“Put this on.”
I took it in my trembling hands and hurried to slip my arms into the sleeves. When I went to do up one of the buttons that hadn’t popped off, his hands closed on mine.
“It stays open.”
And his hands remained clasping mine. When I tried to pull back, his grip went firm.
“Your schedule,” he said.
I swallowed back the cry in my throat, which was a terrible, painful lump, and finally met his gaze. I’d expected more anger, but there wasn’t any. His eyes were . . . vacant.
Wait, no. Not vacant. Curious, perhaps. It gave him a clinical look, like he was studying me with unsure, scientific eyes. He let go and immediately moved to cradle my face in his hands.
“All right. Let’s try a different approach,” he said softly.
His gentle kiss was the harshest blow he could deliver. His lips sealed over mine, and tried to coerce my participation, but I went rigid under the power of his mouth. He shifted my head, positioning me to a better angle, and attempted the kiss once more. The longer I endured it, the more frantic he became. As if I had issued a challenge and he was determined to meet it.
Why did it have to be like this? If I gave in, just a fraction of an inch, would I succumb to him as I did last night? With absolutely no effort on my part, the way he kissed me now was dangerous. The sick part of my mind, the one that I’d thought was only tequila-induced, whispered to me in my completely sober state. Give in a little. At this point, what does it matter? He only pushes you when you say no.
The decision wasn’t made consciously; at least, I didn’t think it was. My lips parted minutely, and Luka answered ten-fold. His tongue claimed my mouth, and his thumbs moved, sweeping over my cheekbones. The intensity of the kiss flared and burned wildly hot. There was a loud intake of breath from him. A sound announcing Luka was pleased I was allowing this to happen.
But it was all too much.
Too wrong.
“No,” I whispered, and jerked back. A single word, which clearly meant nothing to him.
He paused, lingering close. “So I can get a response out of you after all.” His voice was low and uneven, though, which meant I could draw one from him as well. Was there any comfort in that?
“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. “I promise.”
His expression was resigned. “Even if I believed that, which I really don’t, I already told you. I can’t risk it.” He released me and stepped back, and his cold veneer was installed back in place. “I’m going to explain to you how I see this working. Sit down.”
He didn’t tell me where, so I sat on the edge of the bed, clenching the dress shirt closed. Luka remained standing, and rested a hand on a hip while his other combed through his hair.
“I’m going to set benchmarks for you,” he said. “Each one you pass earns you a new privilege. The first one is clothes. The next will be leaving this room.” His logical tone was free of emotion. “Eventually, we’ll have enough trust and you can leave the house.”
Two thoughts stormed into my mind instantly. He’d let me leave? And . . .
“Trust?” Short, inappropriate laughter burst from me, but then my tone went flat. “You must have a short memory. You just tried to kill me in the bathtub.”
His eyes narrowed a degree. “No, I knew what I was doing. In fact, I’m trying very hard to avoid your death.”
I was more confused and disoriented than I’d ever been in my life, and anxiety constricted my vocal cords. “What the hell does that mean?”
His brow furrowed. “Focus. I’ve been up all night reading. Everything said training can take a long time, maybe even months, but I bet you can do it in under a week.”
“Training?” My heart stumbled. “For what?”
“Your behavior. I’m going to modify it to suit our arrangement.”
Like last night, all I could do was parrot back his keywords. “Arrangement?”
Before he could answer, his cellphone rang. Luka stared at the screen as if considering whether or not to answer. He wasn’t overly expressive, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about who was calling. He put his finger to his lips and gave me a dark glare, warning me to stay quiet, before tapping the screen and pressing it to his ear.
“Hello?” he said, his tone gruff. He began to pace as the conversation began, and Luka looked visibly agitated. “It was . . . fine. I ran into a situation last night—” He finished a circuit of the room and his gaze froze on me. “No, actually, it had nothing to do with him.”