What the hell am I supposed to do?
When I accept I don’t have an answer to that, I sit on the floor. Right at the end of Emmanuel’s bed, because like hell am I sitting on it. I scrunch up my nose. God only knows how many girls he’s had up here.
Argh, why the hell did he have to leave me behind. I’d rather be fighting with him than sitting here by myself.
About ten minutes into my protest (is that what I’m doing?) Maria knocks on the open door. “Oh,mija, why are you on the floor?” she asks,a tray resting on one arm while she balances the rest on her hip.
“It seemed like the safest place to sit,” I tell her.
“Mr. Lopez would not like you sitting on the floor, Miss Evie,” she says.
“Yeah, well, Mr. Lopez needs to learn that he can’t always have everything he wants,” I fire back.
Maria smiles at me. And I realize how rude I was.
“I’m so sorry. I did not mean to be rude to you, Maria.”
“Never mind that. You’re not wrong.” She sighs. “I’ll just leave this over here for you. If you need anything else, just call down to the kitchen.” Maria places the tray on a table in the corner of the room, where two small chairs are set up beside it.
“Thank you.” I smile. It’s not this poor woman’s fault she works for a kidnapping asshole.
I don’t get up and check out the tray, even though it smells so good. It appears I’m on a hunger strike as well. Because about an hour later, when Emmanuel steps back into the room, I’m still sitting on the floor in front of the bed.
He stops when he spots me. “What happened? Why the fuck are you on the floor?”
I look up at him, and my mouth drops open.Emmanuel reaches down, scoops up my arms, and lifts me to my feet.
“What happened?” he repeats. “Why are you on the floor? Are you hurt?” His eyes travel all over my body, and I could almost fool myself into thinking he actually cares.
He doesn’t. Why would he? He doesn’t know me.
As soon as the shock wears off, the sudden spark of him touching me, my eyes catch on the blood on his hands. On his shirt too.
“What happened to you? Are you about to bleed out?” I shake my head. “No, I wouldn’t be that lucky.” I don’t think it’s his blood anyway. He doesn’t appear injured.
Emmanuel laughs, and I swear the sound goes right to my core. He really needs to stop doing that. “I’m okay. It’s not my blood. Thanks for the concern, though, mi alma.”
“I’m not concerned,” I say, taking a step backwards.
“Why were you on the floor? You don’t belong on the fucking floor,” he grunts.
“I’m protesting,” I tell him.
“What are you protesting?” he asks as he starts undoing his shirt, revealing more of that tanned, inked skin with each button.
My mouth goes dry, but I manage to reply, “Being held captive.”
“You’re not captive. We’ve discussed this.” Emmanuel drops his shirt onto the floor, and my eyes feast on his bare torso.
Holy shit, I knew this man was dangerous. But this? The way my panties dampen at the sight of him? This is way worse.
Emmanuel turns and heads through an adjoining door. I follow him. I don’t know what else to do. Bad decision, because it’s a bathroom. I’m frozen to the spot as he drops his pants and steps into the shower, totally unbothered by being completely naked in front of me.
He glances over a shoulder to look at me. “You wanna join?”
“Nope, I’m good.” I lean against the cabinet and watch him. If he’s not bothered by being naked, then I’m not going to be bothered by looking.
“You sure? I’d make it worth your while.” He smirks.
