Page 19 of Deadly Rival

Think win-win.

How can we both leave the table feeling like we’ve had a victory? Sebastian tilts his head to the side, and his brow creases. “From your family? Absolutely nothing. I don’t think your father would suit that outfit half as well as you do.”

The throwaway comment should be ridiculous, but the predatory gleam in his eye means it isn’t. Not even a little bit. Sebastian leans against the doorway, relaxed and casual. “Spin around.”

The order is so far removed from the conversation I’d expected that I trip over it. “What?”

“Spin around. I want to see how your ass looks in that skirt. It looked great on camera, but there’s nothing like the real thing.”

On camera. Does he mean in the bathroom? Jesus. My skin heats, blood rushing to my face. I’d wondered but hadn’t really thought he’d watch me. Or I just hadn’t wanted to.

Control is slipping away, if I ever really had any in the first place. “No. I—”

“Okay. Just stay still, then.”

He saunters forward, and my body locks up. My instincts scream at me to run, but the part of me still clinging to the hope I can negotiate my way out of this holds me in place. If I run, I’m prey.

If I run, he’ll catch me. And I can only think of one thing that would happen next.

I stand like a statue, frozen in place as he makes a slow circuit of me, eyes roaming my body. I swivel my head to keep him in sight but don’t move to obstruct his view. Any movement at all feels like it would snap the invisible force keeping him at arm's length.

He comes to rest in front of me, a satisfied smile on his lips. “Good girl. And I definitely underestimated how curvy you are. You hide it well under those sensible clothes, don’t you? That’s the kind of ass that’s just begging for a smack.”

All I can do is stare. Guys don’t talk to me like this. No one dares. With a father and brother as terrifying as mine, the few men who actually make it past them to the dating stage are polite and respectful and keep their hands to themselves.

Why isn’t Sebastian scared? Why does he think he can treat me like this with no consequences?

The thought bolsters me, even as my skin burns from his scrutiny. He’s talking to me like this because I’m letting him. I need to put him in his place.

“If you stop this nonsense right now, there’s a chance I’ll be able to stop my father from killing you. If he doesn’t alreadyknow I’m here, he will soon. What do you think is going to happen when he arrives? Let’s be real. Stop these games. Tell me what’s really going on.” I pause, then another thought springs to mind. “And just where the hell are we?”

His smile widens at that, and it ratchets my nerves up an extra click. It feels like I’ve stepped into a trap, and the impression solidifies when he says, “I thought you’d never ask. Come.”

He turns his back on me and strides out of the room. I stare after him, torn. Following him feels like obeying his dismissive order. But I also really, really want to leave the bedroom. Trying to have a conversation with a bedright thereisn’t helping at all.

I hesitate a moment longer, then follow him out of the room.

I walk out into a living room that’s as classy and expensive as the bedroom. Stylish furniture, subtle lighting. I recognize the hand of a professional designer who knew what he was doing. But all that pales when I lay eyes on the dining table.

Food. It’s covered in food. My nose catches up with my eyes, and the smell of fresh baked bread sets my empty stomach roaring. Bread, butter, jam, croissants, pastries, muffins, cereal. A steaming pot of hot coffee. My eyes latch on to it, my feet stop moving, and my damn stomach lets out a loud, undignified growl.

Sebastian stops and turns to look at me with a smirk. “Hungry? We’ll get to that in a moment. I want to show you something first.” He turns away again, heading for the huge, floor-to-ceiling picture window that covers almost all the wall. Through the glass, the forest stretches out. In any other situation, it would be beautiful. Now, it just chills my blood.

He stares out of the window, his back to me. I glance between him and the food. My stomach twists again, and I make my decision. Screw him. I head to the table and reach for a muffin.

“Don’t.”

The word is the crack of a whip. My head snaps up to find Sebastian’s gaze locked on me. My hand freezes of its own accord. His face is deadly serious. No knowing smirk.

He takes a single step toward me. Then another. I can’t stop staring at his eyes. Were they that shade a moment ago? In this light, they’re a Mediterranean sky, vivid and trained on my hand like lasers.

“You don’t touch that without my permission.”

His permission? Alarm bells scream at the serious look on his face, but that word mutes them to a dull roar. He wants me to ask his permission to eat? No. Just no. I’m starving, and I’m having a goddamn muffin. I stretch out my hand.

He moves but doesn’t race toward me. His steps are measured, and his eyes don’t leave mine as I grab the muffin. I clutch it as he reaches me, close enough I can smell his light, spicy cologne.

Run.

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