Page 12 of Tarnished Reign

Heat fills me as I contemplate just how hot I found his gaze on me. It’s messed up as hell given my situation.

After seeing my father drown himself in alcohol when we lost mum, and then throw everything away to marry a woman who isn't fit to lick his boots, the steely control that Dimitri has shown in the very short time I have known him is incredibly appealing.

I glance at the door again, but I know I’m not going to move.

My muscles don’t even twitch. My body understood before my mind did that running isn’t the right option.

I'm going to stay.

Crap, I really am.

My gut is telling me to simply do nothing in this moment. Let it be, and let the cards fall where they may because if I run. I’ll assuredly make things worse for myself. And worse for Cade.

My biological mum was religious, and she would take me to church with her sometimes. I find myself praying now, which is something I haven’t done in a long time. I don’t pray for myself; I pray for God to look after Cade, and to keep him safe in that house where no child should be left alone. I pray that Dorian’s men don’t turn up there; I even pray for my father. He might be weak, but he’s not an entirely bad man. What if Ari and his men decide to take this out on Dad? They might kill him.

Would Dimitri help me save Cade and my father from their clutches?

The bathroom door opens wider, and Dimitri strides out. I lift my eyes and look up at him. He towers over me as he approaches the bed and stares down. He’s big. Broad. Tall. Muscles on an already powerful build.

He has a cloth in his hand, and he tucks one bent knuckle under my chin, raising my face up to inspect. Taking the cloth, he wipes it gently over my forehead, my cheeks, and then down over my chin.

His thumb strokes over my bottom lip, rubbing at something and the sensation of his skin against mine is like feeling the summer heat of the midday sun anoint you. It’s so hot it burns.

Then the cool cloth follows and wipes away his searing touch. It’s too late though. My body is alive with it. My core aches, and my nipples are hard. I bet they’re pressing against the flimsy bikini. I don’t look down to see.

Huge hands bracket my cheeks, and he holds me like that for a long moment. His touch is so soft, but his size and strength are such that I’m all too aware he could snap my neck. He’s dangerous, powerful, and yet, at this moment, tender.

There’s a long, almost eternal beat of time, where he keeps hold of my face before he drops his hands, letting me go.

He holds his palm out, brusque suddenly, and the spell breaks. “Come.”

It's an order, not a request.

Strangely, for someone who hates being bossed about, my body obliges immediately. I even slide my hand into his and let him lead me meekly from the bed into the bathroom. Maybe this is some sort of trauma response that I'm going through.

Can you get Stockholm Syndrome this quickly?

I don't think so, but I can't remember everything I read about it.

We enter the bathroom, and Dimitri turns to me. He indicates the running shower, which is set on rain mode. The big square head pounds down onto the tiles below, and the smaller round head is pushed to one side.

“There are towels ready for you. I checked, and they’re clean. There's a whole array of potions and lotions. I think this was a guest room, but they've decked it out well. Take a shower, wash your hair, and get yourself cleaned up. I'm hoping that I'll have some clothes for you within the hour. In the meantime, there’s a clean dressing gown on the back of the door. There's a small hair dryer over there.” He points vaguely in the direction of a vanity unit against the far wall. “There's everything you need. Even a toothbrush and toothpaste in a small drawer under the vanity.”

He heads to the door. Where is he going? Is he leaving the bedroom? Anyone could come in.

As if he's read my mind, he turns to me at the last moment. “There's going to be an armed man outside your bedroom door. He's not there to stop you from leaving. He's there to stop anybody we've not found yet from getting in.”

“But I’m not free to leave,” I state the obvious.

“No. We've already had this discussion. It's not safe for you out there. Your stepmother tried to sell you. No, scratch that—she did sell you. Ari is still on the loose, and he’s Dorian’s second in command. Why do you want to leave?”

“Well, let me see. I don't know,” I say with a hefty dose of British sarcasm loaded onto my words. “Maybe because of the fact that I'm being held on a yacht against my will, by a bunch of criminals. Maybe because I've seen one of your men gut another man in front of me.” The thought makes me shudder, and I have to suppress it immediately because I can't carry on with this calm exterior if I let my mind go there. “Maybe because I was taken by a man to be used in the most dreadful way, and how am I supposed to trust that you or your men aren't going to do the same?”

“I gave you my word.” He says that as if it means the whole discussion is closed. As if his word is everything. As if I should know as much.

I let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh, right. Your word. That's okay then. I can stop worrying, clearly.”

He takes two strides closer to me, and I automatically step back.

---