Still riding the anger, I march around the table and get in her face. “Yes, I hate you all, and as far as I’m concerned, they could wipe your entire species from the face of the planet and we’d all be better for it.”
Her jaw tightens, her eyes going dark and hooded. “I’ll take my food in my room. Set up the meeting. I’d hate to inconvenience you any further than necessary.”
I can’t breathe until she is out of my sight. Her door slams so loud it rattles the pictures on the wall.
I lie to myself. It’s better this way anyway.
12
SELENA
I can still feel the ghost of his fingers on my leg. My skin still tingles with the sensation still. Definitely not a good sign. Maybe I should have put more effort into finding a partner to relieve this ache, someone moldable, biddable, but pretty. Is it still a trophy wife if he’s a guy?
My first thought goes to Michail, even though there is nothing biddable about him. He thrives on pushing me until I’m nothing but reaction. Nothing but feeling. No thinking. No logic. And something tells me that’s the way he likes people. Leaving them to their base actions, so he can maneuver them however he needs for his own ends.
The problem with being on the receiving end of such manipulation, often you don’t even realize you’re there, and that he’s pushed you too far.
I figured it out as I laid in bed last night thinking about his mouth on mine. He used my own reactions to get me to do what he wanted, leave the bar, and it worked. If those damn full lips hadn’t been weaponized against me, I would have found it genius. Tried to talk him into working for me. Now, I’m stuck with the memories and fear of his abilities.
I throw myself back on my bed and pray he stays out of my room long enough to get my brain and my body back on the same page.
“It was one fucking kiss,” I murmur to myself. “One kiss isn’t worth all this thought.”
People kiss other people all the time. Why is this so different? Because it’s been years since I’ve allowed someone to touch me intimately? Because I fear reducing myself to that base level and letting someone else see it, witness me like that?
Right now, I need to think about this meeting with my possible future fiancé. Even the thought in my head sounds wrong. Not that me being married to anyone at all sounds right. Marriage was never in my plans.
Damn them for taking this choice from me. Even without a real choice, is this a better option? I’ll be tied to this man for life, or until I decide I’m over him and attempt to kill him. I’ve always known I wouldn’t have the kind of relationship my mother and father had. I just can’t trust someone that way. I can never trust someone with all of me.
I roll over on the bed and stare at my suitcase, the one I haven’t bothered unpacking. I thought this would take a few days and I’d head home to solidify my power base. At this rate, I’ll be stuck with my surly babysitter for weeks. Something neither of us will survive.
But is getting free of Michail’s clutches the only reason I’m thinking of joining Emmanuelle? Doesn’t seem like a great long-term strategy.
Especially when Michail’s touch wakes me up so thoroughly and I couldn’t be any more indifferent to Emmanuelle and whatever he’s offering. He’s handsome, I’ll give him that, but his rugged former frat boy vibe doesn’t do it for me.
My door bursts open hard enough to hit the wall behind it. Michail, of course, walks in like he has since we first moved into this hotel suite. “Your meeting is set. You might want to get ready.”
I can’t help it. I sit up on the bed and glare. “You don’t have any whore outfits for me tonight? Nothing that says good luck for your impending marriage?”
“Maybe if you were actually marrying that asshole, but we both know it’ll never happen. No matter what you might tell him, or yourself.” He saunters closer, his hands casually stuffed into his tailored slacks. “You want to know how I know?”
I shake my head. “No, because I don’t care about your opinions. Not when it comes to things you have no right registering an opinion on.”
He continues his slow advance forward, and I resist scuttling backward on the bed to keep the distance between us. “If a gunman walked through that door right now, I’d step in front of you. It’s my actual fucking job to take a bullet for you, even though I don’t even like you.”
I narrow my eyes, hoping he can tell I feel the same. I open my mouth to speak, but he grabs my chin in a lightning fast move I can’t evade. “No, you’re not speaking now, you little brat. If a man walks in here with a gun, I’ll protect you, because it’s my job, and the job one of my best friend’s asked of me. So that, and that alone, entitles me to some opinion about what you’ll be doing with your person, at least while you’re under my care.”