Page 33 of His Forced Bride
If anything, they emphasize the predator lurking beneath his civilized exterior.
"Inessa." He turns as I enter, his dark eyes drinking me in.
It makes me squirm. "I trust your accommodations are acceptable."
"You mean my cell?"
A slight smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
"Your temporary residence. Until tomorrow, when you'll be moved to more permanent quarters."
He pulls out a chair at one end of the table, gesturing for me to sit.
The other chair is positioned close enough that we'll be forced into intimate conversation.
I remain standing. "I want to go home."
"This is your home now."
"This is a prison."
"Prison is a state of mind."
He moves to his own chair and settles into it.
"You can choose to see constraints, or you can choose to see opportunity."
"Opportunity?" I bite out.
"What opportunity is there in being kidnapped and forced into marriage?"
"The opportunity to preserve everything you've built instead of watching it burn."
He reaches for the wine bottle and pours two glasses of deep red liquid.
"Your company, your employees, your future—all of it depends on the decisions you make in the next few hours."
An older woman enters with covered dishes.
She sets them on the table carefully, but her kind eyes avoid mine as if she understands the nature of this dinner.
When she leaves, I'm tempted to race out after her, but he says quietly, "Sit."
"I told you I'm not hungry."
"And I told you to sit."
The gravel in his voice makes my spine stiffen.
I've never responded well to orders, especially from men who think their size and reputation give them the right to control others.
But the alternative—being forced into the chair—would be even more humiliating.
I sit but keep my hands in my lap and my back straight.
A posture of defiance even in compliance.
Yuri uncovers the dishes to reveal food that would normally make my mouth water—roasted duck with cherry sauce, herbed potatoes, vegetables that glisten with butter.
