No.
She quickly turns back to the folded clothing and removes a pair of trousers and a soft pink top. She quickly dresses again, and I give her an approving nod.
“Aye. Those are lovely.” They’ll do for everyday, no doubt.
Next, she picks up a pretty dress, long-sleeved and heavy for the cold winter. She holds it up to me, brows raised questioningly.
I nod. “Aye, lass. That one. You’d wear it with one of those pairs of boots.”
She frowns, and I wonder why.
“Cairstina, text me what you’re thinking.”
She looks up at me quickly, then scans the room until she finds her mobile. A moment later, the text comes through.
I’m not sure I’d ever need something like this. How long are you keeping me?
I answer quickly.
As long as I need to.
She frowns, scowling at the phone, then texts back.
Why would I tell on you? The mean men that came tried to hurt my friend.
I think before I reply. I don’t think she’d tell on us, no, but I’m not sure I want her going back home. I like her here with me, but if I tell her that she’ll run away.
I said I’d keep you as long as I need to. Are you questioning me?
Her head snaps up and she holds my gaze.
“Don’t question me, lass.” I tap the belt wordlessly beside me. She looks down, then back to me, and I swear her eyes are heated with a blend of anger and arousal that mirrors my own.
Her eyes meet mine once more, this time bold and challenging as she slips off the dress and lets it pool on the floor. Whereas before she was neat and ordered about things, folding the clothes as she took them off, her behavior this time is radically different.
Her gaze is somewhere between demure and defiant, curious one moment and passionate the next, a world of thoughts and emotions embedded in her eyes that holds me hostage. She doesn’t need to be able to speak. Her eyes do the talking for her.
She steps out of the sweater dress, then reaches for the clasp at her back. She unfastens her bra, and the silky fabric pops off her body and slinks to the floor. Next come her knickers. I swallow as her thumbs hook into the edge of her knickers, the lace wound around her fingers like she’s about to perform magic. If she could speak, she’d say an incantation, I’m that taken with her movements.
I’m on my feet before I realize what I’m doing, stalking over to where she stands rooted in bold challenge. She doesn’t flinch or step back. She doesn’t even blink but stares at me, her naked body like a beacon in the night, calling for me to pull my ship ashore. Will I crash upon the rocks? Has she bewitched me?
When I reach her, she stands with fists clenched by her side, and I’m suddenly insistent on making the anger in her eyes fade so I have my pretty, submissive captive once more.
I gather her in my arms, and she fits here so perfectly, folding into me like I’m her resting place. Her arms encircle my neck as mine wrap around her back, and I pull her to me without hesitation. I close my eyes, lost to sensation. Heated panting. Soft breaths. The scent dew-kissed daisies touched with summer’s sweetness. Her soft, silky, naked skin beneath my fingers.
I realize with a sudden shock that her shoulders shake a little. I pull back, and blink in surprise to see her cheeks damp with tears.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, astounded that an embrace could bring about such a visceral reaction from her.
She shakes her head, and when she closes her eyes, two more tears roll down her cheeks. Oh, if she could speak, what would she say?
I reach for her mobile and shove it into her hand.
“Tell me why you cry.”
She sniffs as she quickly types.
No one’s ever held me like that before.
I don’t expect the way she impacts me. It’s like I’ve been given a gift I never expected, a rare treasure worth more than anything I’ve ever sought or won.
I’m the first man she’s kissed.
The first that’s held her.
I’ll be her first everything.
I shake my head, and wrap one arm around her while I brush my fingers through her hair. “You’ve been mistreated.”
She doesn’t respond, of course, not even a nod or a text this time.
I hold her to me, inhaling her fragrance and feeling her soft breathing on my neck.
“You’ve been abused, even.”
Again, no response. Does she fear the same here?
I want to carry her to my bedroom, lay her down on my bed, and make love to her until I’ve drawn every possible emotion from her, until she looks to me to give her everything. I want her to feel connected and safe. Owned. I don’t want her worrying about who will hurt her. I want her to know that I’m the one who will protect her.