“Go away.” I try to move past, but he stays in step, blocking every attempt. “Seriously, why are you even here? Can’t you just let me blackout in peace?”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me what you think you were doing.”
I’m not a tiny person. I’ve looked over the head of morethan one guy in my life. But Alik’s got at least six inches on me and, with him invading my personal space, I have an up-close-and-personal view of his neck. The tension pulling his muscles there. The pattern of black ink that curves around from the top of his spine, stopping just in line with his jaw. The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, and the rough texture of his stubble, and the cut of his collar bones exposed by the opening of his shirt.
The bruises he had when I first arrived are almost faded. The bandages that used to peek out from the top of his shirt are gone. He seems to have recovered from whatever happened to him, his body radiating strength and power. Everything I’m not, and it makes me see red.
I shove his chest hard. “Move.”
“No. Not until I’m convinced you aren’t going to pass out.”
“I’m fine. It was nothing.”
His jaw ticks. “You went completely white, Marya. I saw your eyes roll back.”
“Seriously, how? Are you spying on me?”
“I’m only doing what I should’ve from the start. I’ve put cameras in the apartment.”
“For real? You’re actually watching me?”
Alik stands his ground. “It was a logical move after the other night. You need someone to keep an eye on you, to stop you from hurting yourself again.” He gestures at the treadmill. “Obviously.”
“God, you are such an arrogant prick.” I want to escape him, this room, but my legs won’t work properly. One step and I’m worried I’m going to drop on my ass. “Where are the cameras? Holy shit, are you watching me sleep? Such a creep.”
“No, Marya. I’m not a pervert. Christ.” Alik scrubs the back of his neck, irritation coming off him in waves. “There are no cameras in the bedroom or bathrooms. Just in the main living areas, hallways, and this room.”
The reality of what he’s saying sinks in, and I’m instantly embarrassed.Oh, God. “You’ve been watching me run?”
“If you mean I’ve been watching you be reckless and risk injuring yourself all over again, then yes.” Alik’s irritation turns to anger. “I was in the middle of something when I saw you doing whatever the fuckthiswas. I had to stop everything, come racing back here before you seriously hurt yourself. Before you tripped and fell and broke your fucking neck.Yopt’! What the hell were you thinking?” He’s yelling now.
“Why do you care?” I yell back. “Why do you care so much about what your little captive does? Why do you care if I hurt myself? I’m sticking to our agreement. I’m not trying to run away. I’m keeping to the confines of my prison. Beyond that, what does it matter to you what I do?”
My chest is heaving, my sports bra suddenly too tight. The elastic of my shorts cuts into my waist and thighs. Everything I’m wearing feels too small, too revealing, the shape of my body very clearly on display in what amounts to little more than a few scraps of spandex.
I wrap my arms around my midsection, and the movement draws Alik’s attention down to my chest.
I follow his gaze and feel my temperature spike when I realize what he’s looking at. In this position I’ve pushed my boobs to the upward limits of the bra. My chest isn’t big, nowhere close, but it’s so squished right now I actually have cleavage. Cleavage that Alik is blatantly staring at.
The longer he looks, the harder my nipples get. The more I realize my legs are shaking for a new reason.
A reason, a reaction I haven’t felt in a very long time.
Vaffanculo. I haven’t felt anything like attraction in at least three years. My body’s been deprived of anything like it, forced into hibernation and dry to the bone. In the recesses of my mind, I was starting to wonder if that part of me would ever come back to life or if the starvation Rocco put methrough—physical, emotional, social—killed that part of me forever.
My breasts start to physically ache under Alik’s heated gaze. His eyelids start to fall under the pressure building between us and I want to scream. How can my body come alive forthisman? Why does it have to be his attention that makes my stomach flip in anticipation? His hands that I want to feel on my bare skin? His mouth?—
Fuck. No. No way. I’m not doing this Stockholm Syndrome bullshit with him. I rip my eyes from his face, pour as much steel into my voice as I can. “Seriously, Alik—why do you care?”
My question pulls him out of his trance. His broad chest expands on an inhale, and I refuse to acknowledge how gorgeous he looks. Golden-brown hair ruffled, expression hard, casual indifference dropping over him like a shield, from his strong shoulders to his muscular thighs. “I only care,” he says, utterly detached, “because whatever else I am, I’m a man of my word. I told you you’d be safe here, Marya. I’m not about to let you make a liar out of me, no matter how fucking hard you try.”
Turning on his heel, Alik strides for the door as his answer hits me like a bad turn on the tilt-a-whirl. Up goes down, my head spins, and I realize too late that I haven’t eaten anything today.
I’m on my ass a second later. My butt stings, but it’s Alik’s dismissal that really hurts. I don’t know what I was thinking, what I was hoping for. I hate him. I resent him. I’m not staying with him one second more than I have to. But he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in three years and having him dismiss me like that is a painful pill to swallow.
Apparently, whatever’s happened in the time since he started sneaking into my cell, it hasn’t formed a connection between us.
I don’t mean anything to him.