by Gemma James
He crooks a finger. “Bring it to me.”
“Are you going to touch me?”
“Not tonight.”
All he doesn’t say sits in my gut like something unchewed. Slowly, I cross the floor and hand him the dress. He’s meticulous in folding it, taking extra care as if the fabric is spun from gold. Setting my dress on the ottoman, he tilts his head up, those iridescent eyes scanning every inch of my thighs and beyond.
Then his focus stalls on my crossed arms. “Let me see your breasts.”
“Is there a look-but-no touch rule?”
“We can touch as long as we don’t go too far.” He bites his lip. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you tonight, and I meant it. I just want to see you.”
Cheeks flaming, I let my arms fall to my sides. As my nipples harden under his scrutiny, I study the nothingness of night through the windows.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
From the corner of my eye, I spy him getting to his feet, the movement graceful and silent for such a large man. Inch by careful inch, he slides a palm along my cheek, bringing my attention back to him.
“We share something incredible. I’ve never been sexually intimate with a woman, and you’ve never been with a man. That’s a special foundation for a life spent together.”
“I have been with a man.” Sebastian and his unforgettable arctic eyes flash through my mind, and the visual is strong enough to weaken my knees. Being with him was more than physical. More than lustful. He took total control of my heart the second he entered my body, and the manner is which he did it is unimportant.
“I’m aware Sebastian took you anally,” he says as if he has a direct line to my thoughts. “But what I’m talking about is beyond meaningless pleasure. No one in this tower can give you what I can.”
“What’s that?”
“Virginity.” He traces the outline of my lips with his thumb.
“What about honor? Can you give me that?”
His brows furrow. “Of course.”
“You said you wouldn’t touch me tonight,” I mumble against his caress.
As if the reminder burned him, he jerks away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it. I guess I’m just dying to touch you.”
“What’s stopping you?” My scornful tone is far from an invitation. It’s not as if I can fight him off.
“My promise to you is what stops me.” He steps away, a gentle smile forming on his wide mouth, and turns down the bedsheets. “You need time to get to know and trust me.”
“What if that never happens?”
Halting, one hand on the mattress, he frowns, strength fading from those aggravating lips. “I’ll let you freshen up first.” He gestures to the bathroom before settling on the edge of the bed to wait.
“Aren’t you sleeping in the other room?”
“No.”
I blink several times, my gaze sweeping the white comforter, as if that soft-looking material will give me an answer. “Then why are there two beds if we’re not going to use them?”
“The spare is available for times when we need space.”
“We need space now.”
Another irritating smile, and then his gaze lowers to the apex of my thighs. “Are you uncontrollably aroused?”
“What?” My eyes widen. “No!”
“Then we don’t need space.” He nods toward the bathroom. “You’ve got five minutes before I join you in there.”
“That isn’t enough time.” My skin care regimen alone takes twice as long.
“Then you’d better hurry.”
Instead of arguing, I rush into our shared en-suite bathroom and barricade myself behind the door. It’s the only space inside our sleeping quarters with a barrier, and I’m thankful for that bit of privacy, even if the door doesn’t lock. As I brush my teeth, I stare at the girl in the mirror.
Most days, I don’t recognize her anymore, and it has nothing to do with outward appearances. Something fundamental has shifted inside, taking on the form of a woman with too much self-loathing and not enough strength. My heart and body yearn for a man who doesn’t deserve me while logic says I should want the safe choice.
Then there’s the current issue of the naked man in the other room. Somehow, I’ll have to find the courage to crawl into that bed with him and sleep.
And trust that he won’t touch me.
Time will tell if he’s a man of his word, but I have no doubt he’ll come in here any moment, just like he promised. After hurrying through a minimized version of my skin care routine, I take a deep breath and pull open the door.
He’s waiting on the other side. “Not a second to spare.”
Snubbing him with silence, I slip by, careful to avoid contact, and climb into bed. He leaves the door to the bathroom open, and as I wrap as much of the blanket around my body as I can without hogging the entire thing, I spy him brushing his teeth. His backside is to me, broad shoulders tapering to a fit ass. The man doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him—Miles is all toned muscle and sculpted glutes from this view.
