“No,” he says simply, “you don’t.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can.” He starts walking toward me, slowly and deliberately, his dress shoes clicking on the marble and echoing through the vast space. There’s no hurry to his movement, no concern that I’ll break into a run and get free. It’s like I’m right where he wants me.
“I told you not to try this, Thea.”
I ball my hands into tight fists. “I don’t belong to you.” I step back, bumping into the door. The giant knob digs into my spine. “You don’t get toownme. That’s not how it works.”
He continues moving toward me.
“I paid a million dollars for you,” he says, still advancing slowly. “That’s exactly how it works.”
He’s getting closer.
I turn, fumbling for the huge antique knob behind me. It’s heavy as hell, but I manage to turn it, twisting it all the way around.
But it doesn’t click.
It’s locked.
“Let me out,” I demand, hating the tremor in my voice. “Please.”
He stops a foot away. He towers over me, his dark eyes unreadable in the amber light.
“No.”
Fury surges through me. I shove at his chest with both hands. “You can’t do this!”
He catches my wrists before I can pull back, his grip firm but not painful, and pins them against the door on either side of my head.
“I can,” he says quietly, “and I will, because if you walk out of that door, Thea, if you manage to escape, you’ll be back in their clutches by tomorrow morning—or worse.”
“Whose clutches? What are you talking about?”
His face is inches from mine now. I can feel his heat. “Did those men at the auction look like they were playing around? The Russian wanted you. He was not pleased to be outbid. If they find you—and they will—you’ll be right back on that stage tomorrow night, and I might not be able to save you again.”
My breath hitches. I want to argue, to fight, but the certainty in his voice makes my words die in my throat.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His mouth curves into a half-amused grin.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping. “You know I bought you, but you don’t know why, do you?”
“Because you’re a disgusting pig,” I practically spit, “like all the rest of them.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
He holds my gaze. Why the hell does my body have to be such a goddamn traitor?
“Maybe,” he says, “but you’re mine now, and the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
I try to wrench my wrists free, but he doesn’t let go. He just holds me there, his body a wall of heat, muscle, and unyielding control, and I hate how his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth.
