Chained (Roman Holiday 1)

Both, really.

The publicity would ruin him.

“No phone,” he repeated. “What are your other demands?”

“What is this, a hostage negotiation?”

The question made him queasy—a sudden, dizzying heaving in his stomach as he dragged his eyes away from her face. His gaze settled on a palm tree. Its widespread, waving arms made him think, inanely, of a starfish that had been flipped onto its back and left without hope of rescue.

She hadn’t meant to do it. That hadn’t been a sly reference to the worst day of his miserable childhood, because she knew nothing of that. No one knew.

No one knows you. You have no people.

He had only this life that he’d made for himself, and it hung in the balance now. It dangled from her fingertips.

He would give her anything she demanded. Anything.

But she didn’t know that.

Roman inhaled deeply, willing his disobedient stomach to settle.

So long as she never found out, he should be fine.

CHAPTER FIVE

The thing about bluffing was that everybody thought they were good at it, but that didn’t mean they were.

She’d learned from the best, though. Stanley, one of her favorite Sunnyvale regulars, had taught her not to commit to a hand too soon. To watch and wait for her moment.

Some people can bluff by keeping their face blank, but that’s not you, he’d said, in a rare burst of effusiveness. You got to bluff by pretending to feel something you don’t.

Confidence, usually. But disappointment also worked. Adolescent anger, and then, when she raked the chips across the table, saucer-eyed surprise. Oh, golly! How did that happen?

Ashley was good at bluffing, so it didn’t surprise her that she’d managed to bluff her way right into the upper hand. She had Roman Díaz now, and both of them knew it.

The question was, what on earth was she going to do with him?

“What are your other demands?” he’d asked, and she’d been flippant, because she had no demands. She was outmatched here—planless, pantsless, cold and sore and hungry and stupid.

But he didn’t seem to get that. He’d seemed to go still in the face of her flippancy, to turn to stone for a moment, as though she’d said something horribly, deeply hurtful when she asked if this was a hostage negotiation.

She hadn’t, though. There was no reason for her to feel this twinge of empathy.

And even if there were a reason, this was war. She had to be ruthless. In a hostage situation, the first order of business was to secure safe passage.

“I want a truce,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“If I agree to be unlocked and to leave, you have to agree not to knock this place down when my back is turned.”

“You think I’ll demolish a bunch of buildings during a hurricane?”

“I don’t know what you’ll do. That’s why I want a truce.”

“Fine.”

“No, not fine. I’ll say when it’s fine.” She straightened a little, pleased with how ballsy she sounded. The movement made her shoulder feel as though someone was trying to saw it off, dampening her enthusiasm. “I can’t even consider agreeing to a truce with you until I know if you’re a man of your word. Are you a liar, Mr. Díaz?”