Except that door is also locked.
For several moments, I let out rapid and shaky breaths, my sweaty palms flat against the barrier keeping me trapped with the naked man whose steps sound behind me.
“We’re stuck in here until you obey.”
I whirl to face him. “Let me out!”
“I don’t have that power. Pax is in charge of enforcing this, and he won’t free us until you do what you’re told.”
“That’s ridiculous. Everyone’s expecting us for dinner.”
“Not tonight. We won’t eat until after we pass through this initial phase.”
“You expect me to believe you’ll sit in here and go hungry?”
With a casualness that induces anger, he wanders to the seating area and settles into a chair, knees spread as his hands dangle between them. “I’m well-trained, Novalee. My cock doesn’t control me, and neither does hunger.” He waves a hand, encompassing the not-so-private living quarters. “Only your submission will get us out of here.”
“And then what happens?”
“And then we go to dinner, and I give you a gift.”
“And then what?” Surely, it’s not that simple.
It never is with these men.
Miles stands, shoulders squared, and he’s the personification of male power despite the locked up state of his manhood. “And then you find out what comes next.”
4
If hunger doesn’t get to me first, boredom will. My stomach rumbles as I pace the floor between the bed and the French doors on my side of the two-room suite. Thankfully, Miles seems to know when to give me space.
I haven’t seen him for at least a couple of hours. Maybe he’s hiding in the en-suite bathroom that spans our beds, taking comfort from a bottle of something he had stashed somewhere. If that’s the case, then I curse him for not sharing. A drink might make this more bearable.
It doesn’t help that I didn’t eat breakfast or lunch, and dinner passed before the sun set. For a girl with a privileged upbringing, I don’t handle idleness well. I’ve always had something to keep me busy, whether it was sketching or reading or taking long walks to clear my head. And if I grew bored with my usual hobbies, I always had someone to keep me company.
But other than my toiletries, none of my belongings have been delivered to the House of Virgo yet. Not even a piece of paper and a pencil—certainly no clothing—and the only companionship available is a naked man determined to break my will.
Why are you taking a stand now?
It’s a question I’ve asked myself again and again since I refused to give in to his demands, but I have yet to come up with an answer. Dropping into a plush rocker on my side of the room, I run my hands through my hair and sigh.
“You have the power to end this.”
Startled from his smooth voice, I jerk my chin up and find him standing in the archway.
“You’re on my side of the room, Mr. Sinclair.” My petty jab at formality goes over his head, and with that annoying smile of his, he rounds the bed and lowers onto the ottoman at the end.
“There are no sides, my queen.”
“So let’s say I do what you want…what happens after I take off my clothes?”
Will he devour me with his gaze? Touch me in untouchable, forbidden places? Make my skin crawl with the burden of his scrutiny?
“Then we sleep.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“I can sleep with my dress on.”
“Of course you can,” he says with a nod. “But if you do, we’ll spend another day locked in here.”
“Don’t you have a job or something that needs your attention?”
“I’m the CEO of SinTech. Something always needs my attention.”
“So this is an inconvenience for you?” I can’t hide the hope in that question, because I want him to suffer, even if just a little.
“Spending time with you isn’t an inconvenience, but I’m warmed by your concern.”
I arch a brow. Miles Sinclair has a wry sense of humor. I can’t figure this man out, but my gut tells me his patience will outlast mine by days. With a sigh of resignation, I stand and remove my dress. Clinging to a shred of rebellion, I hold the garment against my chest.
He crooks a finger. “Bring it to me.”
“Are you going to touch me?”
“Not tonight.”
All he doesn’t say sits in my gut like something unchewed. Slowly, I cross the floor and hand him the dress. He’s meticulous in folding it, taking extra care as if the fabric is spun from gold. Setting my dress on the ottoman, he tilts his head up, those iridescent eyes scanning every inch of my thighs and beyond.
Then his focus stalls on my crossed arms. “Let me see your breasts.”
“Is there a look-but-no touch rule?”
“We can touch as long as we don’t go too far.” He bites his lip. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you tonight, and I meant it. I just want to see you.”