Page 8

I say nothing. Words are weapons, and she's too skilled at wielding them.

She steps closer. Closer. My hand twitches toward the knife at my belt. But there's no threat here except to my control. She knows it too—I see it in the slight curl of her lips.

“Don't.” The warning growls out before I can stop it.

Her smile widens. “Don't what, Erik?”

She brushes past me, her arm grazing my chest. The contact sends electricity through my body, and I have to lock my muscles to keep from grabbing her.

“I'm going to take a shower.” She throws the words over her shoulder as she heads for the bathroom. “Would you like to watch?”

The bathroom door clicks shut, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.Blyad. She's playing me like a master strategist, and my body's betraying every defense I've built.

The sound of running water fills the room. I resume my position by the door, ignoring how my skin still burns where she touched me.

The sound of water hitting tile torments me. Each splash conjures images I shouldn't have—water running down her curves, soap sliding over her skin. My cock throbs, and I shift my stance. The movement only makes it worse.

I focus on the wall. Plain beige paint. Nothing interesting. Nothing that reminds me of soft flesh or wet skin or?—

Fuck.

The pipes creak as the water shuts off. I hear rustling, and then the bathroom door opens. Steam billows out, carrying her scent with it.

My eyes betray me before I can stop them. She stands there in just a towel. The fabric barely covers what it needs to, and her legs... Christ, her legs go on forever.

A growl tears from my throat. “Get back in there and get dressed.”

“But my clothes are out here.” Her voice drips innocence, but her eyes gleam with challenge.

“Now.” I grab her bag of fresh clothes from beside the bed and toss it at her feet.

She bends to pick it up—slowly, deliberately. The towel rides up, and I catch a glimpse of her thigh, which makes my vision blur.

“Bathroom. Now.” Each word comes out rough, more animal than human.

She straightens, clutching the bag to her chest. The movement makes the towel gap slightly.

“Is something wrong, Erik?” Her tongue caresses my name, and I have to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

“Dress. In. The. Bathroom.”

A smile plays on her lips as she turns, giving me a view of her bare shoulders and the elegant line of her spine. The bathroom door closes again, and I let out a ragged breath.

My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape, as if it knows I'm in deeper trouble than any battlefield ever put me in.

The bathroom door opens, and I nearly swallow my tongue. Katarina steps out in black yoga pants that cling to every curve, paired with a white shirt so fitted it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Damn you, Alexi.My brother's choice of clothing for our captive can't be a coincidence. He's fucking with me, and I know it.

She walks past, and the pants stretch across her ass in a way that makes my mouth go dry. The fabric is so thin that I can see the outline of her thong. My cock throbs against my zipper as she bends to retrieve her magazine from the bed.

The shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin above her waistband. A drop of water falls from her damp hair, trailing down her neck and disappearing beneath the white fabric. I track its path like a man dying of thirst.

“Something wrong with my clothes, Erik?” She settles back on the bed, crossing her legs. The movement makes the yoga pants pull even tighter.

I force my eyes up to her face, but that's no better. Her lips curve in that knowing smile that makes me want to?—

No.