The vision of that starts to play out in my mind.
“Stay out of my greenhouse,” I grit again through clenched teeth. She has me all worked up, and I hate it.
“Get out of my way.”
“Agree.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You won’t like my response.” I let my eyes trail over her exposed skin. As cold as it is outside, it’s sweltering inside the greenhouse, and Ivy is wearing only a tank top. A light sheen of sweat glistens on her neck.
I want to lick it off. Taste her.
I devour that moisture with my eyes and then lift my gaze. She must read my thoughts because I watch her neck as she swallows and goose bumps break against her hot skin.
Interesting.
She’s not immune to me after all.
I file that knowledge away before turning and leaving her in the greenhouse.
“Next time I come back, I don’t want to see you in here.”
She groans.
Good.
Hate me, Sun. It’s easier this way.
14
Ivy
I now measure my time on this island by my visits from Cyrus. However, unlike the last few times he’s come, he’s spaced this trip longer than normal.
“Time to eat, little Sun.”
“Oh, now it’s time to eat. Now, after you have starved me for days.” I lift my brow up at him from where I’m perched at the kitchen table.
“Days? Hardly.” He walks farther into the room. The smell of whatever he’s brought wafting through the air and making my stomach growl.
At first, I was picking at my food to get him to come here, but ever since I started getting answers, I’ve been eating more and more. Apparently, Cyrus didn’t want to give answers more than he wanted me to eat because he’s been taking longer and longer to come back. He used to have his lady come cook and restock the food every other day. But now I haven’t seen her in a long time. I’ve already gone through most of the food, even though I’ve been trying to ration.
It’s like my damn plan backfired on me. Not only am I starving, but I’m also not getting answers.
And now, I’m also so hungry that I have shown him my hand. He knows he has one on me.
“Just give me the damn food.”
“No. I don’t think I will.” He smirks, and if I wasn’t so dizzy right now, I would probably throw something at him. Unfortunately, my strength is not what I’m used to.
“I know you think you’re clever. But I know what you’re doing.”
“And what, pray tell, would that be?”
“You’re spacing out my food to be a dick. You don’t want to answer my questions.”
His eyes darken, and he steps closer to where I am.
“I don’t lie. And I don’t play games. If I wanted you to die, you’d be dead. Choose your words carefully, Sun.”
“You won’t kill me,” I say with false bravado.
“Is that so?”
I stand from my chair, feigning strength I don’t have. “No.”
He approaches me. His large frame towering over my frail one. “Do not make me angry, Sun.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I mock.
“Sit.”
“Or?”
“I’ll make you. I’ll give you this one pass because I know you’re hungry.”
“Whatever you say.”
I sit back down, but he’s right. I’m way too weak to stand my ground with him right now, and if I push, he’ll see my weakness. That is something I can’t have.
Once I’m sitting, he pulls out a container from a bag he brought with him today.
“Where is your slave?”
“My slave?”
“The woman with the scars.”
Cyrus’s fist hits the table, startling me. “Sun, I will say this one time. I do not take slaves. She is no one’s slave.”
“I-I . . .”
“The proper sentence is . . . I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly.
For the first time since being here, I feel the weight of his anger, and I realize I don’t want to be on the receiving end of it.
We both sit silently for a few minutes before I decide to break the ice.
“What did you bring?” I keep my voice neutral, gauging how he’ll react.
“Lasagna.”
My mouth waters at the idea.
Cyrus brings over a fork and a plate.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask before I can think better of it.
“Why, Sun, did you want me to join you?”
I stare at him for a minute. If this were any other time, I would say yes. Who wouldn’t want him to? He’s gorgeous, sinfully so, but not without answers. Which is why I take a bite.
“First question,” I say, mouth full of food.
“Chew before you talk, Sun.”
I swallow. “How long will you have me?”
“That depends.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
“Then I’m not eating.”
He stands from the chair, and his arm reaches to grab the food.
My arm reaches out, landing on his skin.
“I-I . . .” I stutter as I look down at where my hand is and I freeze. It feels like an electric current of energy courses through me as realization hits that I am still holding on to him.