He spits into the sink, and then our gazes collide in the mirror. Two heavy seconds pass, making my heart jump. Warmth spreads low in my belly. There’s no denying he’s a beautiful man, but still, confusion coils around me. I hide my face, cheeks growing warm from getting caught watching. A couple minutes later, the lights shut off, plunging the room into darkness, and I feel the bed dip behind me.
“I won’t bite, Novalee.” He shifts, and even if I were facing him, I doubt I’d be able to see him in the darkness.
“I’m not used to sharing a bed.”
Another lie.
For the last few weeks, when pride and stupidity didn’t keep us apart, Sebastian and I shared a bed and so much more. The hurt inside me wells, rendered too powerful by the lack of light, the late hour, and my empty stomach.
I hold my breath as a tear escapes. Another follows, and it’s not long before I’m drenching the pillow. The day’s events—starting with Lilith’s unexpected visit and ending with undressing in front of Miles—boil over and leak from my eyes.
A sniffle gives me away, and Miles shifts again, the presence of his body heating me through the blanket.
“I’m sorry I’ve upset you so.” He sounds sincere, and that makes me cry harder.
“It’s not you,” I sob.
“Then what is it? Let me help.”
“You can’t help.”
He’s quiet for several moments, his breathing filtering through the darkened bedroom and blending with my sobs. “I gather it’s a private matter?”
“Yes.” I sniffle again. “Are those still allowed in this tower?” I can’t help the sarcastic color of my tone.
He sighs. “Rest well, my queen. Tomorrow will be a better day.”
The bed shifts again as he rolls over, giving me space, and in spite of Sebastian’s hurtful betrayal, I wish he were the man sleeping at my side.
5
Unadorned windows ensure the morning starts extra early. As the light of day slowly drags me from a dream, my lids fluttering open, I’m surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. Gripping the blanket to my chest, I jerk into a sitting position. The door to the suite stands wide open, the corridor deserted as brilliant sunshine filters through the wall of glass.
Yesterday’s turbulent storm has passed.
Miles is gone.
And I’m free.
But gaining freedom and acting on it are two different things, because my dress has vanished along with Miles.
I spend an absurd amount of time in the bathroom taking care of business, but mostly debating on what to do as my stomach demands sustenance. Do I wait for him to force my hand…or do I suck it up and leave the room willingly?
Oh, how I despise him for cornering me into such a lose-lose dilemma. This is worse than that first morning with Liam, when the chancellor insisted I wear a sheer negligee to meet him for breakfast on his balcony.
Now my options are just a
s limited. I can either hide inside the walls of this suite, saving my modesty by clinging to the bed covers, or I can waltz through that door with my head held high despite my nudity.
Unless…
My attention detours to the place where Miles and I slept last night, the rumpled bedding spawning an idea. A risky idea, since it’s against the rules and will be considered a willful act of disobedience. But maybe some things are worth the risk.
I yank the sheet from the mattress, and the duvet slides off the edge as I wrap myself in the luxurious sheet. Ignoring my bed hair—tangled blond locks falling down my back without fanfare or style—I exit the room for the first time since Miles trapped me with him. But as I make my way toward the main living space in search of my keeper, apprehension creeps past my defenses.
How will he react?
Or maybe the question I should ask myself is how will I? What if he forcefully removes the sheet? Will I fight him, or will I submit to my training? And what if he takes a less-aggressive approach and demands I remove it myself? Do I risk another prison sentence inside that suite—a potentially longer one this time?
I follow my nose into the kitchen, where the aroma of coffee and something tantalizingly sweet lingers in the air. There’s no sign of Miles, though the evidence of his busy morning preparing breakfast sits on the counter next to the sink in the form of stacked cookware and bowls, every last one of them rinsed.
Coming upon the dining room, I find him seated at one end of the gigantic light oak table. As I stall on the threshold, he glances up from the paperwork in his hands, the beginnings of a smile on his face until his attention dips to the forbidden sheet wrapping me in modesty.
