Page 56 of Silken Chains
Mr. One-Night-Stand turned kidnapper, pitching marriage like it’s a business deal.
Three, two, one. I fill my lungs with air.
“Victor,” I say his name.
“Yes, Laura.”
“Let go of me.” My voice is firmer now. “Please.”
The room goes quiet, the kind of quiet that feels like a buildup to a storm. My eyes are flickering nervously under his intense stare.
Then, abruptly, the fierceness in his eyes dims as though someone flipped a switch. He lets go and leans back. “I apologize.” He breathes in deep, a visible effort to rein in whatever storm brews inside him.
It’s like watching a wolf decide not to bite. Utterly bizarre and kind of terrifying.
Breaking the tension, I blurt out, “Sorry for being rude, but are you out of your freaking mind?”
I’m eyeballing him, trying to play it cool. Sagging into the leather sofa, I say, “Okay, let’s pretend for a second that I’m not totally wigging out. You’ll clear all my debts.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll restore my bookstore?”
“Yes.” He nods like he’s asking me to pass the salt.
“And in exchange, I’ll need to… marry you for a year.”
Taking a sharp breath, he clearly struggles to maintain his composure, pinching the bridge of his nose in silent frustration.
“Yes, Laura, I don’t enjoy repeating myself,” he states firmly. “I’m not asking, I’m telling. This is how it’s going to be.”
Ignoring his irritation, I give him a smile, the kind you give a kid who’s telling a tall tale.
“I’m flattered, really. But there’s a wedding in your grand plan. I’m already married. Too bad, now you’ll just need to find someone else to be your wife.”
I’m scanning his face for any telltale signs, but his face is stone-cold.
“Hello, earth to Victor?” I try to snag his attention, but he’s striding over to his desk. God, he’s somehow managed to get even more good-looking since I last saw him. My gaze trails after him like it’s got a mind of its own.
Seriously, who’s built like that?
There’s an intensity about him today that’s hard to miss. He’s wearing this white shirt, casually unbuttoned at the top, showing off just enough to tease. His hair’s got this perfect, I-don’t-care-but-I-totally-do look.
Jesus, Laur.
I shift uncomfortably, crossing my legs. This is ridiculous. I shouldn’t be noticing these things, not now. But Lord, why does he look like he just walked straight off of one of those steamy book covers?
Cut it out, Laur, focus.
I watch Victor pick up a brown file from his desk. He lifts his gaze; his gray eyes catch mine. For a moment, I think I see… No, it can’t be… A hint of sympathy?
“No, kiska, that’s not marriage. You got played,” he says, his voice cold again.
Victor strides over. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry.
“You got played for cash in a scam and sham by the man you thought was David Gardner.”
“Wha-what?” I’m struggling to comprehend. “What are you talking about?”
