I step back into his room to grab my pillow, and the moment I do, I stop in my tracks. Gideon is staring at me. His mouth is open, and his eyes have darkened to two pools of something way too close to desire. It makes my stomach flip.
“Firefly. You look…good in my clothes.”
His voice is silky smooth with a hint of decadence; it shouldn’t make my knees go weak.
But it does.
And I hate my reaction.
It’s not okay to be attracted to your captor. That’s called Stockholm syndrome.
Unfortunately, my stupid body isn’t getting the memo.
I try my best to ignore him and instead grab the pillow and make my way back to the closet, but as instructed, I don’t close the door. Doing my best to wipe my memory clean of his husky, sensual voice, I go about making my bed.
It sounds like a stampede of elephants right now, the way I’m ruffling around, but I don’t care.
It’s late, and I’m pissed.
For so many reasons.
Once I’m satisfied with my sleeping arrangements for the night, I lie down and stare at the ceiling.
It’s a good thing the door isn’t closed because I feel trapped even with it open. I feel like the walls are caving in around me. The light seeping into the dark closet helps a little. I don’t feel as suffocated as I would if it were shut.
I’m exhausted, but I lie awake thinking about how just beyond the open door—only a few feet away—Gideon sleeps.
God, I hope he’s sleeping.
I know he said he would never take something not offered, but is he waiting for me to get comfortable? Will he go back on his word?
He’s too close. I don’t trust him.
Closing my eyes, I count my breaths. Inhaling and then exhaling. Finally, I’m able to drift off, but not without my last thought being of him, and worse, what his hands felt like on my skin when he touched me.
18
SASHA
I sensehim even though I don’t see him. The woodsy yet floral smell of scotch lingers in the air. Inhaling deeply, the fragrance tickles my nose, bringing a warm feeling to spread across my skin.
I keep my eyes closed so that I can pretend I don’t know he’s here.
Beside me.
Moving closer and closer.
Too damn close.
The sheets are pulled back from my body, and I feel the cold air hit my exposed flesh.
I need to stop whatever’s coming. I need to jump up and move far away from him.
I don’t.
Soft fingers begin to trail up my thigh, moving painstakingly slowly. The feeling is sensual. He continues his trek up my leg until he reaches the apex of my thighs, tracing the lace of my thong.
I can’t help but quiver at his touch. It feels so good. Too right.