She stood in the entrance hall exactly where she’d stood last night.Same suitcase.Same spot.But everything else was different.
Her posture had changed.Where last night she’d been a bundle of nerves and fear, tonight she stood straight-backed.Chin lifted.Hands relaxed at her sides instead of clenched into fists.She wore navy blue, a modest dress buttoned to the throat, but she wore it like a shield instead of camouflage.
And when she looked at me, her eyes were cool.Assessing.Like she was the one evaluating me rather than the other way around.
Interesting.
“Miss Hughes.”I stopped on the bottom stair, keeping the height advantage.“You’re punctual.”
“Mr.Antonov.”Her voice was steady.No tremor.No fear-bright edge.“You said eight o’clock.”
Someone had coached her.The realization hit me as her scent reached my nose.Still apples and cream underneath, still that maddening sweetness that made my mouth water.But overlaid now with something sharper.Determination.Resolve.The bright copper note of fear was muted, buried beneath layers of forced calm.
She’d shielded herself.Found some well of strength between last night and now, and wrapped it around herself like chain mail.
Good.
The wolf approved.Strong mate.Clever mate.She adapts.She learns.
So did I.I’d built my empire by conquering challenges, by taking things others said couldn’t be taken.The harder the target, the sweeter the victory.She wanted to make this difficult?Fine.I would enjoy dismantling her defenses piece by piece.I would savor every crack in that new composure, every moment her careful control slipped.
Breaking her would be even more satisfying now.
“Follow me.”
I led her through the manor without speaking.Let her footsteps echo behind mine.Let her take in the paintings, the sculptures, the cold grandeur of a house that had never been a home.
But I could smell her beneath all of it.That sweet, clean scent cutting through the mustiness like sunshine through storm clouds.
My quarters occupied the entire east wing of the upper floor.I’d had them renovated when I bought the property, stripping away the Victorian fussiness and replacing it with clean lines, dark wood, leather and silk.A predator’s den.Everything in its place.Everything under control.
Until her.
“Close the door.”
She did.The click of the latch echoed in the silence.
“Kneel.”
She knelt.Smoothly, gracefully, without the hesitation of last night.Her dress pooled around her knees, navy blue against the dark Persian rug.A shield of a different kind.
But she met my eyes.Didn’t look away.Waited.
Too composed.I stepped forward and slid my hand into her hair, gripping the strands at the base of her skull.Not hard enough to hurt.Just enough to tilt her head back, to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, to remind her who held the power here.Her breath caught, but she didn’t fight it.
Something about that direct gaze made my cock twitch.The fear had been intoxicating, yes.But this composure, this studied calm in the face of her captor, was something else entirely.
I circled her slowly.She tracked my movement with her eyes as long as she could, then faced forward when I moved behind her.Her breathing stayed even.Her pulse, visible in the delicate skin of her throat, remained steady.
“You’ve been thinking about last night.”I stopped behind her, close enough that my breath stirred her hair.Close enough to catch the warm scent rising from her skin.“Processing.Planning.”
She said nothing.
“Someone gave you advice.”I leaned down until my lips nearly brushed her ear.“Told you to guard yourself.Guard yourself.Treat this like a transaction.”
Still nothing.But I saw the slight tension in her shoulders.The minute stiffening of her spine.
“Let me be clear.”I straightened, resumed my circuit around her kneeling form.“I don’t care what defenses you wear.I’ll strip them away piece by piece.Whatever defenses you’ve constructed between last night and now, they won’t save you.”
