Page 58 of Hush Darling
He wanted her dressed? “I have nothing. My nightgown is?—”
He abruptly opened a drawer and pulled out a black button-down shirt, flinging it at her. “Cover yourself.”
Confused, she pulled the long dress shirt over her body. The material draped to her knees, and the sleeves billowed over her hands. He was a big man. The fabric smelled of rich spices and bergamot, a fragrance she now associated with him.
Every time he paced, he added to the nervous energy churning between them.
“If I did something wrong?—”
“Quiet,” he snapped. “I need to think.”
Was he having second thoughts?
He moved like sin incarnate, his muscular, leather-clad legs eating up the distance from one wall to another. The flickering candlelight cast his sharp features in shadows, enhancing the beauty of his sun-kissed skin.
He moved to the ornate desk in the corner and removed a sheet of paper. Hunching over the surface, he jotted something down.
“Come here.”
She hesitantly crossed the carpet. When she was within arm’s reach, he tugged her in front of him and made her face the desk.
“Sign.”
She stared down at the paper and read the jagged script.
I, Wendy Moira Angela Darling, willingly surrender my body to Captain James Hook.
X________________________________________
She stared at the simple contract. Why bother? She’d given her verbal consent when he threatened her with the rats down below.
“I don’t think?—”
“I said sign.” He grabbed her hand, wrapping it around the pen and forcing the tip to the slashed line he’d drawn.
Did he not realize that a contract was meaningless under duress? With a trembling hand, she scribbled her name.
“Good. It’s done.”
He tucked the paper back into the desk just as there was a rap at the door. Her spine stiffened, and she backed into the wall.
He unlocked the door, and several crewmen shuffled in, bearing gilded trays of food. They set the platters on the table, and the scent of roasted meats filled the chamber. The absurdity of it all—the porcelain plates, the silver forks, and the linen napkins—Wendy didn’t understand the need for such formality when she was here against her will. He was getting his way whether he impressed her or not.
The men left, and her throat tightened. It was a ritual she’d never experienced, an adult dance of seduction she would undoubtedly fumble through with the awkwardness of an ignorant child.
He pulled out a chair. “Sit.”
Reluctantly, she left the safety of the wall, but her feet barely moved. Each baby step only carried her an inch closer to him.
“By all means, take your time. I love to wait when I give an order.”
Her halting steps forced her closer until she slowly lowered into the chair. He tucked her in, then reached over her shoulder, deliberately encroaching on her personal space to set her knife beside her plate.
“Your knife, darling.”
When she hesitated to touch anything, he chuckled.
He sat in the chair across from her and served the food. She watched from under her lashes as he cut each portion with measured preciseness. He savored the first bite, chewing slowly and gracefully, appreciating every flavor as if he wished to show the utmost respect to the chef who was not present.
