Page 8 of Forbidden Desire

“Good.” She managed a small smile. “Safe travels.”

In the most astonishing gesture I’d seen from her in years, she opened her arms and pulled me in for an embrace.

“Let me know what you find out there.”

“I will.” I tensed at her inference. “I’m bringing Des home.”

Chapter Four

Desiree

CLUTCHING THE BLANKETS tighter, hot tears slipped down my face. Rasmie was gone, had left after he fucked me, and though I thought I heard his voice somewhere in the distance, I had no way of knowing where he was or how long he would be. In the meantime, I was still tied to the bed and alone. I could unfasten the binds, as I had considered a hundred times, but every time I tried, the knot was impossible to untangle, and the gnawing sense this was a test and that he was watching washed over me. If I got free from the rope, then what? If I found something to wear, where would I go? How could I hide on an inhospitable island, a place where he knew every inch, and I knew none, a place shielded by the intensity of the ocean, where I had no means of making it to the next piece of dry land?

Whichever way I looked at it, I wouldn’t win. Not until I had a plan—an actual route off the island. Rasmie would always know more, run faster, and be stronger. I had to do my research, bide my time, and play the long game, but how could I do that and survive? The man was determined to knock me up as fast as he could, and at the rate we were screwing, it probably wouldn’t take long. My periods had always been like clockwork, and while I’d never tried to conceive, it would take a miracle to stop nature from taking its course.

One hand shifted to my tummy at the unsettling thought. The idea of carrying his baby should be more disturbing. I’d never wanted children, never wanted any of this, but then, I’d never known what I wanted. That’s how Charlie had managed to talk me into coming here.

My brows knitted at the thought of my old friend. I hadn’t seen him for days, though I was certain he was still on this rock somewhere. Could I even call him a friend anymore? He was the guy who’d tried to force himself on me, the one Rasmie had seen off with violence. Hardly a friend, not even an acquaintance, but still the thought lingered—Charlie was the reason I was here, tethered to Rasmie’s bed. That and my questionable judgment.

“What’s wrong with me?” I whispered, dabbing my eyes with my hand. “Why do I put my trust in the wrong people?” A recollection of my dad burst into my head, dissolved by the throbbing ache that resided there. I had loved him with all my heart, but he’d let me down—let all of us down—and now, Charlie had done the same. Did I attract those sorts of men into my life? Was this my fault? Then there was Rasmie, the man who claimed to be my husband. How could I trust a man who had taken me against my will and treated me the way he did? However good the sex was, how could I be okay with this?

“Fuck it!” I slammed my fist into the blankets. “Why can’t I get off this island?”

“So that’s what you think about when I’m gone.” A giant hand appeared around the edge of one of the furs, followed soon after by the rest of Rasmie, his monstrous frame towering over my tearful form. His gaze drilled into me, one eyebrow arching as he loomed. “You want to leave?”

“I want to be free!” I gestured at the leather at my neck. “To have a choice about where I go and what happens to me.”

“You are emotional.” He smiled, sitting on the bed beside me. “It is understandable. You have been through a lot, and perhaps, if the gods are willing, it is a sign you will deliver a healthy son for me.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” I straightened, no longer caring if the covers fell, exposing my body. He had seen everything, taken everything. “You’re obsessed with me getting pregnant.”

“Yes, I am, nighean bheag.” His tone was unimpressed. “I have made my intentions clear, and I expect you to carry my child within the next two full moons.” His gaze darkened as he leaned closer. “I also expect you to address me with respect.”

“I’m sorry, Maighstir,” I sniffed, though I wasn’t even slightly sorry. Rasmie had heard the word yes for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to be countered, but that wasn’t the way I had been raised. Where I came from, if you had something to say, you said it. Opinions were valued, even encouraged.

“I do not think you are rueful at all.” He snorted, shaking his head with a grin. “Overwrought perhaps, pregnant hopefully, but not sorry, nighean bheag.”

I sucked my lip between my teeth, conscious of my reddening face.

“I do not expect an outburst when I return to you and do not want to hear about your desire to leave me.” His voice was almost a growl. “Are we clear?”

“Even if it’s true?” By contrast, mine was a whisper. “Even if I do want to leave?”

“You do not know what you want.” His expression was knowing as he reached for me and tried to tug me closer. Straining against him, I recoiled, struggling to remain where I was. “You have said as much. You look to others—to men—to make choices for you, and sadly, they have not always been positive ones.”

I swallowed, recalling the conversations when I had admitted similar confessions to him. I had been speaking about Charlie and my decision to follow him here, but the point stood. I rarely knew what direction to travel in my life, and it was true I’d allowed others to guide me. That didn’t mean I consented to him taking the reins or that he had permission to take over.

“Please.” I was so tired of the constant contradiction—the desire for his touch when I should be running from it—my head was a place of perpetual fog these days. “Please, Rasmie.”

“Oh, Desiree.” His expression softened as he perched on the edge of the bed beside me. “You shall make yourself ill with this relentless woe.”

I pulled in a breath, conscious he was probably right. I couldn’t go on like this.

“I am a man of my word.” He inched closer, one of his huge palms grazing my exposed shoulder. “I vowed to take care of you, protect you, and adore you, and I shall.” His lips curled. “I do.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. Aside from his medieval penchant, Rasmie was a gentleman and an absolutely voracious lover. I was content, save for the small matter of my liberty.

“I know, Maighstir,” I croaked, hoping to smooth over any new infractions my attitude had inadvertently caused. If there was one thing I’d learned in the time I’d been on the island, it was how perilously easy it was to cause him offense. “I am grateful.”

---