Blyss (The Blyss Trilogy 1)

I look into his sincere eyes and somehow, I believe him. His words are as sweet as honey, rich and smooth, soothing my frayed nerves. I find myself wanting to hang on to every word that proceeds out of his mouth. Just when I think he’s going to close the distance for a kiss, he pulls back, leaving me feeling bereft. His eyes searching mine, he asks, “Do you understand me now?”

“Yes,” I answer in a small voice and nod my head, because I think I do understand he won’t let harm come to me, but Nick is another story. Transfixed on his searing gaze, I repeat, “Yes, thank you.”

Um, thank you, Jules? Really? Thanking your captor?

I tell myself it’s not my fault; his close proximity is too distracting, making my brain cells misfire.

“I know you have plenty of unanswered questions, and I will answer the majority of them tomorrow, when you’re better rested, but if you wish, I can answer a select few for you now. I’ll tell you if I’m not at liberty to answer something for you or not.”

Before I have the opportunity to speak, he holds up his finger, indicating he’s not done. He gets up, retrieves the tray of food, and carries it back with him. He sets it on the nightstand beside me, and I watch him remove the dome lid, uncovering a steamy, hot meal. “Why don’t you eat a little bit first? You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re going to need your strength.”

He has a forkful of roast beef with potatoes speared onto the end of the fork when I look over, and I find myself in a trance again, watching him bring it up to blow on through his soft lips, cooling my food. The steam swirls then dissipates into the air, leaving a delicious smell in its wake. My stomach decides at that moment to embarrass me and grumble.

“Ah, I heard that. I see dinner is just in time,” he says with a smirk as he steers the bite of food straight toward my lips to feed me. I’m dumbfounded at myself as I comply, my lips automatically parting, accepting the warm bite of food before me. “That-a girl,” he praises.

“Mmmm.” Shit, I can’t believe I just moaned.

He reaches for a napkin, then dabs the corners of my lips with it. “Our finest cuisine, Madame, made especially for you.” He speaks the words with an exaggerated French accent and gives me a grin, and then in the same accent, he says, “I guess meat and potatoes are gluten-free, no?” I almost giggle, but I repress it with a shy smile. “Ahhh, now that’s a beautiful sight. I must thank the chef personally.” The meal does taste wonderful, especially since I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours. Despite the circumstances, I do appreciate him trying to make me feel better, especially now that he’s told me he won’t hurt me.

However, I know I shouldn’t get too comfortable with him, and I also know I’m not thinking rationally right now, either. I have no idea how to deal with this situation, and I feel so foolish allowing myself to slip into denial. This has got to be part of the shock process I’m going through, escaping into Travis-land as a self-preservation mechanism. After Nick’s jolting blow by threatening to sell me, I can’t seem to admit to myself the full reality of my circumstances anymore; my consciousness simply refuses to acknowledge it.

An inviting grin plays across his handsome face while he stares intently at me, lifting one brow. He’s damn good at playing this game; I’ll give him that. My state of mind went from irate to shock, and then my tears turned into small smiles, all at record speed. I feel like I’m out of my mind as my emotions have been scattered all over the map.

“You are, you know…” he says rather seriously, “…a beautiful sight.” I blush, averting my gaze from his. He chuckles at me while turning to gather up another forkful of food. I’m sure I’m a sight, all right—all battered and bruised.

I glance back up at him, his profile facing me, and I notice through his scruffy beard there’s a long line where facial hair hasn’t grown. It’s a scar, and it starts in front of his right ear and runs along the underside of his jawline. It’s a thin scar, barely visible to the naked eye, which makes me think it’s old. It only adds to his sexy, yet dangerous persona. I have the urge to trace it with my finger, but of course, I don’t.

I don’t feel threatened by Travis at all, even though there seems to be a certain unreadable edge to him. I can’t quite put my finger on it. With Nick, you can feel the evil emanating from him, and it screams at you from a mile away. He doesn’t try to conceal it either. Travis, on the other hand, seems to be one cool cat. You don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling. He’s obviously a well-practiced master of controlling his own emotions and expressions.