Page 22 of The Captive
The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lower lip. For a dangerous moment, I found myself wondering how that mouth would feel against my skin.
"The handcuffs are becoming tedious," I said, deliberately rattling the metal against the chair. "Surely a man of your... capabilities doesn't need such crude restraints."
His eyebrow arched, but to my surprise, he reached for the key. The restraint on my right wrist clicked open. The sudden freedom was almost dizzying after hours of confinement.
"Better?" he asked, his gaze never leaving mine as he poured amber liquid into two crystal tumblers.
"Getting there." I flexed my fingers.
He offered me one glass, the gesture so incongruously civilized it nearly made me laugh. "Macallan 18. I suspect you're familiar."
"My father's preferred choice," I confirmed, accepting the tumbler, our fingers brushing in a contact that sent electricity shooting up my arm.
"To worthy adversaries," he said, raising his glass in a toast that seemed both mocking and real.
I hesitated, then touched my glass to his. The whiskey burned pleasantly down my throat, warming places inside me that had nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with the way Alexander's eyes tracked the movement of my swallow.
"You have a tell," he said suddenly, setting his glass down and leaning forward. "When you're lying or being evasive about the important things, you tilt your head just slightly to the right."
My breath hitched. "And when I'm telling the truth?"
His hand reached out, fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture so intimate, it felt more invasive than the interrogation. "Your eyes change colour. More emerald, less ice."
"And what colour are they now?" I whispered, caught in the gravity of his gaze.
He studied me for a long moment, his face moving incrementally closer to mine. "Pure fire.”
His fingers brushed mine once more as he took the glass. The room suddenly felt too warm, too small, the air between us charged with something I couldn’t define.
He stared at me for a long moment, then trailed his fingers across my shoulders.
"You know," he said softly, "exhaustion makes the mind so wonderfully... pliable."
The clock on the wall showed three AM. My third night without sleep.
"I remember the taste of your skin," he continued, pressing a thumb against my collarbone until I winced. "Your shape." His fingers traced over my shirt, feeling the dips. He stopped right above my breast. "I remember that when you smiled, your eyes sparkled like stars in a clear sky. I’ve never forgotten…"
He slid his hand up and tightened it on my shoulder, digging into the pressure point until my vision blurred. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
"Interesting," he whispered, "how your nipple darkens with just a soft kiss… a dark rose hue. And your eyes…" His grip relaxed slightly as he moved to stand before me again. "The way they turn almost black when you're... aroused."
When he mentioned those specific details as if he gave them thought on every day of his life, my shock must have shown on my face.
"So you—" I began, then stopped myself.
His smile was full of lust yet predatory at the same time. "It seems none of us can forget the other."
Rage burned through me—how dare he? After all that happened—he and Ronan had killed my father! They both deserved to burn for that. And whatever had happened between me and Alexander before all of that was something I never wanted to repeat.
Yet, I balked at my body’s betrayal, at my own vulnerability, at the way I instinctively responded to him when he got close.
"We both know this isn't just about information anymore," I said, deliberately provoking him, creating the illusion of intimacy to further cloud his judgment. "You're enjoying this too much."
Something shifted in his expression—control slipping for the first time. His hands moved to my thighs, sliding upward in a motion that began as verification but transformed into something more primal, more … deliberate. My skin burned beneath his touch, my breaths became shallow and fast despite my efforts to remain unaffected.
"Am I?" he asked, voice rough.
Our eyes locked. "Yes," I whispered, the word escaping before I could stop it.
