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I also know I’m a beautiful woman. I might not be overly confident and seductive, but I can learn. If it means saving my life and getting free, I will work it out.
I turn, step into the black Prada heels, run my hands down the dress and walk to Maddox, stopping at his chest.
“What’s for dinner?”
The deep grumble in his chest gives me the first flicker of hope.
CHAPTER TEN
MADDOX
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Kyra is trying to fuck with me. She won’t succeed.
I can see right through her weak plan.
Yes, I find her attractive and would like to fuck her senseless. Yes, I watch her on the camera way too much. Butno, I will not let the little prisoner seduce me into letting her go.
But I will most definitely enjoy watching her try.
My eyes dip to her cleavage, and while it’s less than a handful, I already know what her small breasts look like. I can see her hard nipples pressing against the green silk fabric and wonder which set of lingerie she chose.
Does she prefer bikini panties or the thong?
My cock swells, remembering how I jerked off this morning in the shower, imagining sneaking into the bedroom to pleasure her wet pussy.
Stop getting an erection for your prisoner.
“Let’s go,” I say, and lead her out to the living area.
It made no sense for her to sit in her room and eat. Or throw another bowl at the fucking wall. This way she can entertain us both with her weird blinking and flirting, and I can make sure she eats.
I have no intention of returning a half-starved woman to her family.
This should not take more than a week or two.
Oh, and she won’t be marrying my father; I will make sure of that.
“I hope you like chicken.” I say, indicating she should sit at the glass dining table.
“Yes. Will there be wine?” Kyra tilts her head.
Jesus.
“This isn’t a date.” I growl and pull open the fridge, grabbing the bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.
“And yet...” She smirks at me when I place it on the bench.
“Again, not a date.” I grunt. “Sit down.”
“I can help dish up. I’m bored sitting in that room for over a day. Two days. How long have I been here?” she asks, plonking herself on one of the bar stools.
Christ, she thinks this is a friendly catch-up.
I need to up my game.
“Why aren’t you more scared?” I lower my brows as I pop the cork and pour the wine.