Page 48 of Desperate Measures
I take a shaky sip of my wine. “You’re late.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology might sound more sincere if his voice hadn’t dropped an octave. “There was a complication.”
I don’t want to ask, but I can’t seem to help myself. “Ali?”
“Still in the wind.” Jafar nods at the wine bottle. “Pour me one?”
If he tried to command me, I might dig in my heels simply for the sake of doing it. I’ve already lost so much, and every moment I spend in his presence is a moment when I question whether I really want to escape.
Yes. The answer must be yes.
I pour a second glass of wine and pass it over. Jafar takes a long drink and leans a hip against the counter. For the first time in…ever…he looks like a man. Simply a man. Gorgeous beyond belief, yes, but merely human instead of this hurricane that rips me from my foundations with every word and touch.?5
He runs a hand through his hair, the move obviously the source of his curls getting the best of him. “I underestimated him.”
I blink. “You mean you’re not all-knowing and all-powerful?”
“Very funny, brat.” His second drink of wine is shorter, but the tension riding his shoulders seems to ease a little. “The majority of my focus was on undermining your father and staging the coup. If I had waited, this wouldn’t be an issue, because I could have handled them both at the same time. But I didn’t wait.” A shrug. “I’ll get him in the end. He’s good, but I’m better.”
I pick apart that statement. He’s said something to the same effect before, but we usually end up fighting or fucking before I can dig deeper. “You changed your timeline for me.”
For a moment, I think he might deflect. “Yes. I could tell you that the reason is because a marriage is a whole hell of a lot harder to dismantle than a parental relationship when it comes to a shift of power, and it’d even be the truth. But not the full truth.” He sets his glass down and meets my gaze directly. “I’ve seen what’s left of the women who share Ali’s bed.”
My breath stalls in my lungs. I reach for a response, any response, to dispel the tension building between us. I try for a wry smile. “Does he chase them through his house and then fuck them right there in the middle of the floor when he catches them?”
“Don’t do that.” Jafar shakes his head.
“Don’t do what?” I’m being intentionally dense, but we’re poised on the edge of a precipice, and I don’t know what will happen to us if we tumble over. We won’t be able to go back. That’s the only certainty.
He doesn’t move from his spot, doesn’t approach to touch me in a way that will bring me to my knees in submission. His brows draw down over dark eyes. “Have I ever done anything to you that you didn’t want?”
I expect a challenge in the question, a prideful assertion of a truth we both know. Of course he’s never done anything to me that I didn’t want. I’ve desired Jafar ever since I set eyes on him, first because he was forbidden to me and later because I like the way I spark to life when he’s near. Our verbal sparring sessions were the highlight of my life, a few short minutes when I felt like a real person and not simply a golem, going through the motions at someone else’s command.
Except that’s not what I see in his expression.
He looks almost sick.?6
“I’ve wanted it. All of it. More.” Words to damn me. Words to pass him all the power and leave me quivering at his feet. How am I supposed to walk away from this man when his key turns my lock in a way I’ve only ever read about? If my books are to be believed, this kind of connection comes around once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. What kind of fool would I be to run from that?
One who wants to be free.
Jafar nods slowly. “To the original topic—I couldn’t let him get his hands on you, so I moved the timeline.”
I’m not naive enough to think that he did it solely for me. He’s told me as much. It doesn’t change the fact that my safety has never been a priority for anyone. Oh, the safety of my body to keep my father’s prized possession in peak condition and unmarred? Yes, that mattered. But that’s not what Jafar is talking about. Not bruises and cuts and things that will heal given enough time.
He’s talking about wounds that will scar even if no one can see evidence of them on my skin.
I sip my wine. “Thank you?”
“Don’t thank me. If I had half a conscience, I wouldn’t have taken you.”
If he hadn’t, then Ali would have tracked me down to wherever I fled and brought me back to Carver City. That’s the truth, one we’ve discussed between us. I don’t understand why he’s conveniently forgetting it now, why he’s chosen to flog himself with our situation.
I frown. “What happened this weekend?” This is the moment, the precipice, the point of no return when he’ll let me in or he’ll keep me walled up in this penthouse in the name of safety. I hold my breath and wait.
Jafar picks up his wineglass again. “Have you thought about starting school?”?7
It takes every skill I possess to keep my expression placid despite the dizzying feeling of being dashed to pieces. Jafar cares about me. Even if he’s a cold bastard, I’ve never really doubted that. But he doesn’t see me as capable, not really. I’m a valued possession, a pet who needs careful handling in order to thrive. I’m not strong enough to be equal to him.
