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As far as I can remember, this guy has never so much as looked at me, much less wanted to try anything with me. Maybe he’s just being a gentleman. Maybe he doesn’t want anything bad.

Only, as my eyes lock on his, I realize that whatever happens next is going to be very, very bad.

“I’m touching you because I want to touch you,” he tells me. He speaks as though this is perfectly obvious and like he’s completely comfortable with this entire arrangement.

Ian Salucci is used to getting what he wants.

He’s used to gettingwhohe wants.

“I don’t want you to touch me,” I lie. He knows it, though. His eyes twinkle as he chuckles darkly. It’s a sound unlike anything I’ve heard before because it holds so much more depth than acting like I’ve made a joke. No, this laugh is dangerous. It’s the kind of laugh a villain would have.

Ian stops.

Then he leans in.

“Oh, I think you want it very much, little flower.” His lips graze my skin. I can feel his breath on my ear.

What would it feel like to have that breatheverywhere?

“Don’t call me that,” I whisper.

“Your name is Rose, isn’t it? You are a very, very delicate flower.” He squeezes my wrists a little bit tighter. A little rougher.

Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe I really have had too much. I start to feel a little bit dizzy as he tugs, pulling me close to him. My chest hits his, but he doesn’t take a step back. I’m forced to look up at his eyes. He’s watching me carefully.

“You’re drunk,” he accuses.

“I’m not.”

“Another lie.” He releases my wrists and instead reaches for my chin. He tilts it up so I’m looking right at him. For some reason, everyone in the entire room is ignoring us. Nobody at the party seems to notice the fact that he’s looking at me or that he’s invading my space.

Why isn’t anyone paying attention?

Glancing around, I frown. I wish that someone would see what’s happening so they would stop it. Why is this guy being so aggressive?

There’s another part of me – a secret part, one I never tell anyone about – that’s kind of excited about this whole thing.

I both love and hate the fact that he’s coming onto me. In my most secret fantasies – the ones nobody ever gets to know – aggressive men like this take what they want. I’ve had dreams of being ravaged, of being forced to do things I wasn’t ready for.

I’m getting that sort of vibe from Ian right now.

“Why do you care if I lie?” I whisper.

“You’re too beautiful for lies, Rose.”

“You aren’t in charge of me.” Another whisper. I need to remind myself to breathe because when I’m this close to him, it’s a little hard to remember that.

“Not yet, perhaps. I will be, though. One day.”

And just like that, he releases my chin. He lets me go. He steps back, grabs a champagne flute from a waitress walking by, and stares at me as he drinks it. Then he sets the glass down, turns, and walks away.

And I’m alone at the party once again.

*

IT’S BITTER COLD WHENI wake up. I shift my body, trying to get deeper under my warm duvet cover. It’s the one I picked out just weeks ago – the one with the little snowflakes on the front.

That’s where I am, right?