Page 84 of Chain Me
“Trust me.” He reached back for me as his eyes met mine again. The stoic grip on his emotions wavered, allowing a hint of softness to ease the stiffened corner of his mouth. “I’ve ensured your protection. Not even a spider could enter without my permission.”
His confidence soothed my fear just enough for me to mount the front steps after him. Once we crossed the threshold, the house didn’t transform into a horrific trap at least. No monsters sprang from the shadows to attack. In fact, the dour interior greeted us with little fanfare, and any fear quickly turned to suspicion.
“You’ve had people here,” I accused.
In my absence, someone had cleaned the drafty foyer and figured out how to restore heat to the house. In honor of the dreary, overcast day, a fire roared in the drawing room, basting my skin with heat as he led me past it.
“I’ll have them stay out of sight,” Dublin proposed with the air of a kindly benefactor humoring his bothersome charge. “I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of your apparent independence.”
I swallowed hard, biting my lip. Just how much of my month in self-imposed isolation had he deduced so far?
“Given how long you’ve survived without your staff, I’m sure you don’t even require a maid anymore,” he added.
Ah,thatwas a definite jab.
“You’re wrong,” I snapped. God help my instinctive impulse to needle him at every turn—though he had asked for it. “I am anheiress, after all. Whoever shall bathe me, and clothe me, and put me to bed?” I did my best to channel my mother, who would have pointed out those very dilemmas in horrified indignation. “Why, look.” I wiggled all ten of my fingers, pouting. “I have delicate hands.”
“Is that so?” He seized my wrists. A ruthless tug brought me closer to him, rendering me at the mercy of his gaze. “One of your defining attributes,” he murmured, turning his attention to the prized hands in question. “Worthy of protection. So, from now on, I suppose I will be the one to bathe you, and clothe you, and put you to bed.” His serious tone cast doubt on if he truly intended the proposal as a joke.
Laughing, I shrugged as though unaffected. “Via one of your contracted proxies? Kate, perhaps?”
He blinked. “Naturally, only I would ever be permitted to touch you. Such an important heiress couldn’t be trusted to the care of just anyone.”
My heart seized and I took the tiniest step back. Running away was my first, cowardly instinct. He could have this round. I had no trouble admitting how poorly unmatched I was in this arena. Nothing in my pathetic verbal arsenal could counter the sensual gleam flicking across his gaze.
But then I remembered just how sinful his touch could feel. One dose of those sordid memories banished all logic.
“Well, I do own your contract,” I blurted, my face heating. “It’s about damn time I put you to work, isn’t it?”
“That you do.” The grit in his baritone resonated down my spine. I’d barely processed the lust contained within it as he stepped in even closer, forcing me to crane my neck just to maintain eye contact. “Though, frankly, Eleanor, you’ve been rather lax in exerting such ownership. No commands to do your bidding. No humiliating assaults on my autonomy. I have to wonder…do you even have it in you?”
I shuddered, recognizing both the dareandthe threat he’d posed in one go. Did I have the gall to command him? Would he really listen if I tried?
And if I didn’t take the bait, could I stomach the million terrifying questions still looming overhead? My decision took mere seconds to settle upon.
“I…I’m hungry,” I croaked, jutting my chin into the air. “Make me something to eat.Slave.”
“As you wish,mistress.” He released me and inclined his head. “What would you like?”
“Baklava,” I blurted, recalling how the old chef used to despair whenever my mother had requested that particular dish. “From scratch.”
He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “What else? Surely you want more than just a dessert.”
“Spaghetti, then,” I countered. “With meatballsandhomemade noodles.”
“Interesting choice.” He nodded in earnest. “What else?”
“Baked Alaska.” I was just being ruthless now. “And some fish. I prefer to have it gutted, descaled, and filleted in front of me.”
“As you wish. Shall we?”
He grabbed my arm and steered me into the old servant’s alcove. While I watched, he made several calls in rapid-fire succession. Each one progressed way too quickly for me to make out much. When he finally hung up, I found myself dragged into the kitchen, where he shoved me onto a stool and then proceeded to hunt for supplies.
Had I been inclined to help him, I honestly wouldn’t have known where to begin. He didn’t seem to require much assistance as he fished various pots from the cupboards and pulled utensils from drawers. If anything, the bastard seemed a tad too confident in his actions, as though he knew my kitchen far better than he should have.
Not long after, a courier appeared, laden with groceries, and Dublin spread out his bounty over the countertops. After shedding his suit jacket, he set to work. Begrudgingly, I soon realized that my impromptu menu had been ignored. In lieu of pasta and tomato sauce were fresh apples and vegetables, some of which I’d never seen, and a loaf of delicious-smelling bread.
“Should I have you whipped for your insolence?” I wondered as I sat forward, propping my chin on my hands, enthralled by the sight of him.
