"Incinerated?" The word bursts from my lips, sharp and incredulous. "You burned my clothes?"
"Every thread." His voice drops to a low, possessive rumble, the words deliberate and final. "I don't want the scent of your old life touching you. From now on, you wear what I provide, or you wear nothing at all. I didn't just buy your problems, Sienna. I completely erased the context of your previous life. You are free from rent obligations, and you don't need to respond to any clients. I am the only obligation you have left." He turns andwalks around the marble island. He is six foot four of pure, lethal predator, his long strides eating up the gap separating us before I can even think to step back.
He stops less than two feet away. The sheer heat radiating off his massive frame washes over me. He smells of cedar, dark roast coffee, and the clean, sharp scent of expensive soap. No blood today. Just the raw, undiluted scent of the man himself.
He holds out the black ceramic cup.
I stare at it. I don't move my hands from where they are clutching the lapels of my robe. "I don't want your coffee. I want to go home."
Dominic's jaw flexes. A tiny muscle ticks just beneath the silver hair at his right temple. He doesn't lower the cup. "Take the espresso, Sienna."
"No."
"Take it." The command is softer this time, but the underlying steel is absolute. It's not a request. It's a directive from a man who has never been told no in his life.
I reach out, my hand completely numb. My fingers brush the warm ceramic, but they also brush the rough, calloused side of his index finger.
The point of contact is minuscule, barely a friction of skin, but I yank my hand back as if I've touched a live wire. The cup tilts in his steady grip, but he doesn't drop it. He simply sets it down on the edge of the marble island with a quiet clink.
"You are afraid of me," he observes. It's not a question. It's a factual statement, devoid of emotion, yet there is a dark, churning intensity in his eyes that belies his calm tone.
"You execute people on plastic tarps," I snap, my voice cracking, the memory of the wet, tearing sounds from the private dining room rushing back to assault my ears. "You kidnapped me. You burned my clothes. Why would I possibly be afraid of you?"
Dominic doesn't blink. He steps closer. One step. My back hits the edge of a heavy, leather-upholstered armchair behind me. I am trapped between the furniture and the unyielding wall of his chest. I have to tilt my head back just to maintain eye contact with him.
"I eliminated a threat to my family on that tarp," Dominic corrects, his voice dropping an octave, slipping into a low, rumbling register that vibrates straight through my bones. "I did not kidnap you. I extracted you from a volatile situation. And I provided you with better garments than the ones you ruined."
"I have a life!" I yell, the frustration and terror finally boiling over, breaking through my paralysis. I shove my hand against his chest. It's like pushing a brick wall. He doesn't yield a single millimeter. Beneath the thin cotton of his henley, the dense, heavy muscle is warm and impossibly solid. "I have a flower shop to open. I have orders to fulfill. Today is a Saturday. It's my busiest day. I have brides waiting for their arrangements. You can't just keep me here!"
Dominic looks down at where my hand is pressed against his chest over his heart. The steady, slow thud of his heartbeat pulses against my palm. Calm. Untouched by my panic.
Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up. His massive hand swallows mine. His palm is rough with calluses, the grip possessive and absolute as he pulls my hand away from his chest, but he doesn't let it go. He holds my knuckles, his thumb brushing over the soft skin he coated in cream last night.
"Your shop will remain closed," he says, his dark eyes rising from our joined hands to lock onto mine.
"You can't do that!" I struggle against his grip, trying to pull my hand back, but his fingers tighten just enough to hold me in place without bruising. "I will go bankrupt. I have rent. I have suppliers. I can't just disappear!"
"The rent on the commercial space at 402 North State Street has been paid in full for the next five years," Dominic states, his voice perfectly level, tracking my wide, horrified eyes. "Your suppliers have been compensated for all outstanding invoices, plus a fifty percent premium for the inconvenience of canceling today's deliveries. The brides who expected their arrangements have received full refunds and equivalent floral packages from a competitor, anonymously paid for by an external account."
I stop struggling. My lungs seize. The air completely empties from my chest.
"You... what?"
"I dismantled your problems, Sienna," he says softly, taking a fraction of a step closer, erasing the last inch of space between us. The tips of his shoes touch my bare toes. "Every single one of them. They no longer exist. You have no lease to pay, no clients to answer to. I am the only obligation you have left."
"You have no right," I whisper, my voice hollow, the sheer magnitude of his control crashing down on me. He didn't just take me from the restaurant. In the span of eight hours, while I was asleep in his bed, he dismantled my entire life. He erased my financial burdens, my obligations, my responsibilities. He cut every string tying me to the outside world.
"I have every right," Dominic counters, a dark, primal possessiveness bleeding into his tone. He releases my hand, only to slide his palm up my arm, over the slick silk of the sleeve, until his fingers curve around the back of my neck. His thumb rests heavily against the frantic pulse jumping beneath my jaw. "You saw things last night that you were never meant to see. In my world, a civilian who sees what you saw is a liability. A loose end."
"So tie me up and throw me in the lake," I choke out, tears finally breaking free and tracking hot down my cheek. "If I'm a liability, just kill me."
The reaction is instantaneous. And terrifying.
Dominic's grip on my neck tightens—not to hurt, but to own. His fingers curl into the base of my skull with sudden, explosive authority. He hauls me sideways out from behind the armchair, dragging me with him until my spine hits the cold drywall. He follows immediately, his massive frame crowding in, caging me between his heat and the stone-cold wall. His left hand slams flat against the plaster beside my head while his right hand remains wrapped tightly around my nape.
"Do not," he snarls, the calm veneer shattering completely, revealing the monster underneath, "ever suggest I would harm you. Do not ever speak those words again. Do you understand me?"
My throat is entirely clogged with adrenaline. I nod frantically, unable to form words.
