As soon as the shower was off, he knocked on the door. “I’m coming in.”
He was dressed but still dangerous. All that stood between his hands and my body was a robe that I quickly knotted again. But seeing him now had a focusing effect. The drugs weren’t gone, but they were wearing down. I no longer had the sick urge to smile, and my cut was beginning to hurt again.
“You need to drink some more water.”
“No, thanks,” I said.
He grabbed an empty glass off the counter and filled it with water from the tap, passing it to me. “No drugs. Once you drink all of this, you can have some dinner.”
I had no idea what time it was, but at least twenty-four hours had passed since my last meal. I chugged the water, thirsty anyway, and when I finished, he made good on his promise.
The bathroom door led out into a luxurious bedroom with a king-sized platform bed and a plush leather couch to one side. On the coffee table before it, a bowl of soup and half of a French baguette waited.
“I’m sorry it’s barely warm, but I didn’t want you to get any ideas about throwing it at me.”
I ate, not caring if it was drugged or poisoned, not caring that he sat on the couch beside me, his watchful gaze never leaving me. Did he realize the water and food would eventually give me back some strength?
“If you have any more ideas about escape, there are other men here at the house.”
“I know, the Italians,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “It’s safer if you stay in this room. Or,” he paused, “I can take you back to the basement.”
This made me evaluate the room critically. It had windows and a door that didn’t appear to have a bar over it. But if he was offering to let me stay here, where there were at least a dozen things I could use as weapons, there had to be a reason.
“What’s the catch?”
“This is my room.”
Of course it is.I stifled the knee-jerk reaction to tell him I’d go to the basement. This was another attempt to position me just where he wanted. It would give him more chances to mess with me, physically and psychologically.
Or worse.
But the opportunity was too good to pass up, and he knew it. I’d have to table my hatred. “You expect me to stay here, with you?”
“Yeah, I do. I figure you’re probably tired, and I’ll let you sleep here.”
Implying he wouldn’t allow me to sleep in the basement. But if I were here, where, exactly, was he going to be? He looked as tired as I was.
“You’ll sleep on the couch,” I told him. If he was even planning on sleeping.
“There are clothes in the closet for you.”
I went into the walk-in closet and shut the door, banding an arm around my stomach, trying to hold myself together. The space was almost entirely empty, so there was nothing I could use to defend myself. A single set of folded clothes waited on a bare shelf.
You can do this.I repeated it as a mantra as I slowly pulled on a pair of pajama pants and the long-sleeved shirt meant for me.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked, impatient.
When I came out, he was shirtless and sitting in the large bed, already under the covers. His gaze fell on me like he was excited to see how I’d react. I only made it a few steps toward the couch before he leapt from the bed and wrapped his arms around me.
His mouth was by my ear. “The bed. I’m not discussing it.”
His hold was a vise, and the drugs wore thin now, making it hard to fight. “No. I won’t. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Why? Because you hope to kill me if I fall asleep? That’s not going to happen.”
It’s because I don’t know what you’ll do to me.He dragged me to the bed and forced me to sit on the soft mattress.
