“Say that again.” He tossed my shoe aside and met my eyes. “I like the way that word sounds on your tongue.”
“Captor,” I said. “I’m your captive, and I have no doubt it brings you pleasure to hear that.”
“Not that one. Husband.” He moved my foot a few inches over until my arch aligned with a bulge at his zipper. “You are my wife, and it brings me perverse pleasure to both say it and hear it.”
My throat dried as he lengthened and grew against my foot. He was aroused, and I was at his mercy.
Rain pattered the roof as the sky darkened. “How long until we reach the Badlands?”
Cristiano wet his lips. “Another half hour or so.”
I weighed my options. I had no idea what awaited me inside the gates. At least twice, he’d warned of taking me later. Better it lasted thirty minutes than through the night. If luck was on my side, maybe once would be enough for him to tire of me and move on.
“Just enough time to consummate our union,” I said.
He stilled, blinking at me. “I’m sorry?”
I pushed through the instinct to shut my mouth. I could endure him for thirty minutes. And even if I couldn’t, I had to rise to the challenge. “You said the marriage wasn’t valid until we consummated it.”
“Correct.”
“Then the people I love aren’t safe until the ink is dry.”
He cocked his head, squeezing my foot as he ran a firm thumb along my sole the way he had after he’d removed all the glass from it. A sharp, delicious twinge pulled inside me, and I shuddered to hide that his touch tickled. “You’re so eager that you want me to take you here the first time?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“I want it done,” I said.
“You cowered from me in the church.”
“To be violated as Our Lady of Guadalupe looks on is heinous.” I should’ve been more afraid of what I was asking. I was tempting the beast to defile me. But I tried to appeal to logic. The devil I knew was here, now, and the clock was ticking. “To be had in the backseat of a car,”—I swallowed—“feels truer than anything yet.”
“Not in the least,” he said immediately, curving his hand against the smooth black leather seat. “This isn’t suitable for my bride.”
“I’m not your bride—I’m your prisoner. You want to be my husband? It’s too late for that. You will take me as your captive, not your wife.”
He set his jaw and reached for my other leg. Instinctively, I pulled away at the thought of him taking hold of both my ankles, but the backseat didn’t give me much room. He captured my foot and set to work freeing it from its satin confines. “You’re speaking from anger,” he said. “I understand. You feel betrayed—as you should. He traded you, but take comfort in the fact that I never will.”
“Where’s the comfort in that?”
“You’ll learn to find it.”
Though I faced him now with both feet in his lap, I turned my head away. “For my sanity, I hope I do.”
My jaw tingled. Trapped. At least he acknowledged it. But how literal would my captivity be? Momentarily, I’d forgotten to fear not just Cristiano but the place he called home. The Badlands had been described as dangerous, cultish, lawless—a wasteland for women and children. To add insult to injury, it was set against—but walled off from—the Pacific Ocean that sprawled from Mexico’s west coast. And I would be in the center of it all.
“What are you thinking about that makes your toes curl?” he asked.
I flexed my feet, forcing myself to relax. I had to remember Cristiano was nothing if not observant. Even as a girl, I’d been the subject of his attention, which unfortunately meant he might know me better than I was comfortable with.
Having liberated my feet, he inspected the soles.
“Have you taken more bullets than drugs in your lifetime?” I asked.
He raised just his eyes. And a single brow. “Pardon?”
“That’s the rumor about Calavera’s leader.”
“I have never taken drugs,” he said.
“And bullets?”
“What do you think?”
“I think . . . yes. You have.”
He squeezed my heel. “Good guess.”
He seemed simultaneously amused and grave. I ran my tongue along the bottom of my teeth. “Do you have a foot fetish?” I asked, just to see what he’d say.
“So many questions.” He seemed to consciously flex his grip, as if he’d forgotten he was holding onto me. “Why do you ask?”
“First you cleaned my feet in my bathroom the morning of the warehouse attack, and now you’re fondling them.”
“I cleaned you in the bathroom,” he said. “Now I’m touching you. Maybe I have a Natalia fetish.” He sat back in his seat but kept my feet where they were. “So, la narcoprincesa is curious about my habits and fetishes. She must be wondering what awaits her in the Badlands.”