Page 15 of The Villain's Captive (The Villain's Duet 1)

“I guess being kidnapped brings the worst out of a person.”

His full lips pulled into a thin line, his dark brows slanted inward while he eased closer, his stare firmly focused. He didn’t say a word, yet it felt like he was speaking volumes through his gaze alone—telling tales of darkness and sin, violence and menace.

“You shouldn’t have invaded my privacy like that.” It was one of those uncomfortable moments when words would just pop out of your mouth.

“There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

“You had no right.”

He smirked. “Of course I didn’t.” Another step, and he came closer, sucking all the air out of the room as he closed the distance between us.

My back hit the wall, and I sucked in a breath, realizing I was trapped.

The heart of the prey beating rapidly under the predatory gaze of the hunter.

Brown irises gleamed with something primal as his gaze knotted with mine, and my insides coiled tight, my body rigid. The weight of his presence pinned me against the wall, and I couldn’t fucking move. The moment, the way he stared at me, it was just too goddamn intense, like it held every muscle captive.

“I won’t make this easy for you.” I lifted my chin, determined to put on a convincing show of bravery, which could either work in my favor or potentially backfire by increasing the thrill of the hunt for this man.

A mischievous smirk curled at the corner of his lips, and I shuddered as he placed a palm against the wall, right above my shoulder. His pointed gaze drifted from my eyes to my lips, paused, and looked back up. There was something about staring into those cognac swirls, his irises giving me a glimpse of a silent devilry that lurked within. A certain magnetism that baited me, lured me in by seducing my fear and turning it into curiosity.

“Tell me,” he urged, inching forward. “What do you think I’ll demand?”

“I don’t know.” I rushed my answer. “But whatever it is, I’m sure you don’t have my best interest at heart.”

He licked his lips, amusement painted across his every feature. For what felt like eons, we stood there in silence, our gazes locked as a silent war raged. My heart beat so fast, I was afraid he’d hear it, see the vein pulsing in my neck. But this was different than before. When he came in here the first time, I was overcome with fear, my mind was too scattered and drowning in adrenaline, rendering me incapable of thinking straight. Right now, though, there was this sliver of courage that peeked through the panic, allowing me to see past the fear.

The rich scent of musk blended with cardamom’s earthy-sweet possessed the air. There was a sensual sway in the way he smelled, a hidden influence that strengthened his presence—a presence that was already hard to ignore.

His gaze dropped, but this time lower, staring at my throat as he brought his arm down, brushing a fingertip down the side of my neck.

“You almost killed me.” I brought my hand up to my throat, reminded of what it felt like to have the air choked from my lungs.

His smile was sardonic. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Is that a threat?

“Just a fact.”

“So, you don’t plan on killing me, then?”

A half-hearted laugh left his lips, clearly the only answer he’d give to my question. He stepped back, pulling a hand through his midnight curls. “It’s almost dinnertime. I would have offered you the option of eating with me at the dining table,” he narrowed his eyes, “but I have a feeling you won’t…behave appropriately.”

“If by appropriately you mean not try to run and scream for help, then you’re right.”

He nodded. Still smiling. “I’ll bring dinner to you, then.” He turned, and I hastily stepped forward.

“What is your name?”

He stilled and glanced back.

“The least you can do is tell me your name.”

“Let’s get one thing straight.” He turned to face me. “I don’t owe you anything. There is no ‘least’ I can do for you. You’d be smart to remember that.” There were a thousand threats that laced his words, causing me to bite my tongue.

“I don’t…I didn’t—”

“Elijah.”

His gaze was unsettling as it reached for me all the way across the room. “My name is Elijah.”

I sucked on my bottom lip, shifting from one leg to the other. Such a beautiful name for a kidnapper. What a contradiction.

“Well, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you…Elijah.”

“Yeah,” he turned his back on me, “wish I could have said the same about you…Charlotte Leigh Moore.”

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