Page 18 of His to Bedevil

Her eyes widen. “I asked for mouthwash or a toothbrush. I didnotask you to brush my teeth for me.” She looks at me as if she’s appalled when all I’m trying to do is help her.

“The doctor said you need to take it easy for a few days,” I remind her.

“I may not be a doctor, but I’m pretty sure brushing my own teeth won’t kill me,” she snaps, and yanks her wrists out of my hands as I let her.

“Fine.” I hand over the toothbrush with the toothpaste on it and let her brush her own teeth.

I don’t know what it is that has me waiting on her hand and foot and wanting to take care of her, but I do want to. I want to hold her and protect her and own her. The thought of keeping her has been teetering in my mind ever since I found out she went missing on the yacht, but it’s no longer teetering.

As soon as she’s done, I scoop her back up into my arms and carry her out to the terrace. It’s early evening and a beautiful sunny day out. When I place Irma in the chair at the small bistro table, she tugs on the T-shirt, trying to cover up as much of herself as she can. Her legs are still too thin and pale, but they’re still enticing. Knowing that she has nothing on underneath and it’s my shirt she’s wearing, I find my pants getting extremely tight.

Berto comes out with one of the housemaids, who has our meals on a large serving tray. I take my seat in the other chair across from her and let the maid place our plates in front of us. She serves us each a glass of ice water then disappears.

Picking up my knife and fork, I begin to cut up Irma’s chicken. She seems sentient enough to understand why she wouldn’t be given a set of utensils of her own and doesn’t comment on it. Only glares at me. “Irma, this is Berto. Berto, this is Irma.”

They both look at each other, and Berto is the first to acknowledge her. He dips his head and tries to give her a smile. I end up giving a little chuckle at how it comes out as a grimace instead of a smile. Irma doesn’t say anything as she focuses down on her plate while I finish cutting up her chicken. As soon as I’m done, she takes a piece of the bland meat off her plate and pops it into her mouth.

“Alejo, Marcus has some new information for you.”

I stop mid bite and eye Irma. She doesn’t seem to care as she calmly eats her food. Probably concentrating on not scarfing it all down at once. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“Bien.” He sighs and leaves.

I study Irma as she nibbles on her food and gazes out at the view that looks out over the ocean. I’ve never found fascination before in the little things, like the way her mouth and throat move as she eats or how the gentle breeze picks up a lock of her hair to whip around her face.

“We’re still in Miami,” she says softly.

“Where did you think we were?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “I thought maybe Cuba.”

“You sound disappointed.”

Her head snaps in my direction, and I see the fire start to burn in her eyes. “Why would I want you to take me to Cuba?”

Now I shrug my shoulders. “You tell me.”

“Why haven’t you killed me?” she demands.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully.

“But you are, right? You’re going to kill me eventually.” Impressively, her words are confident and hold no fear in them.

“I haven’t decided,” I lie. I’m not going to kill her. I don’t think I can.

“So, what are you doing with me? Why are you nursing me back to health?”

“I don’t know,” I admit again.

“You don’t know,” she parrots back. “Any chance you’ll let me go?”

I chuckle as I take a sip of water. “I think you know the answer to that question,mi amor.”

She crosses her thin arms over her chest and leans back in her chair. The sun reflects off her skin, and already I can see very subtle changes in her. Her cheeks have a tiny hint of pink in them, and the dark circles under her eyes are fading. After a moment, she sighs and leans forward in her seat and starts eating her food again, and we both finish our meals in silence.

Leaning back in my chair, I continue to watch her. I can see how quickly she’s drifting off into lassitude and how she’s trying to fight it. I love how much of a fighter she is. I’m going to make her mine if it’s the last thing I do. Even if I have to break her and put her back together myself. Making her entirely made for me.

Although I seem to be relaxed right now, I’m ready for her to strike at any moment. Even in her plight, I know she’s canny and clever. So, when she tries to grab for my fork at a surprisingly quick speed, I’m ready for it. Snatching her wrist, I squeeze it until she whimpers and releases the fork, without straining a single muscle or breaking a drop of sweat.

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