Page 25 of Sin of Love

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CAPTIVITY - DAY 45

“¡Magnífica!”

I twirl, the silky gown fluttering around my bare legs. My smile is demure, my lashes fluttering, my gaze downturned. An old game—one I’m hoping hasn’t lost its potency.

“Thank you.”

Candlelight from the nearby table gives him a sinister aspect, shadowing his cheekbones and brow, and catching the glisten as he licks his lower lip. He stands tall and confident in the seat of his power, black eyes narrowed and possessive. They crawl over my exposed skin—cleavage, neck, arms.

A week of vitamins, three meals a day, and finally six hours in a room with three frightened-looking women—hair, clothes, and skincare being their respective talents—and I nearly resemble myself. On the outside, at least.

“You picked it out?” he asks roughly. “The color?”

I nod. “Of course.”

Blood red—his favorite.

“You remembered.” His intimate tone lifts hairs on my neck and threatens my mind with flashbacks streaked in red.

Time slips forward—he’s inches away now, inky eyes locked on mine, his musk and heat permeating my senses. I smile, an empty doll wearing the face my master wants, just as he taught me so long ago.

But there are differences between the girl he broke and the woman before him now. My claws are sharper, my will stronger. My heart is safe, locked away in the deep dark of my tree-root cave. And this time, I’m not hiding because of fear or shame. I’m empty because I have to be in order to do what needs to be done.

Julep cups my face, his palm hot and dry. I tilt my head toward his touch and close my eyes. Everything about this moment is wrong, but I feel nothing.

Empty doll.

“My beautiful Deirdre.” He sighs. “You’ve finally come back to me.”

I open my eyes. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Always.”

He smiles. For a moment, in the shifting shadows, Marco stands before me—I see Marco’s dimples, his kindness and kinship. Then the candlelight flickers again and it’s Julep. His hooded eyes and curved, bee-stung lips.

My composure slips. I blink hard. Sway against his hand.

Julep watches, his smile growing.

He winks.

I feel nothing. His doll. Be his doll.

Glancing past him at the candlelit table, I ask lightly, “Can we catch up over dinner? I’m starved.”

It works. He laughs in surprised joy, eyes shining as he trails his hand down my neck and bare arm, and finally links our fingers. Lifting our joined hands, he kisses my knuckles.

“Of course. Perhaps tomorrow, you’d like a tour of the house? You looked awestruck when you stepped onto the terrace, and I assure you, this astonishing view is only one of many.”

“I’d love that.”

He escorts me to my chair, helps me sit with gentlemanly refinement, and even shakes out the cloth napkin on my plate and lays it in my lap. I watch him round the table, noting the way he moves—there’s stiffness in his right leg—before gazing out over the balcony. Sunlight bleeds fast from the sky; within minutes, the true darkness of an unpopulated wilderness will reign.

Contrary to Julep’s impression when I’d walked onto the terrace, it hadn’t been awe I’d felt but dismay. Beyond the romantic table for two and the elegant stone balustrade, I’d seen miles and miles of… nothing.

Quintana Roo. The Yucatan Peninsula.

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