Heat spreads across my chest under his gaze, my skin tingling like he’s actually touching me. When his eyes find mine, I’m momentarily taken aback, wondering if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, because the intensity in them is breathtaking.
Before he can say anything, I turn and walk to the wardrobe, aware of Bodhi’s gaze following me.
“Just let me get dressed,” I say over my shoulder, keeping my voice light. I pull open the wardrobe doors and survey the clothes Kozlov has provided, all silk and cashmere and designer labels. My fingers close around a simple blouse and a skirt, and I pull them out.
Then I let the gown slip to my elbows, keeping it there, just for a moment, before I straighten my arms and let it drop to the floor.
It pools at my feet, leaving me completely exposed, my back to him. I hear his sharp intake of breath, a laboured swallow, and feel his hungry gaze burning into my skin.
“What do you think you’re playing at?”
“Well, I figure if I’m going to be sold as a sex slave, I better get used to strangers seeing me naked.” I turn, oh so slowly, still just in my very delicate, very sheer underwear, and let him get a good look at me as I slip my earrings back on.
“Get your clothes on.” His voice is rough, strained. “Now.”
Oh, he’s angry.
Getting a reaction from him, any reaction, sends a giddy thrill through me.
“I am.” I turn away again, then glance back at him over my shoulder, letting a small smile play at my lips. “Isn’t this what you want?”
“Emma.”
The warning in his husky tone sends a thrill down my spine. I’m getting to him.
I take my time, bending slowly to step into the skirt I chose, making sure to arch my back as I pull it up past the scrap of fabric that is my thong and over my hips.
A low sound comes from behind me. Not quite a growl, but close.
The blouse comes next, and I struggle with the buttons for just a moment longer than necessary, breasts jiggling as I work.
When I’m finally decent, or at least covered, I turn back to face him fully.
His jaw is clenched so tight that I can see the muscle jumping. His hands are curled into fists at his sides, and thosedark eyes are fixed on me with an expression that makes my knees feel weak.
“I need help with this catch,” I say, hoping my voice sounds steadier than I feel. I walk toward him, my pulse fluttering, and turn around. I gather my hair and lift it off my neck, exposing the top of the blouse where a small button sits just below my hairline. “I can’t reach it.”
Silence stretches between us. For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse.
Then I feel his fingers, rough and warm, brush against the nape of my neck.
His touch is gentle, careful, and completely at odds with the raw tension radiating from him. I feel him fumble with the tiny button, his knuckles grazing my skin, and then it’s done.
But he doesn’t step away.
His fingers linger at my collar, trailing down just slightly, tracing the edge of the fabric. I feel his breath on my neck, warm and unsteady, and I swear I hear him inhale deeply, like he’s breathing me in.
Then his hands are on my hips, fingertips resting lightly on the curve of my waist through the thin fabric of the blouse. From behind me, unmistakable, I feel the hard length of him brush against my ass.
I dig my teeth into my lower lip, biting back a moan.
Yes. If I’m going to have sex before I die, on my terms, this is what I want.
He steps back abruptly, putting distance between us, and the sudden absence of his warmth leaves me feeling strangely bereft.
When I turn around, his expression has gone cold. Closed off. That mask he wears so well has slid back into place.
“If you’re trying to trick me, to get your key, know that it’ll do you no good. There’s no escaping this place.” His voice is flat,but there’s an edge underneath it. A warning. “And don’t try that with the other guards either.”
