perversions.
“Eat,
damn you,” Q ordered, face stoic.
After
everything I’d been through, after the breath stealing kiss, and the bloody
Mexicans, and my stupid naivety—I could go on and on—I embraced my gutter mouth.
“Fuck. You.”
Eyes
widened and jaw clenched, but he didn’t retaliate. He cut a delicate mouthful,
chewing carefully. Every bite controlled and precise, as if he kept a tight
rein on himself at all times. What did he battle with? Because he battled, I
saw that in his eyes.
“If
you won’t tell me your name, tell me something else about you.”
Why
did he want to know? He’d already said nothing else mattered but being his.
Swallowing,
I stared outside, toward the terrace and the huge bird table swarming with
noisy sparrows and blackbirds. The manicured gardens, with perfect hedges and
bare flowers, glittered with frost like sparkly lace. From hot Mexico to winter
in France, I missed home miserably.
Q
put his knife and fork down, placing hands in his lap. I made the mistake of
looking at him, and we engaged in another staring competition. I yelled and
screamed silently while he sat and dominated with unsaid threats.
He
broke the contest, murmuring, “You have two choices.”
My
ears pricked, but I pretended insolence. Two choices. Try three. Whatever the
first two, the third was escape. I’d make it happen. I’d laser my tattoo off, cut
the GPS tag off my ankle, and find a way to remove the node in my neck. I may
have brought this on myself, but I would get myself out.
Q
continued in his deep, accented voice, “One, I rape you, hurt you, do
everything you expect of me, and make you live a miserable existence.”
I
narrowed my eyes, watching closely. His shoulders tensed on the word rape, but
excitement heated his gaze, too. Why the two emotions? One hot and wanting, the
other repulsed and angry. Lacing fingers together, I squeezed. Fear threatened
to close my throat.
“Or,
tell me about yourself, and, if you have a skill I need, I’ll put you to work
in other ways.”
I
couldn’t help myself. “Other ways?”
Regret
flickered across his face so quickly, I wondered if I imagined it. He nodded
infinitesimally. “Other ways.”
“Like
what?”
“Tell
me about yourself.”
“Tell
me first.”
He
slammed his hands on either side of his plate, rattling the china. “Goddammit, girl,
I’m offering you a choice. But it doesn’t mean I can’t take that choice away.”
He breathed hard and his anger sent fear spiralling inside.
He
called me girl, and yet, I doubted he was much older. Early thirties at the
latest. But age didn’t matter when he shouted. He scared me more than Leather
Jacket did. At least with him, I knew the man I fought. Q, I had no idea.
Trying
to focus, I sucked in a breath. Q offered me a choice. If I wanted to escape, I
had to bide my time. If Q put me to work, I might have more opportunity than being
tied to a bed.
I
mirrored him, placing hands on the table, strengthening my resolve. “What do
you want to know?”
His
shoulders relaxed a little, but the hardness in his pale green gaze never left.
“Where are you from?”
“Melbourne.”
“Do
you speak any other language but English?”
I
shook my head.
He
snorted. “That’s the first thing to change. I refuse to speak English for long
periods. It’s a boring language. You will learn French.” Waving the comment
away, he asked, “What other education do you have?”
I
walked a spider’s web, one wrong answer and I tickled the wrong strand,
inviting choice number one of rape and ruin.
“I’m
still at university. I’ve waitressed and worked in retail.”
He
huffed, inspecting perfect fingernails. “Nothing of importance. You better have
more talent, otherwise…”
I
rushed, “I’m training to be in property development. I’ve almost completed a
project managing degree and side line in architectural sketches.”
He
paused. Interest replaced the
“Eat,
damn you,” Q ordered, face stoic.
After
everything I’d been through, after the breath stealing kiss, and the bloody
Mexicans, and my stupid naivety—I could go on and on—I embraced my gutter mouth.
“Fuck. You.”
Eyes
widened and jaw clenched, but he didn’t retaliate. He cut a delicate mouthful,
chewing carefully. Every bite controlled and precise, as if he kept a tight
rein on himself at all times. What did he battle with? Because he battled, I
saw that in his eyes.
“If
you won’t tell me your name, tell me something else about you.”
Why
did he want to know? He’d already said nothing else mattered but being his.
Swallowing,
I stared outside, toward the terrace and the huge bird table swarming with
noisy sparrows and blackbirds. The manicured gardens, with perfect hedges and
bare flowers, glittered with frost like sparkly lace. From hot Mexico to winter
in France, I missed home miserably.
Q
put his knife and fork down, placing hands in his lap. I made the mistake of
looking at him, and we engaged in another staring competition. I yelled and
screamed silently while he sat and dominated with unsaid threats.
He
broke the contest, murmuring, “You have two choices.”
My
ears pricked, but I pretended insolence. Two choices. Try three. Whatever the
first two, the third was escape. I’d make it happen. I’d laser my tattoo off, cut
the GPS tag off my ankle, and find a way to remove the node in my neck. I may
have brought this on myself, but I would get myself out.
Q
continued in his deep, accented voice, “One, I rape you, hurt you, do
everything you expect of me, and make you live a miserable existence.”
I
narrowed my eyes, watching closely. His shoulders tensed on the word rape, but
excitement heated his gaze, too. Why the two emotions? One hot and wanting, the
other repulsed and angry. Lacing fingers together, I squeezed. Fear threatened
to close my throat.
“Or,
tell me about yourself, and, if you have a skill I need, I’ll put you to work
in other ways.”
I
couldn’t help myself. “Other ways?”
Regret
flickered across his face so quickly, I wondered if I imagined it. He nodded
infinitesimally. “Other ways.”
“Like
what?”
“Tell
me about yourself.”
“Tell
me first.”
He
slammed his hands on either side of his plate, rattling the china. “Goddammit, girl,
I’m offering you a choice. But it doesn’t mean I can’t take that choice away.”
He breathed hard and his anger sent fear spiralling inside.
He
called me girl, and yet, I doubted he was much older. Early thirties at the
latest. But age didn’t matter when he shouted. He scared me more than Leather
Jacket did. At least with him, I knew the man I fought. Q, I had no idea.
Trying
to focus, I sucked in a breath. Q offered me a choice. If I wanted to escape, I
had to bide my time. If Q put me to work, I might have more opportunity than being
tied to a bed.
I
mirrored him, placing hands on the table, strengthening my resolve. “What do
you want to know?”
His
shoulders relaxed a little, but the hardness in his pale green gaze never left.
“Where are you from?”
“Melbourne.”
“Do
you speak any other language but English?”
I
shook my head.
He
snorted. “That’s the first thing to change. I refuse to speak English for long
periods. It’s a boring language. You will learn French.” Waving the comment
away, he asked, “What other education do you have?”
I
walked a spider’s web, one wrong answer and I tickled the wrong strand,
inviting choice number one of rape and ruin.
“I’m
still at university. I’ve waitressed and worked in retail.”
He
huffed, inspecting perfect fingernails. “Nothing of importance. You better have
more talent, otherwise…”
I
rushed, “I’m training to be in property development. I’ve almost completed a
project managing degree and side line in architectural sketches.”
He
paused. Interest replaced the
Similar Books
