You Are Mine (18 page)

These things were wrong. She didn't want to notice them. She wanted to go back to the way it was before when he was just a wall she leaned against.

Where you were safe.

“You don't look like a kid, angel,” he said in a measured voice. “Because that would make me a pervert and while I am kinky, I'm definitely no pervert.”

That look in his eyes … There was no mistaking it.

She turned away, going over to the table where her tea rested, picking up the cup and taking a sip to cover her reaction. “Okay, fine. But I still don't know why you do all these things for me.”

“I do them because I'm your friend. Because I'm not sure you've ever had anyone who's ever looked after you before.”

Eva stared down at the hot liquid in her cup. He was wrong. She'd been looked after before.

In the house she'd always had food. TV dinners she'd had to cook herself mainly, or takeout when her guards hadn't been bothered to go to the supermarket. It had been amazing for a kid who'd been living on the streets for months. And she'd always been warm. Even had her own bathroom …

She took a sip of the hot liquid, feeling it burn her throat, the pain burning away the memories.

“What do you get out of it?” she asked, flicking a glance at him. “Or is it more a case of money in the bank?”

Zac placed his wine down on the table at his elbow. “Money in the bank meaning I'm doing all of that just to make you more likely to sleep with me presumably?” There was an edge to his voice.

She stared at him, her heart thumping. Remembering the burning gold of his eyes as he'd held her against the wall and the look on his face, a hungry, yearning look.

He was always so in control of himself, so contained, but in that moment he hadn't been. Just like he hadn't been the night he'd come to her apartment, when he'd told her what he wanted.

She got to him. She tested that seemingly perfect control of his. Even now, that simple question had gotten a reaction from him that wasn't his usual patient, measured response.

This isn't new. You're always doing that. You're always pushing him, fighting him. Testing his boundaries. Testing the limits of your friendship.

S
he stilled, pierced by sudden realization. She
was
always fighting him, snarking at him. Pushing him. Because she could, because he was safe.

Because she had power over him and she knew it. And liked it. Especially since she'd had too many years of not having any power whatsoever.

Satisfaction sank down inside of her, heady and exhilarating. Unfamiliar and yet familiar at the same time. It made her want to keep pushing him. Keep fighting him. Test this new power, see how far she could go.

“Well, isn't it?” she couldn't resist saying. “I mean, you do want to sleep with me. At least, that's what you keep saying. Not forgetting the fact that you also want me to want you.” She paused for effect. “And hey, you did say you were a mercenary after all and that everything had a price.”

Zac steepled his fingers, his gaze absolutely enigmatic.

Eva took another sip of her scalding tea. Ginger and lemon, her favorite. “You can't have it both ways, Zac. You can't accept sex as the price for our friendship and then get annoyed when I question your motives.”

There was a long silence. Too long.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You're right.” Reaching for his wine glass, he drained it in one swallow, his golden eyes never leaving hers. “I can't.” He put it back down on the table with a sharp click before getting slowly to his feet. One hand reached for the knot of his tie, undoing it as he began to walk slowly toward her.

Eva stared at him, a deep trepidation turning over inside. “What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago.” He was coming closer, his tie undone now, his fingers going for the top button of his shirt. There was something intent in his gaze, like he'd made a decision.

He's coming for you.

A pulse of unthinking fear went through her and she dropped her cup, tea splashing all over the expensive silk of hand-knotted Persian rug on the floor.

Zac didn't even look at it. Instead, those intense, incredible eyes of his looked only at her. “Sit down, angel,” he said softly.

“What?”

“I said.
Sit. Down
.” His voice smashed across her like an iron bar laid heavily across a pane of glass. There was no arguing with it, no avoiding it, no pretending she didn't hear.

Something inside her screamed “yes.” Like she'd been waiting to hear those words for a long time now, maybe years. Desperately hoping that voice of his, that will of his, could take away her fear, free her from the pain she'd been trapped in for so long.

