Page 47 of The Villain We Tempt

“About what?” I breathe.

“Who you are, little villain,” he growls.

I feel myself squirm beneath his invisible gaze.

“You know who I am,” I whisper tightly.

“Yes indeed,Galina,” he purrs.

That heated thing inside me coils a little tighter.

“I’ll clarify. What I mean is, I wanted to see if you are trulywhat you appear to be in your videos, or if it’s all just an act for the camera.”

I start to open my mouth, then close it again. I have no idea if telling the truth or lying is a better idea right now.

Because the truth is, it’s not an act. Velvet Villainess is just an outlet for all the things that Galina Nikitin can’t be.

But I’m not sure that telling him that is such a good idea.

The Ghost Prince chuckles mechanically again.

“You’re easier to read than I imagined you would be.”

I frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Let’s find out, shall we.”

I shiver when he straightens from where he's been leaning back again the door and stands to his full height, his broad shoulders filling the doorframe behind him and sending a ripple twisting through me.

Ireallymight have just stepped into some shit I’m woefully unprepared for.

On the one hand, he has a good point: if he wanted to hurt me, he would have by now.Especiallyif he’s…Jesusfuck…telling the truth about having broken into my goddamn bedroom and watched me sleep.

And I wouldn't put that past him.

But on the other hand, what if toying with me and playing with my trust is all part of his twisted “thing”? What if he gets off on getting me to let my guard down, so that when hedoeseventually cut my skin off, or rape me, or chain me up in his dungeon for the next ten years while I bear him light-deprived, malnourished children, it’s more of a shock?

Suddenly, the Ghost Prince steps to the side, turns, and nods his chin at the door.

“It’s right there.”

My gaze slides to the doorknob, then to him, then back to the doorknob.

“I won’t physically restrain you.”

Again, it could be a trap. His “thing” might be waiting until I’ve got my fingers on the doorknob and the taste of freedom on my tongue before he tightens the noose.

I glance back at the camera on the tripod, then swivel my gaze back to him.

“You won’tphysicallyrestrain me.”

I canfeelthat goddamn smug grin behind his mask. Motherfucker.

“But you won’t have to,” I mutter sourly. “Because you have that video.”

He doesn’t say a word, and the silence is devastating.

“What do you want?” I croak, feeling another heated throb ripple through my core, like my body can’t decide if it’s scared, prepping for fight or flight mode, or getting ready to be intimatelytouched.