The previous night flashed through her mind in slides: the champagne, the argument, the gun, the way he'd pushed her, pulled her, devoured her. The way she'd let him.
She tried to shift away, but his arm pulled her back, and he stirred. She felt it before she heard it—the change in his breathing, the subtle shift of the air as his senses awakened.
"You're avoiding me," he said, voice rough with sleep.
Leila didn't look at him. "I'm giving you more space to sleep."
There was a beat of silence between them. She expected him to laugh, to tease her. Instead, when he spoke, his voice was disgruntled.
"Why?"
She pressed her lips together.
Makros sat up, elbow supporting him, looking at her. She felt his gaze piercing her, testing for vulnerability.
"You don't like what happened last night," he continued. It wasn't a question but a statement.
Leila drew in a sharp breath. "I should."
"Did you?"
Leila didn't reply.
Her silence was loud.
Makros looked at her for a moment before he spoke. "I've indulged you long enough." His hand closed around her jaw, forcing her chin sideways so she couldn't look away from him. "Your excuses. Your little games. I’ve entertained for far too long. But that's over. I don't care about how you feel about last night. I don't need your permission to do anything to you. I never did."
He released her just as swiftly as he had seized her, dismissing the entire conversation.
Leila wanted to lash out, to demand just who the hell he thought he was, but she didn't have strength for it.
Makros didn't concern himself with whether she had regrets about being intimate with him. He was only interested in making sure it happened again and again until she surrendered her mind and soul.
There was a knock at the door.
Makros didn't glance away from her as he sharply said, "Enter."
The door opened and a woman entered, bringing a shiny black shopping bag. She was young, efficient-looking, her face set in a gentle expression. Without a word, she dropped the bag on a chair next to the bed and unpacked its content for them to see. A gorgeous, costly, fitted dark green silk dress.
Leila's stomach clenched.
Not again.
She hated when he dictated what she should wear.
The woman spoke to Makros. "As you requested,signor."
He nodded brusquely in agreement before turning to Leila. "Freshen up. Dress."
She tensed. "Why?"
He rested against the headboard, his expression unyielding. "You're going with me."
Leila swallowed. "Where?"
Makros stood up, stretching with a loose ease before reaching for his phone on the nightstand. "A meeting." His eyes flicked toward the dress. "I want you to be presentable."
Leila did not budge. "And if I don't?"
