Page 34 of Stolen By the Don

There’s a beat of silence, followed by the low drag of his voice. “Why? When we do finally have sex, I’m going to see you anyway.” A pause, then— “Besides, I already know you look good naked.”

My heart slams against my ribs. Blood rushes to my face so fast I feel dizzy. I clutch the fabric tighter, fingers fisting in the soaked cotton as I press it to my chest, not daring to move, not daring to breathe.

Because a part of me knows he’s right.I might not be able to say no forever.

Not today, though. I need a slice of victory, something to tide me over from the train wreck I’ve been through. Seconds pass, and I hear the soft creak of the door opening.

And Roman walks out.

My shoulders sag in relief and a little bit of disappointment, but I push away the frustration as I climb into the tub, the water sloshing over the edge.

The bathwater soaks into my bones like a balm, and I sink beneath the surface until it muffles the world, leaving only the slow thrum of my heartbeat. My skin tingles as warmth returns to my limbs. The numbness fades—physically, at least.

I stay in until the water cools, then step out, toweling off with trembling fingers.

Wrapping the towel tightly around my body, I step close to the mirror. My reflection looks horrid, my hair damp and clinging to my cheeks and my eyes swollen.

And I’m reminded, again, that I could’ve died out there. I thought death was better than being held captive, but this just gives me a chance to try again.

Next time, I don’t plan on going in half-assed. Shaking my head to air-dry my hair, I walk out of the bathroom, coming to a screeching halt almost immediately.

Roman is sitting in a chair across the room—legs spread, arms resting loosely on his knees, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a glimpse of skin. His gaze lifts the moment he sees me.

My breath hitches. “You’re still here.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t say I was leaving.”

He’s right. It’s also his room, but it’s common sense to know that I needed privacy. “You said I needed the bath,” I say as I fold my arms. “You didn’t say you’d be waiting for me outside of it.”

“I didn’t want you passing out again,” he says simply. “I figured I’d wait.”

“But you could’ve waited in another room,” I mutter, pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. His eyes drop slightly, just enough to scan the towel, and my heart stutters.

“I could’ve,” he agrees, then tilts his head. “But I didn’t.”

There it is again. That smug, entitled self-assurance that makes me want to scream and throttle him in the same breath. I roll my eyes hard enough that they might stick. “Fine. I’m going to my room. Or are you going to follow me? Because, well, it’s your house, right?”

Roman doesn’t miss a beat. “Do you want me to?”

Jesus freaking hell.

I throw my hands in the air, exasperated and halfway to launching a comeback sharp enough to make him blink, but my towel, traitorous and loose from my sudden movement, slips.

And falls.

For a moment, everything stops.

It’s not just my thoughts or my lungs but my entire body. My muscles lock, and every nerve is stunned with such a vicious shock that I can’t even move to cover myself. Heat floods my skin in a violent wave, and I stand there, frozen.

Mortified. Exposed.Every cell in my body screams at me to do something, but I’m stuck in that paralyzed second.

Roman steps toward me, crouching to retrieve the fallen towel with an infuriatingly gentle grace. When he straightens, his gazeis averted. Not teasing, like his words, or manipulative, like he’s taking advantage of my vulnerability.

He holds it out to me.

I snatch it from his hand, the thick fabric shaking in my grip as I try to rewrap it around myself with some semblance of dignity, but my fingers tremble too much. I can’t get it to tuck.

My hands fumble again, useless. Then his hands are covering mine, taking the towel and folding it in place. It should piss me off—my inability, his sudden switch from cocky to gentle, throwing me off-balance.

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