The way he's looking at me like I'm something precious. Something worth protecting. Something worth breaking his own rules for.
Stop it, I tell myself.Stop noticing. Stop feeling.
But when he finally pushes off the dresser and moves slowly—so slowly—toward me, I don't back away. He stops an arm's length from me, close enough to feel his warmth. Far enough that I don't feel trapped.
And then his scarred, dangerous fingers brush my cheek so gently that I barely feel it.
But god, I do feel it. I feel iteverywhere.
My eyes flutter closed without my permission, and I hear his sharp intake of breath.
“Bianca,” he whispers.
When I open my eyes, he's staring at me like I've undone him completely.
And the terrifying part?
I want to.
I watch as he runs a hand over his shaved head, and for a moment, he looks almost vulnerable. The muscles in his arm flex with the movement, and I force myself to look away. “I've seen what fear does to people. Whatdesperation does. And I'll not have your blood on my hands ’cause I left you alone.”
He stops, his jaw clenching. I watch the visible tension thrumming through his massive frame.
“I'm not going to hurt myself,” I say.Jesus. Whothinksthat way?
His eyes hold mine for a long moment, searching, and the air between us feels thick. Electric. “Good. Make yourself at home. I have some work to do before I join you.”
The way he says “join you,” like we're sharing something, like this is normal, makes my stomach flip.
I sigh, and my stomach growls loud enough that I'm sure he hears it.
I'm so hungry I'm dizzy and a little lightheaded. Eventually, I'll have to cave. I can't starve myself to death, and something tells me he wouldn't let me if I tried.
Eh, maybe this is a good thing. Maybe I'll lose a few pounds while I'm here.
My god. I can't believe I'm in the middle of nowhere, being held hostage by a stranger, and I'm considering losing weight by starving myself. Am I absolutely out of my mind?
Maybe Marcus's words have gotten to me more than I thought. He'd probably be thrilled to pick me up after I escape from here, twenty pounds lighter or whatever.
No. I won't think about that now.
“You sure you're not hungry?” he says, as if he's reading my mind, and when I glance up, he's watching me with an intensity that makes me feel exposed.
I shake my head. “I'm fine.”
“Right then. Off you go.” He moves toward the door, and I feel the loss of his presence like a physical thing. “If you need anything…” He stops. The whole situation's awkward. I'm not a guest, and he knows it. “I'll be back. Rest.”
He pauses at the doorway and glances down the hall toward the kitchen. “What about the cat?”
“Lancelot doesn't sleep in bed with me,” I say, frowning. I'd love it if he did, but he's not a bed cat. Never has been. I sigh. “Jerk.”
I could use some company right now… someone warm and uncomplicated.
“What am I supposed to do with him?” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the door.
“I suppose you need to find a litter box, since you took him away from his and you don't want him pissing in the laundry?”
He makes a face that’s between a grimace and a smirk, and the hint of amusement transforms his features, making him look younger.
