Page 19 of His Savage Ruin

"I told you I don't hurt women," I reply. "That includes forcing drugs on them."

"Even when they destroy your bedroom?"

"Even then." I move to the closet, selecting a fresh shirt and hanging it carefully. "Though I do have to ask—was this tantrum worth it?"

Her spine straightens, chin lifting in that gesture of hers. "Tantrum? You kidnapped me, stole my clothes, and locked me in your room like some kind of pet. If anything, I showed remarkable restraint."

I turn to face her fully, letting my gaze travel from her face to where the shirt barely covers her thighs. "Is that what you call this?" I gesture to the restored order around us. "Restraint?"

"I call it making a point."

"Which was?"

She stands from the chair with fluid grace, and I catch the slight tremor in her hands before she steadies them. Smart—she's afraid but refusing to show it. Her voice carries steel now, each word carefully chosen. "That I can affect your world just as much as you've affected mine,” she looks around pointedly, “even if it’s only the world in this damned cell.”

The sight of her legs may affect me but it's the look in her eyes that truly turns me on.

"Noted," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. I take a step closer. "Though you should know that disrupting my space won't change anything."

"Which is?"

Another step. She doesn't retreat, but her breathing quickens. "You belong to me now. That means you stay where I decide you stay."

"In your bedroom."

"In my bedroom."

She processes this with quick intelligence, her mind already working through implications and escape routes that don't exist.

"You expect us to share a bed," she says, and it's not a question.

I move closer, forcing her to look up to maintain eye contact. "We're sharing a room. The sleeping arrangements can be... negotiated."

"How?"

I let silence stretch between us, watching her throat work as she swallows hard. "That depends entirely on how cooperative you choose to be,principessa."

The endearment rolls off my tongue like a promise, and I watch her lips part slightly in response.

"I won't be your prisoner," she says, but her voice has lost its earlier conviction.

"You already are." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away. When she doesn't, I trace one finger along her jaw, feeling her shiver. "The question is what kind."

Her eyes flutter closed for a heartbeat before snapping open again, awareness burning bright.

"And if I choose to be difficult?"

My hand drops away, and she actually leans forward slightly, chasing the contact before catching herself. "Then you'll discover exactly how persuasive I can be."

The threat hangs between us, loaded with possibilities that make her breathing quicken.

She steps back then, putting distance between us, and I let her—for now. "Tell me about Lorenzo."

Every muscle in her body locks at her dead husband's name. Her face goes carefully blank in a way that tells me there are secrets buried there.

"That's none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business now." I settle into the chair she vacated, noting how it still holds her warmth. "The Morettis declared war over your husband's death. That makes him very much my concern."