Killer Temptation by Marianne Willis Page A

expanse of his wide chest, glide her fingers over every rope of muscle on his abdomen. She shook her head.
    What am I thinking? No, I don’t want to do that. Without passing her a glance, he took some clean clothes from the large armoire, stormed into the office room, and shut the door. Minutes later, he stepped out wearing a black shirt and pants.
    He held a dark coat in one hand, and threw the trench over the wingback chair. His gaze once again ran over the untouched tray beside her. "You must eat something."
    She looked away. He didn't deserve an answer.
    In three quick strides he stood over her, bent down with his arms on either side of the bed, trapping her. "Eat," he grated out. "Before I force it down your throat."
    She gave him what she hoped was a levelled stare. "No."
    He straightened, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, then we shall both starve." With an abrupt shake of his head, he snatched the long, black, double-breasted coat from the chair and stormed toward the door.
    What did he mean by them both starving?
    The vampire goons standing guard outside didn’t blink at the harsh expression on Tristan’s face as he barged past and slammed the door shut.
    Brianna sighed. Fire fuelled her blood, ran through her veins and made her face grow hot. The pumped up anger threatened to explode. She bellowed, taking hold of the silver tray and throwing it across the room. Like a drum cymbal it clattered against the wall. Chunks of mash potato plopped to the floor, gravy dribbled down the rough-edged rock, and the steak lay near the silver dome lid.
    Throwing herself on the bed, she hid her face in a plump pillow. Why didn’t he let her go? Could he be so stupid to believe she changed her mind and wanted to stay? If she wanted out of this place, she had to plan an escape. Whatever it took, she’d breakout. That was a promise.
    The door clicked in its frame. She raised her head. How long had she lay there, face down in the pillow? Hours? She didn’t dare turn and confront the livid look of Tristan. No doubt he noticed the mess she made. “I’m not cleaning it,” she grated out, pumped-up anger still thrumming through her system.
    “Oh, you are one tough cookie,” a female voice teased.
    Brianna sat up and turned, her rage dimming a fraction. “Cynthia?”
    “You.” The dark-haired beauty strolled toward her. “When Tristan mentioned you, I didn’t think you’d be the same Brianna I’d met.” One shoulder-strap of crumpled organza ran over the front of the dress down to her hips before the full skirt arched out to the floor. The gown, even though beautiful, made her look like a gothic debutante. So different from the sexy red dress she wore at the Annual Armistice Celebration. Cynthia seemed like the type to pull through for a friend in need. After all, at the Armistice Celebration she had helped fix her dress.
    “I need your help. Please, help me escape.”
    Cynthia bit her lower lip, shaking her head. True pity infused her features. “I can’t do that.”
    “Can you at least give me a phone so I can call my cousin?” If only Amber had heard her earlier. Maybe she would put two and two together, but if she couldn’t, then Cynthia was her last hope.
    Cynthia shook her head again and pointed toward the door. “The men who were outside are Tristan’s brothers. After being summoned for the conference with the council, they told me to guard the door. If anything, I should stop you from attempting escape.” Her face twisted with regret. “I like you, Brianna. And I wish I could help you, but I’d lose my head if I did what you ask. I’m so sorry, but here, this is for you.” She held out a brown paper bag and bottled water.
    Brianna frowned at the bag.
    “Tristan says you haven’t eaten. Thought you might be hungry, so I brought you a baguette.”
    Her gaze strayed from the food to the woman. “Where is he?” Stupid question, why should she care?
    “Tristan? He’s also at the council conference