My fingernails snagged on the silk, but I stripped the sheet from the mattress and wound it around my wrists like my brother had taught me long ago.
We had nothing else to do when we were younger other than learn how to fight, and he had taught me all sorts of tricks to protect myself.
A well-placed thumb, a good old knee in the crotch, and I might be able to escape. I was petite in a way that my size could be used for an advantage if I placed myself just right against my opponent.
Which was exactly what I was going to do.
When the door opened, I lost all train of thought, my body trembling as Valentino walked in alone. His blue stare never left mine as he shut the door behind him, barely acknowledging the sheet in my hands. Good Lord, he was gorgeous in a dangerous sort of way, exuding power just by standing there. He was tall, with wide shoulders and a flat waist under his open suit coat. His face was tanned, and my eyes strayed to the open vee of his dress shirt, noting the hint of tanned skin there as well.
My brother had taught me to size up my opponents immediately, to figure out what their weakness was and take in all the information I could gather.
At least, that was my excuse for ogling Valentino like I was doing now.
But hey, there wasn’t anything else to look at.
My eyes came back to his face, and I saw an arrogance in his eyes and hated him immediately.
That was the problem with the company my father had kept over the years, the men I had been subjected to.
They were all arrogant, thinking that their money and titles made them irresistible to women.
I imagined Valentino was no different. He probably thought that the sun rose and set on his command and that I would do the same.
I wouldn’t. I wasn’t going to be the pet he expected me to be. I wasn’t going to beg for my life, beg for him to let me go.
He wasn’t in the business of mercy.
And I wasn’t in the business of submission.
Still, it was a shame that this man standing before me was so gorgeous. Like straight off the runway, panty-melting gorgeous. His suit was expensive; the watch on his exposed wrist glittered in the dim lighting right along with his cufflinks on his white cuffs.
But his eyes and the way he looked at me scared me.
His gaze lingered here or there, not with lust but with blank practice, like a man looking at a horse he wanted to buy and counting up every dollar on every inch. How much did each part of Leda D’Agostino cost? Hair? Ten thousand. Hips? Twenty thousand.
When he spoke, I thought he was about to tell me to open my mouth so he could count my teeth.
But instead, he spoke in a voice that was hard and flat:
“Leda D’Agostino,” he said. “What do you think you are going to do with that sheet in your hands? Choke me with it?”
His gaze drilled into mine and goaded me—daring me to do something.
I trembled, my bravado slipping. I didn’t think that I could actually intimidate him. Somehow, it was a lot easier to intimidate him in my head. And now that he was in the room, I realized just how big he was. How he practically towered over me.
With each second he looked at me with that blank, practiced stare, I can hear his mind counting up the price on my body.
A fighter?Five hundred thousand.
Needs to be taught a lesson?Two million.
A chance to ruin something beautiful?I took a shuddering breath.Stop it.
But I couldn’t fight reality anymore.
My fate was sealed. I could talk myself up that I might have a chance of getting out of here. But the truth was:
I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I was afraid.