“You will eat before seeing the children.”
“I hate you.”
His expression shifts by a fraction, the amusement sharpening into something darker. “Then hate me properly, Maya. Hate me while you sit beside me. Hate me while you wear what I choose and smile when Leon looks your way. Hate me while you take back the children your sister left behind. I can work with hate.”
The room feels too warm.
His voice lowers. “I am very good at working with ugly things.”
For once, I do not have a clean answer.
He steps back, and the space he leaves behind feels too noticeable.
“I’ll have Omar take you to them after breakfast,” he says.
“And until then?”
“You may return to your room, try another door, threaten my staff, steal a fork, or sit here and continue thinking about stabbing me. I would prefer you avoid the kitchen knives. Dolores will be offended if she arrives to find her set incomplete.”
“Who is Dolores?”
“The only woman in this house more dangerous than you.”
“I doubt that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Fine.”
His gaze sharpens. “Fine?”
“I’ll play the part,” I agree. “Five days. You keep the children safe. And you hand Leon over alive.”
He nods. “I’ll see to it.”
“Alive, Stefano,” I push.
His name comes out more familiar than I intend, and his reaction is immediate. His attention tightens around the sound, as if my mouth forming his name did something more interesting than agreeing to his deal.
He steps toward me, and this time I do step back.
“Careful, Maya,” he warns, voice low, husky. “I am giving you a chance to decide how foolish you want to be. Consider your next words carefully.”
He stops into my space as my back meets the bookcase, close enough that I have to tilt my head up to look into his face. His hand lifts, and I notice there is a faint mark near his hand where I bit him. I catch his wrist before he touches me. His eyes drop to my fingers wrapped around his skin, then rise back to mine. “You have an irritating habit of touching me without my permission.”
That shuts me up for half a second too long. His mouth curves, and the grin meets his eyes. He turns his wrist slowly inside my hold. Not breaking free. Just changing the angle until his fingers brush the underside of my jaw. The contact is light. Barely there.
His thumb slides along my jaw, then down the side of my throat, stopping over my pulse point. The shiver hits before I can stop it.
His eyes darken. “Do I frighten you, Maya?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I rarely need to.”
“You are unbearable.”
“And yet,” he says, his thumb still resting at my throat, “you agreed to my terms.”
