He wasn’t exactly a gentleman to her either when he first brought her here. He’d threatened to kill her, destroyed her phone right before her eyes, cutting off every form of contact between her and her father—but she would have other people she loved, wouldn’t she? Because by doing that, he had not just cut her off from her father, but everyone else in her life, and that would definitely make her feel like a prisoner. So, yes, she had every reason to hate him.
But Fedya’s heart softened with every passing second he spent with her. His fascination had grown into an obsession he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried. His obsession was something else now, coiled tight into a single feeling that made it a bit hard to breathe whenever she was near. And that made him ease whatever worries and distrust he may have had towards her as well.
He wanted to do something nice for her, something to make her hate him less. He lathered his soap as an idea struck him. It would take him leaving her alone for a while to get it all set up, but it would make her happy nonetheless. It had to.
By the time he emerged, Maeve was awake, sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes like a sleepy cat. The straps of her nightgown were both crooked now, her red hair a riot around her shoulders.
Their eyes met, and time seemed to elude them for a moment. Fedya could hear his own heartbeat as her gaze shifted past his to the towel wrapped loosely around his hips.
Then he witnessed the reddening of her cheeks as she looked away.
Fedya didn’t smile, and something flickered in his chest. She wasn’t snapping, scoffing, or pushing him away for whatever reason. She was blushing because he was in nothing but a towel—like she wasn’t the same woman who tempted him last night, all in the name of gaining his trust.
Cute.
Reluctantly, he left her to her privacy, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast for her instead. He heard her light footsteps as he flipped pancakes and looked up to find her standing rigidly behind one of the chairs in the dining room.
She was still wearing her nightgown, an indication that she hadn’t taken her bath yet, but her hair was wrapped atop her head in a messy bun now, a few strands curling around her exposed neck.
“I need some air,” she began, her fingers clutching the back of the chair. His eyes trailed over her figure slowly, her erect nipples, the teeth marks on her bottom lip like she’d been biting it too hard.
“There’s air all around us,zhena.”
“That’s not what I mean. I want to leave the house, step out for a bit—”
“Nope.” He cut her off as he flipped the last of her pancakes and switched off the stove. He heard her sigh of frustration as he washed his hands over the sink, palmed them dry with a towel, and grabbed his keys.
“You’re leaving,” she said, her eyes following him as he walked out of the kitchen.
“Not for long,” he said, slipping a jacket on. She was following him to the door. “I’ll be back before you start missing me.”
“That’s not fair,” she frowned, coming to stand in front of him, making herself a human shield against the door. She folded her arms across her chest, the action making her tits push up against her gown, her cleavage exposed to his hungry eyes.
“What has it been now? Days? Weeks? I don’t know because time blurs into nothing here,” she complained. “I’ve grown bored, and you won’t let me have your phone. I’m not asking to go to a club. Just right outside. Fresh air, maybe or—” Her eyes lit up. “Or you could take me with you, maybe to a bookstore or something. A drive would be nice.”
“No,” he said, firm, final.
Maeve scoffed, dropping her arms from her chest. He discovered now that he hated to disappoint her, but there was no chance in hell he was letting her out of there yet.
Her mouth tightened, jaw set with fire. “Fine then. If I don’t get to leave, you don’t either.”
“I could easily move you away from there, Maeve.”
She stood solid. “I’d like to see you try.”
His lips quirked as he stepped forward. Her eyes were set with adorable determination, and he didn’t stop walking until his shoes touched her toes. His arm slid around the curve ofher waist, tugging her forward, her body flush against his chest. She was breathing harder than before, even though her eyes remained green, fiery pits. Or maybe it wasn’t just a fire of annoyance; maybe it had something—or everything—to do with the way he was holding her now.
Her breath was hot against his mouth. “What do you think you’re doing?”
His other hand curled around her throat, his thumb pushing her chin upward. He spun them around so that his back faced the door instead of hers. Then he leaned down, his lips grazing hers while her hands pressed flat against his chest as he spoke.
“Every time you breathe like that, it makes me want to ruin you a little more.”
Maeve stepped away from him on her own volition, a slight stagger in her step as she put space between them. Her breath was shaky as she swallowed hard.
Fedya grinned, still watching her as he typed into the keypad of the door. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Her eyes flared. “Son of a bitch.”
