Marching me into the adjacent dining room. The table had been set for two, and I would have laughed if I’d had the stomach for it: a crisp white tablecloth glowed under the warm, ambient light of several tall taper candles. Red cloth napkins, folded into graceful triangles, sat atop gold-filigree plates. Fresh roses – red, this time – were arranged in a gorgeous crystal vase. Several warming platters sat in the center of the table, covered by silver lids.
He’d created the perfect romanticatmosphere for a dinner date for two.
Rather than leading me to my chair at the table, he pushed me toward the small settee in the corner of the room. When I landed on the plush cushions, he threw the green dress onto my lap.
“Change for dinner,” he ordered, setting his knife on the table. He didn’t need to wield like a mad man – its presence alone was an implied threat, and enough to keep me complacent.
I looked down at my bound hands. “I can’t.”
He slapped me across the face so hard my head snapped back. At least he’d hit the other cheek this time;I’ll have matching bruises, I thought, rather dazedly. Blinking away the dark spots dancing in front of my eyes, I looked up at him.
“You’ll do whatever I say without question, bitch,” he said, his voice strained. The thought that I’d disobey was nearly enough to unhinge him.
“Of course,” I agreed,trying to infuse my voice with humility. “I just wondered if you would be kind enough—” I forced out the words. “—to untie my hands first.”
His face was stony, contemplative.
“Just for a minute,” I added hastily. “So I can put on the dress. It’s beautiful.”
The last thing I wanted to do was strip bare in front of him and put on some dress he’d bought for me, like we were playing some sick, twisted game of house.But with my hands bound, I didn’t stand a chance at escaping.
If I can get my hands on that knife…
I tried not to think that far in advance. I was taking this one careful step at a time, feeling out his weaknesses and playing it smart.
“You like the dress?” he asked, skeptically.
“I love it,” I agreed immediately. “Thank you for getting it for me.”
He nodded. “I’ll take off the ropes while you change. But I will stay in the room the entire time, and if you do anything foolish there will be consequences.”
I could pretty easily guess what he meant by ‘consequences,’ watching as he picked up the knife and advanced toward me.He quickly cut my bonds, allowing the rope to fall to the floor beneath the settee, and retreated back across the room. Sitting down on of the chairs at the table, he kept the knife in his hand and his eyes on me.
Trembling, I cast my eyes down to the floor and peeled my sweater up over my head.I stood and shimmied out of my jeans, watching as they hit the floor. I resisted every urge I had to cover myself from his eyes, to put a stop to this depraved and degrading strip tease, knowing he would be angry if I did.
With shaking hands, I pulled the dress fabric over my head and settled it around my body. Smoothing down the skirt with my palms, I did up the side zipper and surreptitiously hiked up the neckline to cover as much cleavage as possible.
When I was done, I looked up and met his dark eyes across the room.
He looked both aroused andempowered by my immodest show, his gaze following my every movement.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the chair to his left. “Youcan eat without your hands tied, for now.”
A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I sat and watched as he spooned a helping of chicken and potatoes onto both of our plates. It smelled good, but the thought of eating anything turned my stomach – anything I consumed would likely just come right back up again.
“Eat,” he ordered, lifting a forkful of potatoes to his mouth.
I reached for my glass of water.
We bothstilled, my hand frozen midway through its reach and his fork poised in the air, when the indisputable sound of a motorcycle engine roared down the street and came to a stop outside the house.
Our gazes locked and I could tell we were both thinking the same thing.
Finn was here.
Chapter Twenty