Yet, there was another part of her that only wanted to fight, to keep protecting herself against the threat he presented. That part had been battling for too long to give up so easily, and it won now, her chin lifting, meeting him as he closed the distance between them.

“Hell no. You think you can—”

Then there was no distance at all, Zac's warm hands on her hips, propelling her back until she found herself sitting in the other wingback chair, with him crouched at her feet, his hands on the arms of the chair.

She couldn't breathe, her heart pounding in her ears, fear igniting small fires everywhere.

But not only fear.

There was intensity in Zac's face, his indomitable will she'd seen turned on others before yet never on herself. A will she'd been longing all this time to test herself against yet hadn't the courage. Now it was here, whether she wanted it or not.

“Give me your hands.” The hard authority of the order was undeniable.

“No,” she said breathlessly. “What the fuck are you—”

“
Hands.
”

She knew she hadn't given them to him and yet he seemed to be holding them anyway, his grip on her wrists unbreakable. And she couldn't breathe, couldn't fight the heat that was moving up her arms, radiating through her. Heat that burned her, terrified her.

“Disobey me again,” he said in a voice like cut steel, “and there will be consequences.”

“Consequences?” She tried to pull her hands away only to find she couldn't move them. A burst of fear caught in her throat. “What the hell are you doing?”

He transferred both her wrists into one large, long-fingered hand while he pulled his undone tie from around his neck. Then with brisk, practiced movements, he wrapped the tie around her wrists, binding them together.

Eva stared dumbly at what he was doing. Her heart felt like it was going to burst through her chest and she wanted to struggle, to run, to get away. Only sheer force of will kept her where she was. She wouldn't give in to the fear, she just wouldn't.

She shivered, trying to stay very, very still.

When he'd finished, he sat back on his heels and looked at her.

“You bastard.” She couldn't stop the words that spilled out, panicked and hoarse. “I don't know what you're trying to do but—”

Zac gripped her chin in his hand, hard and sure. Reflexively she tried to jerk away, but he only held her tighter.

“A-Asshole!” Oh, God, she was stuttering, her voice thin and thready. “Don't fucking touch me!”

He ignored her, leaning forward and taking hold of the fabric of her T-shirt. She tried to get her arms up to stop him but by the time she moved, it was too late. With easy strength and calm force, he ripped her T-shirt open as if it was made out of tissue paper.

Shock like a bucket of ice water tipped over her head, flooding through her, freezing her to the spot.

But he didn't stop. Brushing aside the two halves of her ruined shirt, he took the practical black cotton bra in his fingers and twisted the cups apart, tearing it so that it fell away, baring her completely.

Every single one of her protection mechanisms activated.

Eva raised her bound wrists to cover herself, but he pulled them down and held them pressed to her knees. She panicked, starting to struggle, but he only leaned forward, trapping her legs with the weight of his body, holding them down against the chair. Then with his free hand he reached out and gripped her chin again.

Her heart raced, fear clawing her insides to shreds. “Get the fuck away—”

His thumb pressed down on her mouth, silencing her.

“Be quiet and listen,” he said, his tone diamond-hard. “I know you're scared, Eva, but your days of using me as your scratching post are at an end. You promised me your trust and yet you still refuse to give it. I want it. Now.”

She was trembling, no matter how hard she tried to keep still. Too much sensation. It was overwhelming. The smooth material of the tie binding her wrists. The astonishing heat of his body against her legs. The feel of his fingers against her jaw, her chin against his palm, and the press of his thumb on her lips. The movement of the air against her bared skin, goose bumps rising, making her teeth want to chatter.

Too much. Far, far too much.

Memory began to flicker behind her eyes. Of that first time a week after she'd been taken, when a guard had come into her bedroom one night and told her to take her clothes off. That if she didn't, he'd take them off for her.

