She shook her head and pointed back toward the light. I didn’t bother explaining again. Instead, I jiggled the knob on the door in front of me. No luck, this one was locked and by a key, no deadbolt or chain I could remove to let myself out.
“I hate this place,” I grumbled. Beyond over this entire situation, I let out a long exhale and went toward the light she’d been so frantic about getting me into.
I stepped into the Beauty and the Beast dining room. More polished wood and silver than I’d seen in my entire life. A dang chandelier hung above the yards long table that bisected the room.
Someone set the table for one. An enormous plate of foot, still steaming, sat on a gold charger in front of a high-back chair.
My stomach reminded me how hungry I get when I don’t eat by squeezing hard and making me want to vomit.
My mouth watered at the sight of the food. I wanted to shove my face into the plate, but I didn’t trust Fin or this house. I let the maid lead me to the chair, and I sat, but I didn’t touch the food.
Oh, bingo. I snagged the butter knife from the place setting and carefully slid it up the slit in the nightgown. I didn’t exactly have many places to hide it. My boobs were basically non-existent. I would never been able to stash things in there like some of my more well-endowed hunter girlfriends. But I could also go without a bra. Life was a balancing act.
The maid brought over a bottle of wine and sat it on the table in front of the empty wine glass. When she left, I grabbed the fork and tried to put it up my nightgown too, but it wouldn’t work so I placed it back on the table.
The scent of the chicken and vegetables hit me hard, and my stomach lurched again. My head spun, and I took a deep breath through my mouth.
What else could Fin do to me at this point? He’d already controlled my person; it seemed a little stupid to poison me after going to all that trouble to bring me here. And dress me in silk. Vomit did not wash out of silk—a lesson I learned the hard way after one too many lemon drops on a night out.
I picked up the fork again and stabbed a bit of the mashed potato. It smelled normal, a little starchy, lots of butter. I licked the end of the fork and garlic chased across my senses. Damn it. I leaned over and started shoving the food in my face.
“Enjoying yourself?” a deep voice interrupted me.
Fork still in my mouth, I looked up to Fin standing next to the table watching me. He wore a black suit with a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail which did unspeakable things for his cheekbones. Not fair he could be that good looking when all I wanted to do was hate him.
I swallowed heavily and sat back. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”
His brow furrowed. “Of course not. Mrs. Brack would never ruin a good meal just to kill someone.”
“Oh, good,” I said, dryly. “I want my clothes back. I don’t appreciate being stripped while unconscious.”
“My apologies, I had to be sure you weren’t hiding any more weapons. I’ll return your belongings once we’ve come to an agreement.”
I stabbed the chicken with the fork more forcefully than necessary. “What kind of agreement? Because right now I want to put the cutlery through each of your eyeballs while I sit on your chest and watch you scream in pain.”
He chuckled. “You have a delightfully colorful imagination, Zoey. I can appreciate that. Even when you’re threatening me with bodily harm.”
I shrugged. “Bodily harm, emotional harm. Hell, I want to go full blown trauma on your ass. You kidnapped me.”
“I do apologize for that.” The bastard didn’t look in the least bit sorry with his soft grin and shiny leather shoes.
“Just tell me what you want so I can go home. You said you aren’t a bad guy, but I’m beginning to think you’re a liar as well as a dick.”
I tensed as he walked toward me, trailing his graceful fingers along the polished wood of the table. “I’m not a liar. I’ll tell you what you want to know once you agree to work with me. Believe it or not, I don’t enjoy controlling you any more than you enjoy it.”
“I highly doubt it was worse for you than it is for me.”
He stopped a few inches from the arm of my chair and stared down at me. The ice-blue glow in his eyes seemed to look right through me. I wouldn’t squirm for him. He’d taken enough from me today.
“Agree to work with me and we can get to business.”
The words stuck in my throat. I abhorred the thought of giving him what he wanted, yet I needed to get out of here.
He ducked down and knelt by my chair and the vision of him, almost eye level with me, twisted things inside my chest, probably right where my heart should be.
“Help me, Zoey,” he whispered, leaning in, his eyes imploring.
Oh, fucking hell.