Page 37 of Gilded Locks

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

His generous tone surprised her. “Do you share your house often?”

He met her stare. “What we share is conditional. Everything here is ours. Including you.” His gaze dropped to her breasts where that rolling drop had disappeared. “But you’re not to be shared.”

She looked at him in stunned confusion and he caught his slip.

“I mean, shared between anyone but us.”

The possessive words should have triggered her flight response. Instead, they sent molten heat pooling low in her belly like liquid fire. He been so distant the last time he visited her, or maybe that was just Stone. Precise. Calculated. Intentional.

“I’ll be sure to ask permission before assuming in the future.”

He frowned at her tone. “If there’s something you need, we’ll provide it.”

She scoffed. “Clothing would be nice.”

“Clothing isn’t necessary for your purpose here.”

Her molars locked. Her purpose. She wanted to punch him, though she’d probably only end up hurting her hand. As if sensing her urge, he smirked.

Her eyes narrowed. “You seem pleased with yourself.”

“I have no complaints at the moment.” He studied her for a long moment. “I was watching you again, this afternoon, as you explored.”

“I figured.”

“You tried every door but the front one.”

She stilled, feeling guilty for a rule she didn’t break and stupid for overlooking the most obvious escape from her captivity. “The storm?—”

“Yes, snow can be quite treacherous for those not used to it, but that’s not my point. Most people would have tried to run by now.”

“Where would I go?”

“Exactly.” His smile was sharp as arctic wind.

He stood, ladling water over the stones with practiced ease. The hiss of steam filled the small space, making the air even more oppressive. As the room fogged, giving everything a dreamlike feel. Rather than return to the bench across from her, he settled onto the bench beside her.

“You don’t have to pretend with us.” His fingers traced the line of her collarbone, following the path of moisture down to where the dark sheet tucked between her breasts. “You don’t have to be perfect either.” He hooked his finger and tugged, loosening the fabric. “Don’t have to be polite. Don’t have to smile when you want to scream.”

“Why would I scream,” she whispered.

“Not all screams are borne of terror.” His hand cupped her face, thumb brushing across her lower lip with possessive gentleness. “Do you know what I enjoyed most about watching you last night?”

She shook her head as she stared into his emerald eyes.

“You weren’t performing. This afternoon, you were different.”

That was because she knew they were watching. They were always watching.

“I bet you’ve been performing your whole life. Playing a role someone else wrote for you.”

She blinked rapidly, wondering why he’d make such a statement. Was she really that transparent. “Until recently.”

“Ah,” he pulled the sheet open. “I’m guessing that’s when life changed. Am I right?”