BODHI
She’s going to be the death of me. Or maybe both of us.
I follow Emma down the corridor, my eyes fixing on the sway of her hips, the strands of hair curling against her neck, and the strong set of her shoulders. Every primitive instinct I have is screaming at me to grab her, to drag her back into that room and show her exactly what happens when she plays games with a man on the edge.
And she is playing games; she just has no idea who with.
So instead of allowing her tempting body to distract me from the job at hand, I shove my hands into my pockets, trying to ignore the pulse of desire and the ache in my knuckles. There’s plaster dust embedded in the cuts, and a hole in the wall that’s going to be hard to explain.
Worth it. If I hadn’t taken my frustration out on that wall, I would have put my mouth on hers, and then we’d both be in trouble.
My bear is pacing, agitated, furious that I walked away from our mate when she was practically begging me to touch her. He doesn’t understand strategy. Doesn’t understand that one wrong move could get her killed.
All he understands is that she’s ours, and that I’m not claiming her or proving to her that we’re the man for her. Frankly, he thinks I’m a disgrace.
The kitchen is empty when we arrive. It’s a massive space, all stainless steel and marble countertops, designed to feed an army of guards and staff. At this hour, between breakfast and lunch, the cooks are elsewhere.
“Sit.” I pull out a stool at the central island and gesture to it. “I’ll make you something to eat.”
Emma raises an eyebrow but doesn’t argue, instead sliding onto the stool with a defiant grace that makes my cock twitch. Her skirt rides up her thighs as she crosses her legs, and I force myself to look away.
“I’m not hungry.”
She’s being a brat. Whatever’s happened since she woke up this morning, she’s clearly decided to take it out on me.
“I don’t care.” I move to the industrial refrigerator and start pulling out ingredients. Eggs. Cheese. Some vegetables that look fresh enough. “You need to eat and keep up your strength.”
When we get the chance to escape, and we will, I can’t have her too weak to defend herself. She might need to run. She might need to fight.
“You’re very concerned with my nutrition for a kidnapper. Or do you prefer the termsex trafficker?”
Being called that makes me bristle, which, judging by the smug smirk on her face, was her intention.
I crack eggs into a bowl with more force than necessary. “I’m concerned with keeping you alive.”
She needs to act the same around me as she does the others.
“Is that all? There’s nothing else you want me to keep my energy up for?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. Because she’s staring at me with those expressive green eyes as she plucks a strawberry from the bowl beside her and eats it in a manner that’s borderline obscene.
When I turn my back to her, she sighs. “You’re no fun. So uptight.”
The omelette comes together quickly, muscle memory from years of cooking for myself and my brothers. I slide it onto a plate and set it in front of her along with a fork and a glass of orange juice.
She stares at it as if I’ve offered her poison.
“Eat.” The word comes out as a growl. My instincts are pushing at me, desperate to see our mate fed and cared for. When she blinks at me, I force myself to add, “Please.”
Something softens in her eyes at the please. She picks up the fork and takes a small bite, chewing slowly.
“It’s good,” she admits, sounding almost surprised. Another small mouthful and a moan of pleasure makes me proud as hell.
“Don’t sound so shocked.” I lean against the counter across from her, arms folded, watching her eat. “I’m not completely useless.”
“Just mostly useless?”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “Eat your breakfast.”
