“I’ve purchased things for you,” Dorian says. “Shoes, clothes, cosmetics, other supplies. You’ll be comfortable.”
“Comfortable,” I echo.
“Yes. We’ll both be comfortable here until you finish the work. I’m sorry to take such steps, but it’s urgent, you see.” He points to his old portrait. There are two new holes, each barely larger than the head of a pin. “I told you I was running out of time.”
“So you decided to kidnap me?” My voice shakes with anger. “You bastard.”
“Don’t act so surprised. I warned you that if you couldn’t listen to reason, I’d have to try other methods.”
“Other methods like kidnapping me? Threatening me?”
A shiver of uncertainty crosses his face. “Threatening you? No. Just giving you time to think. Extra motivation.”
He says it like he’s reciting a line, and I frown, suddenly suspicious. “Was this your idea or Lloyd’s?”
The answer shows in his face—another tremor of uncertainty. “I make my own decisions.”
“But Lloyd suggested this, didn’t he? Damn it, Dorian, why can’t you see the influence he has over you?”
“This isn’t about Lloyd!” he snaps. “It’s about you refusing to show me this one kindness when I have given you everything. How many times do I have to eat you out and promise you my love before you finally deign to save my life?”
My eyes sting, but I blink furiously. I won’t cry right now. I won’t.
“That’s the evil of your portrait talking,” I tell him. “The rot of it, corrupting the good parts of you. This is all coming from your twisted sense of self-preservation, your sick obsession with your own youth and beauty. Narcissism and selfishness, combined.”
He paces toward me, a tall oncoming threat with burning blue eyes. “That’s right, Baz. I’m evil, rotten, twisted, sick, obsessed. I’m a selfish narcissist. I told you there wasn’t anything left in me worth loving, but you refused to believe it. Beguiled by my goddamn face, lured by my body like everyone else, you willfully ignored my warnings.”
“I didn’t ignore them. I understood them. I understand you, all of you. Even the horrible side.”
“So you hate me.”
I release a cracked laugh. “That’s the sick part. I think I actually love you. What does that say about me, that I can see everything you are and still care?”
Pain contorts his handsome face. His fists clench at his sides. “It makes you a damn fool,” he whispers.
He’s gritting his teeth, holding himself rigidly in place as I slowly skirt around him, toward the door.
“I’m leaving,” I say. “Don’t try to stop me. If you let me go, I’ll try to forget that you planned to keep me as your captive.”
“I have the key to the boat. And I’m not taking you back to shore.”
The glitter of triumph in his eyes fuels my anger. “What the actual fuck, Dorian?” I reach to my hip for my purse, planning to grab my phone and call someone—and then I remember.
He told me to leave my bag in the boat.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Dorian’s eyebrows lift slightly. He saw the movement. He knows what I was reaching for, what I’m thinking.
“Don’t run, Baz,” he warns.
I make a dash for the door anyway. He catches up before I can even get it open, his chest slamming into my back as he pins me flat against the door, my cheek pressed to the paneled wood. His hands close on my wrists, firmly holding them to the polished surface. His body is a firm wall of muscle at my back, his breath puffing hot against my hair. I writhe, bucking, but he crowds closer, pressing in tight.
“Stop fighting me, Baz.”
My breasts are smushed against the door. I don’t have an inch of space in which to maneuver. And god help me, my panties are illogically, inappropriately soaked. Maybe something inside me is just as darkly twisted as he is.
“Why couldn’t you just accept my answer?” I whisper.
