“I don't need anything from you. I'm done with this. Let me go or kill me.”
He took a good, long look at me. His eyes were glowing like the devilishly powerful, sexy predator he was. He scared me, but the current running through my nerves was far more fearsome.
If this was my fate, a prisoner to this insane attraction, I hoped he'd put me out of my misery.
“Get. Dressed.” This time, his growl was barely human.
It almost made me move. Almost. But I held my ground, planted my hands on his chest, and pushed against him.
Resistance. It taunted him, and he responded.
In a flash, he flipped me over and ripped at my gown. I yelped when I heard the thin fabric tearing in his hands. Then he was pulling at me as one shredded strap fell across my shoulder, lifting me up into his arms.
I thrashed and yelled, trying to fight him, but he held on. He pulled me over to the huge closet and pushed me inside. I caught myself against one of the large mirrors just as he kicked the door shut.
He turned his back to me, rifling through the outfits overhead. I watched him stop on a sleek red cocktail dress. He spun, threw it at me, and I somehow caught it in my flailing arms.
“Put that fucking thing on and come out when you're done.” The second my mouth popped open, he closed the two steps between us and pushed his hand over my lips. “Think real, real carefully, babe. If the next answer outta your sweet mouth isn't 'okay' or 'yes, sir,' then I'm gonna dress you up myself. Don't fucking make me, Sabrina. I'm gonna get a good, long view of you naked real soon, but I don't want it like this. I don't wanna ruin my surprise.”
His hand tightened over my mouth, and then it was gone. I fell backwards, holding the dress out in front of me, shielding the bare shoulder he'd revealed by tearing at my gown. Any inch of me exposed to this bastard was too much, too vulnerable.
“Go,” I said softly. “I'll do it.”
He nodded, satisfied, and stepped out, closing the door behind him more gently than I expected.
What else was there to do but listen? If he was really taking me outside this room, maybe there'd be another chance to calculate my flimsy odds of escape. Assuming he wasn't dragging me out into the thick woods I'd seen through the window to shoot me, of course.
I didn't think so. He wouldn't be dressing me for that. By some sick miracle, he still needed me. Probably the only reason he put up with my crap.
Not that I cared. I wasn't going to stop flinging it his way. If I couldn't get away from him, then I'd make his life as miserable as I could.
The dress was weirdly calming against my skin. It was quality fabric, something familiar, the sort of thing I was used to wearing out on my girls' nights back in college.
The lights were on in the bedroom when I stepped out. Anton was waiting.
“Fucking shit,” he said, moving his eyes up my body, admiring me from head to toe. “Follow me.”
We took a different direction in the hall, heading for what seemed like the house's west wing. He took a fork to a staircase leading up, banishing my hopes of an easy escape path on the ground. I kept my legs moving, up the long stairway with three different landings.
A narrower floor waited up top. He opened the first door and pulled me in after him when I took the last step.
It was another bedroom – but not quite like anything I'd seen before.
All the luxurious trappings were there: a bed, fine stained dressers, a dark blue rug. The window and the walls were completely encased in glass like it was some kinda sun room or observatory.
He motioned to a small silver telescope in the corner. “I like to come here to think and gaze at the stars. Not that we'll be doing much of that tonight. I picked this room because being under the night sky has a way of settling my brain the fuck down.”
I looked up. He wasn't kidding.
My jaw dropped. I'd spent so much time in Chicago with its light pollution that I wasn't used to a country sky. Stars, galaxies, and a fat harvest moon hung above us like bright ornaments, so breathtaking I forgot I was here as a prisoner, not a guest. The heady illusion lasted about five seconds.
“Take a good long look,” he said. “It's fucking beautiful up here at night.”
When my captivity came back, it was twice as bitter. I pursed my lips and looked at him. “You can't control how I think or feel. I'm smarter than you give me credit for.”
“You really think I believe you're a fucking bimbo, babe?” Anton snorted. “I know a thing or two about the blood that's in your veins. Even if I believed you were a spoiled little bitch, totally ignorant about everything your family's done, no fucking way would I call you stupid or gullible. Your clan's always been cunning. Smart. Sophisticated in a way us Russian bastards aren't.”