Page 101 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
Wait.
“By all means,” she bit out, “remind me. Refresh my memory.”
Calculation and something darker flared behind his eyes, stripping away the last veneer of civility.
“You delight in provocation. In begging me for correction.”
“What can I say? I live to please.”
Favreau released her, as if her insolence was beneath his notice. “You will please me, one way or another. I’ll have you obedient,ma petite sauvage.” He rang the bell pull on the wall, and one of his underlings came to the door. “I think our hellion could use a little rest. She’ll need her strength for my plans. Use a double column tie with multiple constrictor knots, or she’ll pry it loose.” A measured look at her. “She’s good at that.”
He was the one who taught her how, after all.
The thug took her arm, pulling her none-too-gently towards the bed. He shoved her onto the mattress and wrenched her arms back to bind her wrists. She focused on her breathing as he threaded the free end through the slats of the headboard and began knotting it.
Breathe. Just another obstacle. We’ll get out, and then we’ll be ready.
And Louis Favreau will die bleeding.
Only when she was trussed to his satisfaction did the brute depart. Abandoning her to Favreau’s nonexistent mercies.
The mattress dipped as he settled beside her. One hand drifted up, fingertips dragging over her cheek. Over the fluttering pulse at her throat, pausing to press into the divot between her collarbones. An anatomist mapping the terrain of her body, contemplating how best to carve her open.
“Now then,” he said, “your future. Let us discuss it.”
“By all means, don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Still so impertinent. So convinced of your own cleverness.”
He lowered himself on top of her. She couldn’t breathe. Blackness crept into the edges of her vision. Pressure banded her chest and her throat, the roaring surge of her blood deafening in her skull. The cadence of ocean waves crept in.
“Did you miss me,mon cœur? Did you ache for my hands on you at night? For the sting of my blade?” His lips grazed her cheek. “You know what I want. How long will you suffer for your pride before you bend?”
Bend. Break. The distinction seemed academic.
“Never took you for the pining sort,” she said. “We were apart for a year, and there are plenty of women desperate enough for a warm bed. I should’ve thought you’d fill the vacancy quickly.”
“Oh, I kept myself well-amused,” he conceded. “But none of them were you. They couldn’t match your fire, your resolve. All of them ended up screaming under my knife. It was disappointing, Isabel.” A sigh, almost wistful. “So why content myself with pale imitations, hm? With anything less?”
A laugh clawed out of her. “How sweet. I didn’t know you cared.”
He cupped her throat. “I care very much. I care that you thought you could abandon me. That you sullied this body with another man’s touch.” His fingers skimmed downwards. “Did he make you feel adored? Did he whisper endearments while he fucked you? Did he promise you were special? Cherished? And you believed him, didn’t you? Let yourself imagine he could save you.”
His hand drifted lower, unbuttoning her dress and unfastening her front lacing corset to bare her breasts.
“Go to hell,” she hissed.
“Hell is my life without you in it, my love.”
Then his mouth was on hers. Devouring. Vicious and violating. She gagged, trapped there as he pillaged her mouth.
He wrenched back, breath ragged.
“I want to see my marks,” he said, tearing away her bandage. “I want to perfect it—”
He went still. A tremor chased up his arm where he gripped her, some animal tension coiling beneath his skin. Surprise and fury reflected in his beautiful features as he took in Ronan’s beautifully carved initials.
“What,” he said, precise and terribly cold, “the fuck is this?”
