Page 67 of Twisted Proposal

The second I saw the restaurant with its gilded chandeliers and crystal glassware catching fire in the dim lighting, I knew this was one of the best in town.

Of course it was.

After seeing the hotel room Artem paid for, and then his apartment, I knew he only demanded the best of the best in his possessions, in his business, and in his women.

For a moment I allowed myself to feel the intoxicating rush of excitement and wonder, like Alice falling into Wonderland. Cinderella at the ball.

I was actually going to experience something incredible. Champagne bubbles of anticipation fizzed through my veins.

Then I saw the way the maître d' greeted Artem.

The way he bowed deeply.

How his hands trembled violently as he picked up menus.

Artem pressed his large hand against my lower back, his heat burning through the thin fabric of my dress as he guided me to our table. With any other man, it would have felt comforting, the helpful, guiding hand of a polite gentleman.

He wasn't any other man.

As we followed the terrified maître d', Artem's palm felt like a brand, a claim, a leash.

He wasn't guiding me; he was caging me.

I needed to remember that.

I needed to remember that this wasn't a fairy tale.

This beast wouldn't turn into a handsome prince at the end.

He was only the beast.

And no matter how many times his mouth claimed mine, no matter how his fingers dug into my flesh last night, I would never wake from this nightmare.

I hated how, even knowing that, my skin prickled with goose bumps.

How the space between my thighs ached with the betrayal of desire.

How could I hate so completely with my entire soul, and still want him with every fiber of my being?

One more glance around at the gorgeous opulence, just to take it all in, and then I looked beyond the glitz and glamour, beyond the polished silverware reflecting candlelight like daggers.

I studied the staff and the subtle looks they gave each other, the wordless warnings and scared shaking of their heads.

This was going to be like every other restaurant I'd ever gone to with my family. Yes, the food would probably be better. The ambiance was far superior, but knowing that everyone was staring at us, afraid of us, was going to be exactly the same.

The air itself seemed charged with danger, standing the fine hairs on my neck up at attention.

I had to remember that. Artem was no different than my father. He was far more successful, and I would bet more strategic, but at their core, they were both men of violence.

A violence that lurked beneath the surface of expensive suits and charming smiles.

I had to remind myself of that over and over. My goal here tonight was not to fall in love with the lifestyle and the luxury he could give me. It was to find a way out of his beautiful, gilded cage.

My fears were confirmed again when the server gave the busboy another frightened look as she approached our table. Her knuckles were white around the edges of her tablet.

Absolutely everyone in this restaurant knew who Artem was, what he was.

They were terrified of him.