Page 197 of Morally Gray Daddies

He takes a step toward me. I start to tremble, but as he continues to get closer, I can’t seem to move. When he’s only a couple of feet away, he reaches out and takes the spray bottle from me. I can’t find the courage to look up at him. I can barely remember to breathe right now.

“Why are you cleaning, Anastasia? Did you spill something?” he asks, bending his knees to lower himself so we’re at eye level. He doesn’t look angry. More like he’s concerned.

My mouth suddenly feels like there’s sand in it, so I shake my head. It’s better to stay silent. If I don’t speak, I won’t say anything to anger him. That’s the strategy I learned around my father to avoid his wrath.

Patrick sets the cleaner down and reaches for one of my hands. Almost as if in slow motion, he tugs on one of the yellow fingers until the glove slides off. Then he does the same to my other hand.

“If something is dirty, tell me, and I’ll have my housekeeper take care of it.”

I shake my head again, lowering my gaze to the floor.

A beat of silence passes before he slowly reaches out and tucks his index finger under my chin. He did that before. It frightened me the first time. I’m not used to being touched. Especially not in such a warm, reassuring way.

When he tilts my head back, our gazes meet, and I swallow heavily.

“Did you eat?” he asks quietly.

I give him a slow nod, surprised by the look of approval he gives me when I do.

“Good girl.”

The muscles in the back of my neck, which feel as though they’re about to snap, finally relax a bit. Good girl. Two simple words, but I’m melting over them. The urge to cry swells in my chest. I’m a mess from his small praise. This isn’t good. Not good at all.

“I brought you a bunch of clothes and products that my boss’s wife suggested you might need. The bathroom is stocked with all kinds of things, too. When my mom comes to the States, she stays in that room, so it’s full of anything she might need, but you’re welcome to any of it.”

A heavy weight lifts from my tummy. Am I relieved he’s okay with me using that stuff since I already did, or is it because it’s his mom’s room?

“Are you afraid to speak, or do you have a medical condition I should know about?” he inquires.

Taking a brave peek at him from under my lashes, I’m taken aback at his expression. He almost looks sad. I want to wrap my arms around his waist to make him feel better. He’s my captor, though. It’s not my job to comfort him. Besides, this could all be a ploy to get me to trust him.

He dips his head to force our eyes to meet as he waits expectantly. Telling Patrick the truth might anger him. Lying—and him finding out—could make it so much worse.

“Scared,” I whisper.

Almost as if I slapped him, he staggers back, letting out a string of words in a foreign language. They don’t sound like happy words.

Then he does something that shocks the heck out of me. He kneels in front of me so I’m having to look down at him instead of the other way around. His sandy-colored hair is messier than it was earlier, and I wonder how many times he’s run his fingers through it today.

“Anastasia, I want you to understand some things. I need you to believe that I am not going to harm you. I didn’t make the deal with your father for sex.”

Ouch. That kind of stings. I’m not very pretty, but I still have feelings.

“I made the deal because he’s a piece of shit, and I can’t stand to see a woman be hurt, abused, or treated badly. You don’t deserve whatever you’ve been through. Maybe one day you’ll tell me what he’s done to you. Maybe you won’t, but I promise that you’re safe here. I won’t ever hurt you. I’m not going to rape you. Do you understand me?”

It feels like he’s pleading with me. He sounds so genuine that I believe him.

I nod, studying his face and the way his short beard is trimmed and perfectly edged. Despite the coarse hair, his jawline stands out. He reminds me of the guy from High School Musical. I watched several episodes years ago when Gloria still worked for my father. She used to let me sit in the kitchen while she cooked and watch whatever I wanted. I had a huge crush on the actor. Gloria knew it, too. She’d always wink at me when I turned on the show.

“No more cleaning. I have a housekeeper for that. She cooks meals and stores them in the fridge every couple of days, so all you have to do is heat them in the microwave if you get hungry. I meant it when I said to make yourself at home. I’m gone a lot during the day, but she’ll be here three days a week. If you feel safer talking to her, just let her know if there’s anything you need. Her name is Helen.”

He stares up at me patiently, and when I nod, he grins. It’s breathtaking. When I accidentally return his smile, I’ve never been so glad to have brushed my teeth.

“I like seeing that pretty smile. I hope I get to see more of it.” Then he rises and sighs. “I’ll be in my office.” He points down the hall to a door I haven’t seen before. “I want you to eat something by six. Otherwise, I’ll come out and feed you myself, okay?”

My stomach grumbles, and even though it’s only been a few hours since I had that burger, I’m hungry again, so I nod. I won’t argue when it comes to food.

“Good girl.”

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