Page 35 of Taken By Him

“About that,” I drop his hand. “I...we don’t need to do...anything.”

His lips kick up in a playful grin. I’m glad my discomfort is so amusing to him.

“But we do, Kasia.” He steps closer, taking away the space I created between us. He runs his hand up my arm, snakes it behind my neck and fists my hair. I gasp, unable to get away from him. He’s pulling my hair at the roots.

“Dominik.”

“You remember this afternoon? When you felt so good in my lap? Don’t you want more of that?” he asks, brushing his lips along my jaw. A warm shiver runs over my skin.

“I remember how you used my body against me. I remember how you played me for an idiot just to get me to agree to something, to make me pliable.” I’m angry at myself for falling for it. A man like him...it’s expected behavior. I should have been smarter.

He pulls back a little, lining up his blue eyes with mine. “Is that what has you so upset? Is that why you wore funeral colors to our wedding?” He twists his hand in my hair, but the pain works against me.

I don’t answer him. Anything I say will be twisted against me.

Tiny wrinkles form around his eyes as he smiles down at me. “That’s exactly it.” He licks my lips. “If mind-bending orgasms piss you off, let’s see how angry I can make you.” He lets go of my hair and steps back, gesturing toward the steps. “Go upstairs, Kasia.”

I want to pummel my fists into his chest. Kick my feet into his shins, but it would do no good. The man’s a giant in comparison to me. The only damage that would be done would be to me.

“Kasia,” he snaps my name and my eyes jump to his eyes. “Go on,” he softens his tone.

I glance down the hall where Margaret is working in the kitchen. There is no hope for me. I said the words, and now I have to live up to them.

As I pass him, he touches my arm. It’s a light flitter of a connection. He doesn’t grab me or make any more demands, just touches me as I pass.

I climb the stairs, wondering how many nights in my life I’ll be sent to his bed with such a heavy heart.

* * *

Thebedroom door clicks as it closes behind Dominik. I stare out his bedroom window at the rose garden below. The solar powered lights that are spiked into the ground throughout are lit and I can make out the lush bushes with their deep red blooms.

I’m startled when Dominik puts his hands on my shoulder. For such a large man, he can move without making a sound.

“You like the gardens,” he says, like he’s just figured that out. Maybe he has. The past week hasn’t exactly been used to get to know each other. We’ve avoided each other or been at odds with one another. I still know next to nothing about him.

“My grandmother had a large rose garden in her yard. It was the only flower she grew. They remind me of her,” I say quietly. My father’s mother had braved the risks of starting over with a new life in America. I admired her strength. “She was a strong woman,” I say absently.

He squeezes my shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think.”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” I turn around in his arms and stare up at him. I’ve already changed out of the dress and thrown it in the garbage. I never want to see the damn thing again.

“A weak woman is no fun, Kasia. I don’t like doormats.”

I roll my eyes. Isn’t that what he’s made me? I have no choices, no options but to lie still and take what he gives me.

“Were these your grandmother’s too?” he asks, touching the pearl drop earrings.

“No. My mom’s. She lent them to me the day before—” I stop, not wanting to revisit one traumatic moment before living through another.

“Do you have nothing else of hers?” he asks and he sounds genuine in his curiosity.

“No.” There’s no need to hide things from him. Well, aside from the one thing I will never tell him — or my father until I’ve found out everything I need.

“Your father never gave anything to you because he blames you. If he knew these were hers, he’d take them, too,” he says, and I can hear the contempt he carries for my dad.

“He would,” I confirm. The ironic thing, the tragic thing about these earrings, is he gave them to my mother as a birthday present. He doesn’t remember. But I do. She loved them.

He runs the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “Let’s not talk about your parents right now.”

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