Page 36 of Thorns of Blood
“Because no human being should be touched without his or her permission,” I told him, using a tone that I usually reserved for little children.
“So sex is not off the table?”
Fucking men and sex. Was that the only thing they ever thought of?
“I haven’t had sex in years, if you want to call it that, and I’m not rushing into anything.” I despised him for dragging my admission out of me. It made me feel vulnerable, visibly broken. After all that I’d endured, there was never a single part of me that missed it.
“Are you messing with my head?” he growled, looking at me suspiciously.
I scoffed. “Just because I make a statement about the lack of sexual activity in my life, you accuse me of messing with your head?”
Giovanni’s eyes blazed, and it set something inside of me alight. Damn him. “You want to have sex?”
The man sounded way too eager for my tastes. Jesus Christ, was I getting in over my head?
“Not until we’re married.”Or fucking ever.Although, there was no denying that my voice sounded different, huskier and dipped in duplicity, which I hoped he didn’t recognize. His penetrating stare made me believe otherwise. “Besides, I’d like to be untied for it.”So I could think of another way to kill you.
“And I’d like a kiss.” There was a teasing tone to his voice, but I’d learned never to discount men.
“In your dreams.” The words flew out of my mouth, and there was no retrieving them.
“You’re right, you do kiss me in my dreams.” What. The. Actual.Fuck. “Is kissing where you draw the line?”
He smirked, and I decided it was probably a good thing I was tied up—for his sake anyway.
“I refuse to be restrained if we are to have this conversation.”
The steady beat of my heart rang in my ears as I waited to see if he’d bite. One step. Two. And sure as shit, he began untying my wrists. I shifted on the pillows, away from his heat, rubbing my tender skin as I watched him out of the corner of my eye.
“We can table the discussion for now, Liana. And I swear on my siblings’ lives, I will never force you or touch you without your permission,” Giovanni said, although there was clear disappointment on his face. “But I hope one day, you’ll trust me enough to allow me to touch you and to confide in me.”
I stilled, his words brushing against my frozen heart. Would I? I didn’t think so. Trust and hope were for fools, and I would no longer be one. Ever.
“Is it okay if I stand up and stretch? Or would you like to monitor that too?”
I was being sarcastic, and there was no way he missed that, but I couldn’t deny my unease at this whole thing. Who was I, asking for permission? Liana Volkov didn’t ask for fucking permission. Nonetheless, here we were, me waiting for this man’s acknowledgement.
Once he nodded his permission, I slid off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood as I pulled my dress down.
I kept my body relaxed and my movements casual as I took a step toward the floor-to-ceiling window, getting a full view of the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. I couldn’t help but wonder how far we were from Venezuela and my daughter.
Amara. My little Mara.
My chest tightened, but I chose not to dwell on the pain. Self-pity never served anyone, and it certainly had never helped me in the past.
“Are we in danger of being swept up into the Bermuda triangle?” I asked casually, my eyes locked on the horizon. I was clutching at straws here, trying to determine our location, but I had nothing to lose. Let this man think I was a conspiracy theorist; I couldn’t care less. “I’ve heard of boats disappearing in it.”
“We’re only two hundred miles off the shores of Venezuela.”
I sensed him more than heard him come up behind me and I forced myself to slowly turn around and meet his gaze.
“I guess yachts move very slow.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Have you never been on one?”
“No.”
“Been on a boat at all?”
