Page 74 of Sinister Promise

Pavel chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound. It should've been reassuring, but it wasn't.

His laugh was laced with something dark.

Amusement.

He was laughing at me. His amusement was at my expense.

My shoulders tensed, my body reacting with pure survival instinct. I wanted to get off his lap, to walk away from him, or turn and tell him how I didn't enjoy being the butt of his jokes.

There were enough vile men in my life who laughed at me, belittled me. I didn't want another. Not that he was giving me a choice in the matter.

He must have noticed, because the laughter stopped just as suddenly as it started.

His expression turned unreadable.

The mood in the room shifted once more.

Back to a thick tension, while I waited for the next shoe to drop.

Without warning, he sighed, standing abruptly.

He set me aside on my own wooden chair. I was grateful until I shifted, and the hard, cold wood pushed the plug even deeper into my abused behind.

He brushed off imaginary dust from his expensive slacks before turning his back on me.

"Stay here. Be a good girl and don't move." His voice lowered. "Or you'll regret it."

My heart pounded, but I didn't dare challenge him.

Not yet.

There was no actual way for me to escape. I wasn't just going to run out of the room naked with this thing sticking out of me. I needed to bide my time. Make a plan, then escape when the time was right.

The easiest way to make him loosen the reins was to make him think he had already won.

So for now, I would take this disrespect and swallow the humiliation that left me cold.

Pavel disappeared into the bedroom, only to return moments later with a charcoal-gray, cable-knit sweater draped over his arm. He held it out expectantly. "Arms up."

I hesitated, staring at him. It was a trick. It had to be a trick. Right?

When I didn't comply fast enough, he rolled his eyes and simply pulled it over my head himself, the thick fabric settling warmly over my shoulders. For the first time in hours, I exhaled a shaky breath of relief.

It smelled like him—clean, woodsy, expensive. It shouldn't have comforted me. I should have felt stifled, trapped. Instead, I felt warm, protected, and almost cozy.

The contradiction disturbed me more than I wanted to admit.

He wasted no time pulling me back onto his lap.

Again.

This time, he held up a delicate blini topped with caviar.

"Eat."

I wrinkled my nose at the pungent, fishy smell. "No, thank you."

Pavel's grip tightened on my waist. "Eat."

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