backside, set off perfectly by exquisitely tailored pants.
“Remind me to thank your stylist,” I murmur.
“What?” he rises, dusting off his hands. Today he’s in a chunky off-white knit sweater. His black hair is tousled. Mmmmm.
“Nothing.” Daphne! Stop perving on your captor! My spoon clinks in the bowl as I shovel away at the oatmeal.
“Careful. Don’t make yourself sick.”
“I want bacon,” I say with my mouthful.
He makes a frustrated noise and kneels beside me, commandeering my spoon. “Slowly,” he says, feeding me a smaller bite.
“Fine.” I let him feed me as he’s done before, exaggerating my movements. “Mmm,” I hum and lick cream from my lips. His gaze hones onto my mouth. I nibble on a strawberry and he looks away, jaw clenching. Is that a flush on his swarthy skin?
I sit back, satisfied. I’m not the only one affected.
“Are you finished?” he asks.
To my disappointment, I am. “I’m full,” I sigh.
He sets the bowl down and picks up the plate. “Because I’m hungry.”
“That was my bacon!” I cry.
“Mine now,” he grins outright now, his teeth white and even under his mask. Without the tension in his jaw he looks…handsome?
I flop back in my chair. “One star.” I wave a hand at the grand furnishings, beautiful enough to adorn a modern palace. “Decor is great but the service leaves much to be desired.”
“Be nice, now,” he admonishes, dragging a second armchair closer before seating himself. “Otherwise I won’t share.” He holds up a slice of bacon. Gaw, it smells heavenly.
I hold out my hand and he shakes his head. Now I’m flushing. But it’s not the first time he’s fed me, so I lean in and get my reward. Is there an amused glint in his eyes as he feeds me? Fuck, I don’t care. Bacon is the best.
He feeds me all the breakfast meat like that. I wave away a forkful of the omelet, but gleefully accept the tiny cup of thick hot chocolate he serves from a china teapot. With the fire crackling and good food in my belly, I’m as spoiled as a princess from my mother’s stories.
When was the last time I had a leisurely breakfast? Without lab reports or quarterly filings to go over? Rachel would be slack-jawed. And not just because I’m enjoying a meal with my evil captor.
By the end of breakfast, it’s stopped sleeting. The day is brighter even though the clouds are grey.
“I want to go outside,” I tell the Beast.
“It’s too cold.”
“I can bundle up. Come on, the storm’s long over. I want you to show me the gardens.” The labyrinth. If I don’t dare ask him about Battleman’s or my company’s patents, maybe I can learn more about him.
A ploy, I tell myself. A way to guard myself against my captor. Not because I want to know him as a person. A friend or, gods forbid, a lover.
I mean…sometimes I might have had a few stray fantasies over the past few days, but those don’t count, right? I was half-delirious with fever most of the time. I blink away the confusing thoughts when the Beast starts talking again.
“It’s winter. They’re not at their best.” He twists to look out the window. My breath catches at his profile. It’s somehow familiar. A memory tickles me…
He turns back, his dark brown eyes catching mine, and the memory is gone.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” I say as he plumps my pillows. “The roses look amazing. My mother would love them.”
“Yes, she did love her roses, didn’t she?” he murmurs.
How do you know? What do you know about my mother? About me? I bite back the questions.
He puts the plate aside. “It’s time for your punishment.”
Sixteen
Beast
“My punishment? What for?” She sits up straighter, pushing back a lock of hair that’s fallen over her cheek. Her skin is newly flushed—her healthy glow returned. She doesn’t look upset, but curious.
“For running from me.”
“Running…” Her forehead creases as if she doesn’t remember. Just days ago we were at odds. “Oh, into the labyrinth. I thought you were going to hurt me.” She sounds matter-of-fact, unafraid.
“And now?”
She tilts her head to the side, studying me. I hold my breath, waiting for her to recognize me. But she never does. I was too thorough with the details of my disguise. But she murmurs, “I don’t think you will. Hurt me, I mean. Not more than I can take.” Her lashes lower, fanning across her bright pink cheeks.
Once again I am staggered by her strength. Her willingness to trust.