Page 196 of Merciless Desires

I didn’t want to wake up. My dreams had been filled with visions of Rose. Even in the depths of sleep I could feel her touch on my shoulder and the weight of her arm along mine. Our fingers were threaded together as we glided around the ballroom in a never-ending waltz. There was no conversation, only touch. Conversation seemed too lowly a thing to be permitted to intercept our little slice of time. But the sensation of touch deepened until we were moulded together as one. Her smile became mine. My body became hers.

When I reluctantly opened my eyes, the feeling stayed with me. Rose was more than just some girl who wanted to sell her virginity. She was a goddess who was only still in this tower because I’d imprisoned her.

I growled low and pushed myself out of bed into the shower. It was still early but I didn’t want to wait until a supposedly respectable hour. I wanted to see Rose now. It didn’t matter that a sweep of her gaze made me feel as unworthy as I was, or that her thinly veiled hatred was impossible for her to disguise. I just wanted to bask a little in her proximity. I’d never have a woman like Rose in my captivity again, so I wasn’t going to waste another minute.

Freshly showered, I messaged Harrod. Ten minutes of pacing the room later, a knock came at the door. I opened it to find my butler standing at the other side, his head turned and brow raised in a look that said, ‘are you sure about this?’

“Relax, Harrod.” I took the tray from him and strode past and down the stairs two floors to the guest room.

One of my two security men unlocked the door for me, seeing as I had no hands free.

Her face was bright as the door revealed her, then it dimmed when she set eyes on me. Even the sight of a silver tray laden with French pastries, sliced fruits, cold meats and freshly brewed coffee failed to permeate her resentful exterior.

The door had swung wide to let me in, then the weight drew it closed with a loud clunk.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said in a bored tone, gesturing to the robe she was wrapped in. “If you give me a minute, I’ll change.”

“Don’t change on my account.” I wouldn’t have minded staring at the gap in her robe wondering what she tasted like beneath it. “Only if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

She held my gaze for longer than I expected, her pupils roaming my face as if looking for some hint of deception. “I think I would feel more comfortable.” Her voice cracked as she said the words.

I waited in the main suite while she headed to the bedroom to change. When she returned, I decided I liked floral day dresses way more than half-open bathrobes. I silently thanked Madame Galette, our family dressmaker. She hadn’t made all the dresses that had been delivered to Rose – she wouldn’t have had enough time to create garments to my standard – but she’d handmade this one, I could tell. It had all the signature details I’d come to recognise in the garments every female family member wore.

It had a conservative neckline that cleverly and subtly exposed the collar bone, a hint of lace beneath the hem of the skirt, a sharpness to the shoulder. In it, Rose looked like summer itself. Floral, warm… virginal.

“I brought breakfast.” The words came out quickly in an attempt to conceal the heat crawling through my pelvis.

Her long, pale eyelashes flicked up at me. “Ever the gentleman.” She pulled out a chair, ignoring the one I already held out for her, and sat.

I settled opposite her, filling the small chair with my bulk. At six foot three and two hundred and twenty pounds, I wasn’t made for parlour chairs. I caught her biting back a small smile at my obvious discomfort.

“Why breakfast?” Her question surprised me.

“What do you mean, ‘why breakfast’? Why not breakfast?”

She placed her hands in her lap and cocked her head to one side. “The way you marched out of the ballroom last night, without even a glance over your shoulder, I honestly expected to have been sent packing on a boat by now.”

I lifted the cloche, revealing a plate of warm croissants, and took one. I sliced it open then stroked a butter knife across its spongy flesh. “Didn’t you hear what I said, Rose?” I dipped the knife into a small pot of freshly cooked jam. It had always been my favourite, so Chef always made sure he had a small batch on the hob. I streaked it over the open croissant then cut it into small pieces. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Until you take my virginity,” she clarified.

I placed the knife down and gave her my full focus. “Yes.”

“Which you will only do when you’re satisfied that I want it.”

I passed the plate to her. “That’s correct. Now, eat.”

“What jam is this?” she asked, without glancing down.

“It’s strawberry jam made with rose water. This morning in fact.” I poured two cups of coffee and lifted the jug of cream along with a questioning brow.

“Yes please.” She nodded. “And you’re eating with me, why?”

I shrugged. “You said you wanted to get to know me better, so here I am.”

“I was getting to know you just fine last night before you stormed out on me.”

I bristled. “I didn’t storm out on you. In my mind, the conversation had ended.”

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