Trapping Sophia (Disciples 6)

He was everything I needed in that moment. The pillar of strength holding me up. With his help, somehow I found sleep and a few hours of peace.

Then I woke up.

I expected him to be gone. To give up and move on.

Obviously, I’m in no shape or form to provide anything useful to him or his boss.

But he’s still here… still pretending to care…

Strutting around in his gray sweatpants without a shirt on and making himself at home.

And the fact that I’ve stupidly and weakly fallen not once but twice into his trap is not only scaring the hell out of me, it’s pissing me off.

The crude words about Johnathan’s biker buddies slip out of my mouth before I can even comprehend why I said them. “I’d rather give Johnathan’s biker buddies rimjobs than eat anything you’ve made.”

I don’t normally talk like this… but I just want to be alone.

I want to be left in peace.

I can’t deal with him sharing the same air as me and the pain at the same time.

James glances down at his dog then his gaze snaps back up to me. I watch annoyance flash in his eyes, but it disappears as soon as he takes a deep, calming breath.

Forcing a smile that looks more feral than friendly, he says through clenched teeth, “You need to eat, Sophia.”

I don’t understand what’s going on, and I don’t understand why he won’t give up and leave. When I got in his car with him yesterday, I was under the impression he was doing it simply out of obligation.

That he really didn’t want to do it.

But he’s still here…

Still here and trying to push me to actually give a fuck.

And not only is it irritating, it doesn’t make any sense.

Why bother? Unless it’s some kind of scheme? Does he hope I’ll come to trust him or rely on him like I did that night we met?

Doesn’t he realize how much I despise him for what he did to me?

Despise that he made me need him, again.

“I’m not hungry,” I mutter.

Spinning on my heel, I stomp away. I need somewhere quiet. Somewhere I don’t have to see his unbearable face or hear him breathe.

Heading for my father’s study, I make it all the way down the hallway before I feel his touch.

“I don’t care if you’re hungry or not,” he says with exasperation. “You need to eat so you don’t get sick.”

Tugging on my elbow, he tries to turn me back around, but I manage to yank my arm away before he can.

“Go away, James,” I snap, “and take your little dog, too.”

Great. Now he’s turned me into the Wicked Witch of the West.

I sense him freezing behind me for a split second, and my steps quicken. I manage to open the door to the study before he lets out a low growl and rushes up behind me.

I try to slam the door in his face but he pushes right through it.

“What the hell?” I nearly screech as the door flies out of my hand and cracks against the wall.

Lunging forward and grabbing my wrist, he tugs hard on my arm before he grits out, “I’ve been very patient, Sophia. Very, very, patient…”

“Let me go!” I cry as he drags me forward.

Throwing my weight back, I try to slide my wrist out of his hand, but he only tightens his grip.

“You wouldn’t believe how patient I’ve been, even if I told you,” he grumbles.

“I don’t care!” I shout and slap at his hand with my free arm. “I honestly could not care less! Let me go!”

“Oh, I know,” he says with a rueful laugh as he drags me into the kitchen. “I know you don’t care. That much has become very clear.”

Ignoring my slaps and resistance, he tugs me over to the island near the oven and finally releases me. “So, for now, I’ll do all the caring for you.”

Before I can get both feet under me, he pushes me down on a stool.

Without taking his eyes off me, he reaches across the island, grabs a plate, and slides it in front of me. “Now eat.”

I glance at the plate and my stomach immediately churns at the thought of putting anything in it. Especially eggs.

Shaking my head, I try to stand up, but his hand comes down on my shoulder, pushing me back down.

“You’re not leaving this chair until you eat,” he growls as his fingers squeeze firmly around my shoulder.

Tipping my head back, I glare up at him.

Who does he think he is? Coming into my house, unwelcome, trying to boss me around?

“You eat it,” I growl back and shove the plate away. “I told you, I’m not hungry.”

I try to shrug his hand off and stand up again, but he pushes me right back down.

“Goddammit, Sophia. Eat, please,” he repeats, as if he suddenly expects to obey him.