Page 9 of Bound in Possession

He doesn't reply, carefully wiping away the trail of blood.

I look down at the top of his dark blond head, watching the steady, meticulous way he handles the gauze. "You don't seem like the type of man to buy a woman at an auction," I murmur, the sarcasm slipping away for a brief moment.

He stops, slowly looking up at me, his face only inches from mine. In the small, brightly lit bathroom, the space between us suddenly feels suffocatingly intimate.

"You don't know the type of man that I am, Camilla," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

A sudden shiver runs through me. I shift uncomfortably under his intense gaze, and as I move, I notice his eyes drop for a split second, tracing the curve of my breasts in my bra, before his discipline snaps back and his focus returns to my wound.

To break the sudden tension, I tilt my chin up. "Why did you buy me? There were a lot of other girls on that stage. More beautiful, and likely far more experienced in dealing with men like you. Why me?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, smoothing a piece of medical tape over the bandage. "I bought you to take you from Viktor."

"And why on earth would you care about taking me from him?"

He finishes securing the dressing, throws the trash into the bin, and looks back at me, his expression hardening. "I expect a little more appreciation, printsessa. Viktor is very bad news. You would have been in a living hell if you had gone with him tonight."

I let out a harsh scoff, crossing my arms over my chest. "Oh, so you’re the good man in this scenario? You expect me to believe you bought me from Viktor because you’re some Good Samaritan who just wanted to save the damsel in distress?"

He snaps the first aid box shut and slides it back under the counter, entirely unfazed by my biting tone.

"I am no one's savior," he says smoothly.

The weight of my reality crashes back down on me. I am sitting on the counter, practically naked, trapped in a house I don't know, with a man who could do whatever he wants with me. "So what now?" I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "What happens to me?"

Instead of stepping away, Maksim closes the distance between us. He steps into my space, his large frame crowding me against the edge of the counter, completely trapping me between his body and the mirror. He leans down, his eyes burning into mine with an unyielding, terrifying finality.

"So now," he whispers, his breath brushing against my lips, "you will be my wife."

CHAPTER FIVE

MAKSIM

At my words, Camilla goes into another immediate fit of rage. Her jaw drops, her eyes widening into disks of pure, unadulterated shock. The ladylike composure she has been fighting so hard to maintain finally cracks.

“Your wife?" she gasps, her voice taking on a high pitch. "Are you entirely out of your mind? I would rather marry a stray dog in the gutters of Manhattan! You think because you threw a briefcase full of blood money at an auctioneer, you get to drag me to an altar?"

Under any other circumstances, her fiery indignation would make me laugh right in her face. But I am tired. I am completely exhausted from the night’s firefight, and having her pinned here in nothing but her lace bra and panties is a dangerous game. Her breasts are practically right in my face, and they are quite easily the most beautiful mounds I have ever seen.

She is wearing a delicate diamond pendant that rests perfectly in the shallow valley between them, rising and falling rapidly with her furious breaths. It takes everything in me not to yank the jewelry off and bury my face right into her skin.

"You are a criminal, a brute, and a kidnapper!" she yells, her face flushing a deep, pretty pink as she glares into my eyes. " My family will tear your entire syndicate to pieces for this. You cannot just lock me in a room and tell me I am your wife!"

Now, I am no gentleman—hell no—but even a man like me can recognize she has had a horribly rough night and needs to be allowed to rest. Her own father sold her off like cattle, she is wounded and stitched up, and now she is spending the night with a Russian she barely knows. Of course, she is blowing up at me.

She is still mid-tirade, her hands gesturing wildly as she spits out elegant, biting insults about my lineage, when I simply cut her off.

"Shower," I tell her flatly, my voice dropping an octave, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

Without waiting to hear whatever insult she has lined up next, I turn on my heel and walk out of the bathroom. I stride over to the bedroom closet, grabbing one of my clean black t-shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants. I return to the bathroom and toss the pile of oversized clothes directly onto the counter, right next to her bare thigh.

She is still there, completely silent now, her mouth slightly open as she glares at the clothes like they've insulted her. I don't give her the satisfaction of looking at her again. I just turn around, walk back into the bedroom, and close the heavy door behind me.

A few moments later, the hiss of running water echoes from behind the wood. I lean my back against the wall, listening to the shower, and shake my head. This woman is going to be a beautiful, exhausting nightmare.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, pulling my phone from my pocket to text Dmitri.

Find out who started the firefight at the auction. I need a full brief on the fallout. As soon as possible.