“See, that’s easier. You’re angry.” He backed up a step. “I should give you space.”
“I was angry a minute ago, and you didn’t give me space.” I couldn’t contain my confusion. It was as if he were speaking in a programming language, but it didn’t quite match up to his actions.
“I know.” He scrubbed a hand down the light shadow on his jaw. “But you’re different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” Now he was the frustrated one. “I can’t explain other than I just know.”
“You know what, exactly?” I tried to keep my tone even. Maybe if I could figure out what drove him, I could short circuit his programming. “That I was destined to be your prisoner?”
He shrugged. “Not in so many words.”
“Then what?” My insides twisted as I said my next thought out loud. “Love? You think you’re in love with me?”
“I told you I don’t know anything about that.”
“You’ve never loved anyone?”
“Love is an emotion.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I don’t have emotions, not like that.”
“What does that even mean?” My head swam.
“It means that you are right where you need to be.”
Fury boiled up inside me, and I shoved him as hard as I could. “You don’t get to decide what I need!”
He barely moved. “Definitely anger. I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out.
20
Sebastian
“Is there something you’d like to ask me?” I flipped through a proposal on my tablet for 300 acres of timber along the edge of the Yakama Indian Reservation in Washington State. Camille had been sitting on our bed, staring at me, and chewing on her thumb nail for almost three minutes straight.
“Yes.” She hugged her knees to her chest and wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wanted to tell her it was all right that she was angry, wanted to hold her in my arms while she talked to me about nothing and everything. But her withdrawn air told me I’d best keep my distance.
“Ask away.” I wrote a notation on the map, pointing out where we could illegally cut timber on the reservation without garnering notice.
“Why did you build the greenhouse if you’re going to keep me in this room all day?”
“The greenhouse is a reward.” I made another notation.
“For what?”
“Good behavior.”
She scowled. “Are you going to use it against me in some sort of deal?”
“No. I just want you to be you. You don’t have to act in any way to please me, because when you’re being yourself, you already do. I don’t need a deal for that. But I’m sure there will be plenty more of those.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t be so shortsighted.” I dropped the tablet in my lap and stared at her. “My world runs on deals. I make an agreement to get what I want. You do the same. You wanted your books, so you made a deal for them.”
“Can we make another deal?”
My heart jumped at the prospect, but I kept my game face on. “What for?”
She leaned forward, her eagerness whetting my appetite for her even more. “If you let me go—”
“No deal.” I returned my attention to the tablet.
She fisted her small hands. Delightful. Though I was curious what she’d trade for that, it was out of the question. We were forever.
“What does good behavior entail?” She spat the words as if they were bitter.
“You follow my rules. Don’t try to escape. It’s quite simple. Once you’ve accepted that this is your life, a whole new world of opportunities will open up to you. The greenhouse, visits to the city, travel, anything you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll give you everything. I want to give you everything. But I can’t do that till I trust you.”
“No sex?”
“Not until you ask nicely.” I swiped to the next contract on my tablet. “But you will sleep with me at night, naked, without complaint. Though I realize you prefer pajamas, especially ones with cats on them.”
“How do you know that?” Her eyebrows lowered, and I could sense her flipping through pieces of information in her mind, putting the picture together. She blanched, horror falling over her sweet face like curtains on a stage. “In fact, how do you know so much about me, right down to my favorite foods, the colors I prefer to wear, and what I like to sleep in?”
“I know everything there is to know about you.”
“How?” She seemed to shrink inward, making herself into the smallest possible version of herself.
I shrugged. “I went through your cottage a few days after we met—your computer, your contacts, your—”
“Oh my god.” She bolted and ran to the bathroom.
I followed, my steps muffled by the sound of her vomiting. She knelt over the toilet in the water closet. I reached out to pull her hair away from her face.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” she shouted into the bowl.