There. Another reaction.
I let the silky material fall over her body and pool onto the floor at her feet. She stood there in nothing but a lace bra and panties, her skin pebbling in the cool air.
I paused, my hand hovering over the curve of her neck. Then, unable to stop myself, I pressed my lips to the junction where her shoulder met her throat. Not a kiss exactly. A claim. A reminder that she was here, that she was real, that she was?—
Mine.
The word echoed in my head, unwelcome and undeniable.
She still looked shell-shocked. So, I took the magnet out of my pocket, my fingers brushing the hollow of her throat as I carefully removed the necklace. I let my touch linger, her pulse fluttering rapidly beneath my fingertips.
Her dove gray eyes shifted to mine, the first sign of life from her since she stopped crying.
"It's only temporary,maya soloveyka," I whispered, cupping her jaw. "But for now, the threat is gone."
"You are the threat," she whimpered.
She was right.
I was the threat, and I had no idea why I was giving her any reprieve. I shouldn't have cared about how her mother's words devastated her.
Her tears should not have bothered me, especially since they usually made me hard. But somehow this little songbird got under my skin.
This was supposed to be a simple blackmail job, a precise pressure campaign to ensure her mother voted the way I paid her to.
After that, I was going to disappear back into the shadows of London. With my nephews refocused on the family business and other politicians reminded of why they didn't question my orders.
Anna was never supposed to be anything more than leverage.
I picked her back up and placed her on the counter again, positioning myself between her legs as I reached for the makeup remover. I worked slowly, deliberately, wiping away the mascara tracks and foundation with careful strokes.
My hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair to hold her steady. She watched me the entire time, those storm-cloud eyes searching my face for something I wasn't sure I could give her.
I was going to put her in the shower or maybe let her relax in the giant soaking tub...but I didn't trust her not to do something stupid.
Instead, I wrapped her in my black cashmere robe, pulling it tight around her small frame. As I tied the belt, I couldn't help but lean in, inhaling the scent of her hair—jasmine and something uniquely her.
I carried her out to the living room, settling her on the couch.
She looked so sad, and a little pathetic, sitting there dwarfed by my robe. She pulled it tighter around her body before lifting her legs and tucking them under her.
On a whim, I went back into the bedroom and pulled the down duvet off the bed.
She had an old, worn quilt on her couch. Maybe this was the comfort she needed.
She cuddled into the duvet when I laid it over her, and her breathing evened out as she started looking around the room.
At least she was out of that catatonic state.
It was something, but I needed to do something else. I needed to be proactive in this. I needed to take care of her, but I hadn't the first clue how to do that.
"Are you hungry?" I asked as I picked up the room service menu. She had only eaten half a bowl of the stew earlier before she started fighting me.
No answer.
"You need to eat something. Pick whatever you want from this menu, or I can have something picked up from any restaurant you want. Pick something, or I will." I handed the menu to her, and her hand poked out of the black duvet to take it.
"Anything?" she asked, her voice so quiet, like she was still afraid.
