't stupid.
It was a trap.
Maybe the water was clean, but that didn't mean the glass wasn't laced with something, or perhaps the ice. Or maybe the water itself, and the bottle was just for show. He took a few steps toward me and offered the glass.
I didn't move.
I wasn't moving from that spot. My palms pressed against the cool wall. My fingers splayed wide, trying to find purchase, as if I could somehow melt into the plaster and disappear.
Leaning against the wall, I let it brace me so I could control the trembling pushing through my body—my legs, my hands, even my jaw wanted to shake. I was terrified, but I didn't need to show him.
There were too many men in the world who got off on terrifying women.
It made them feel important and powerful. I knew better than to give him the satisfaction. I'd learned that lesson a long time ago.
The man held the glass out to me for a few more moments. His arm extended, patient, like he was coaxing a feral cat. Then he rolled his eyes likeIwas the one being unreasonable, before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a long, deliberate sip, his throat working as he swallowed.
"See, it's perfectly fine." He lowered the glass, his gaze never leaving mine. "Now drink."
I still didn't move. I didn't trust it, didn't trust him. Didn't trust the way he was looking at me like I was something he was cataloging, memorizing.
He moved closer, eating up the distance between us in two strides, his presence filling the small space until the air itself seemed to hum with it. Withhim. That cologne, that heat, the sheer size of him blocking out everything else.
I tried to shrink down further into the wall, but there was nowhere for me to go. I was trapped as he placed his forearm against the wall above my head, caging me in with his body.
His other hand still held the glass, condensation beading on the crystal, a drop of water sliding down the side.
Tension rolled off of him in slow, deliberate waves.
He lifted the crystal glass to my mouth, the rim cool and wet as he pressed it to my bottom lip. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I felt the threat.
"Drink."
It wasn't a request.
I hesitated just long enough to see the challenge flash in his eyes. A small part of himwantedme to disobey, so he could force the water down my throat. So he'd have an excuse to touch me, to put his hands on me again.
He wanted the fight.
I wasn't about to give him one.