So terrified. Knowing and yet not knowing what was going to happen. But she was damned if she let them see how scared she was or have her choice taken from her, so she'd chosen to do as she was told. Stripping and trying to do it like she didn't care. Until they'd put the blindfold on her, taking away her sight, leaving her in darkness …

“Eva.” Zac's voice cracked through the flickering images, shattering them, his fingers pressing against her jaw. “Look at me.”

She blinked, helplessly obeying him. Heart-stopping, those eyes. Full of heat and golden flames, burning high.

“You aren't there anymore.” As if he'd read her mind and knew exactly where she'd gone. “You're here in my library. You're with me. No one else.” His thumb moved on her lips, a gentle stroke that sent all her nerve endings into overload. “Nothing else exists for you, but me. You have no past, no future, only now. Only me. I am the extent of your world.”

That distant, vulnerable part of her, so tired of the burden of memory, wanted to sob in relief, yet she ignored it. That way led to helplessness, to destruction.

Eva opened her mouth and sank her teeth into his thumb. Hard.

He didn't pull away. He didn't even flinch.

He smiled instead, a dark, savage kind of smile. “You'll never make this easy for me, will you? I know you're a fighter and that's good, I like a challenge. But you're fighting the wrong person, Eva. It's time to stop being blind. It's time to see.”

There was blood in her mouth, sharp, metallic. His blood.

His other hand moved and a finger touched her throat before trailing down, drawing a line of fire between her breasts all the way to her stomach. It was a gentle, barely there touch. And yet it was agony.

A sound escaped her, desperate and frightened.

She hated the sound of it.

“Look at me,” he ordered. “If you look away I will punish you.”

There was nothing she could do but obey him, his touch still burning on her skin. Fear stole her breath, made her want to scream, and she had to close her mouth hard against it to stop it from leaking out.

“Don't be afraid of me.” He said it like merely speaking words aloud could make it so. “You know me. I would never hurt you.”

“I'm not afraid!” she burst out. “But you fucking ripped my T-shirt. And now you're … you're … t-touching me. And I don't … I don't want…” She couldn't say it, even now, because it was too much like admitting defeat.

“You do want it, Eva. You crave it. You crave me. But your fear is getting in the way. It's blinding you because you can't stop fighting it.”

Her breathing was out of control, she could hear herself panting like a dog. The heat from his body against her legs was like a furnace, burning her. “Stop. Just fucking s-stop!”

“No.” His refusal was absolute. “Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to make you face your fear. Make you admit that you feel it. You won't like it, you'll try to run from it, but I'm going to do it anyway.” He didn't release her chin, the thumb she'd bitten still stroking her lip. “I need you to give me a safeword. You know what that is?”

Oh yes, she knew. “No, I'm not going to give you a fucking—”

“Say it when you get scared. When you absolutely want me to stop because ‘no' and ‘stop' won't work, understand?”

Eva clenched her teeth together, her whole body quaking. Not willing to give him anything.

“Very well,” he said. “I'll give you a word. Your safeword is ‘void.'”

“B-Bastard. You complete, fucking bastard.”

“You enjoy pushing me, angel. You enjoy testing me, fighting me. You want to know why?” His palm spread suddenly on her stomach, shocking, intense heat. “Because you know I'm safe. Because deep down you understand I will never hurt you.” His palm moved up higher, cupping her bare breast.

The touch blinded her, making every single nerve ending scream, a ragged, hoarse sound escaping her.

Void …

The word waited there, stuck in her throat, but she didn't say it. Because that meant admitting she was scared, and she couldn't. Fear made her vulnerable. Fear would destroy her.

Fighting, protecting herself, was what she knew how to do. That's
all
she'd been doing her whole miserable, goddamn life. She didn't even know if she
could
stop.

Her breathing came in short, hard bursts as his fingers spread out spanning her breast, her nipple against his palm. It felt like he was holding an ember against her skin, an agony of sensation too intense for her taut nerves.