“Take it off.” Documents forgotten on the table, he rises from his chair, paying no heed to his own lack of attire. I almost expect his shaft to jut out, long and hard like the other men I’ve seen naked in the Brotherhood, but he’s still locked in that metal contraption.
I lift my chin, maintaining eye contact when all I want to do is shy away from the sight of his displeasure. “I want my clothes,” I say, voice steadier than the tremor threatening to buckle my knees.
“You can either take it off yourself, or I can do it for you.” His hands flex at his sides, as if he can’t wait to yank the sheet from my body.
As if he can’t wait to touch me.
“I’m not comfortable spending the next thirty days naked in front of you.”
He leaves the table slowly, each step bringing him that much closer. “I’m only going to say this once more, my queen. Remove the sheet, or I’ll remove it myself. Either way, it won’t spare you a punishment.”
The threat tingles down my spine; a warning to tread with caution. I clutch the soft fabric with twitching fingers, but I can’t bring myself to part the makeshift wrap. “You won’t be the first man to discipline me,” I challenge.
“Then my brothers have prepared you well.” A hint of a smile teases his lips as he lurches forward, stealing the sheet with a quick tug. I stumble back, palms shielding my breasts as he discards my modesty on the floor. Miles returns to his chair, the portrait of provocative calm.
And that’s when suspicion sets in, because I know it’s coming—a spanking at the very least. The worst would be a trip to the dungeon.
Shuddering at the thought, I exile the reminder of where I’ll spend next month to the dark corners of my mind. I’ve learned it’s best to exist in the present, so I wait him out, the seconds passing in unnerving silence until I can take his inaction no more.
“Aren’t you going to punish me?”
“Mark my words, Novalee. Tonight, you’ll regret disobeying me.” He jabs a fork into a juicy piece of pineapple before nodding at the seat next to him. “Now sit and eat. I know you’re hungry.”
My stomach’s a traitorous embarrassment, grumbling loud and confirming his assertion. I slide my bare ass onto fine Italian leather and fill a plate with fruit, yogurt, and a mouth-watering crepe. But instead of taking a bite of breakfast, I take the bait dangling between us.
“What happens tonight?”
He pauses, a ripe strawberry speared on his fork, and pure glee enters his eyes. “We attend dinner with the Brotherhood.”
“That’s not a surprise, nor a punishment, Mr. Sinclair.”
Calculation. There’s no other word to describe the curve of his lips. “I’ll be dressed. You won’t.”
“No,” I gasp. “You can’t do that!”
“I can, and I will. Maybe spending the evening naked in front of twelve men will teach you to respect the rules in this house.”
My heart skips in my chest, a fluttering dance of fear. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You didn’t offend me. You disobeyed me. There’s a difference.”
“Why are you doing this?” I hold his gaze, my own pleading for mercy. “Is forcing me into nudity not enough?”
“It is, my queen, but I won’t stand for your disobedience. After spending five months here at the estate, under the authority of the Brotherhood, you should know by now that we hold to certain ideologies. You need to respect them.”
“And what about respect for me? Does that not matter?”
Setting his fork down, he pushes his chair back, the wooden legs scraping across the marble floor. He leans down and holds my chin in place between his thumb and forefinger.
“On this island, respect is obtained in two ways. Men of noble birth are born with the right to it, while our subjects must earn respect through obedience and submission.” His gaze darts to my mouth, and the tip of his tongue sweeps across his lower lip. “You’re a subject of the Brotherhood. Fighting the role for which you were born will only cause misery.”
A livid uprising threatens to spill from my tongue, objections spurned on by the audacity of such blatant arrogance. Before I get the first indignant word out, he presses two fingers against my lips.
“You’d be wise not to provoke me.” Slowly, he withdraws his fingers and backs away.
“Understood,” I say, glaring at him, the intensity of my fury strengthening as he reclaims his seat. Despite my one-word reply of acquiescence, I stand. “Continuing this conversation will only serve to further provoke you, so if you’ll excuse me…”
I stride from the dining room, uncaring of his reaction, because after allowing the Brotherhood to flatten my spirit into a mat for their feet, I’ve finally had enough. I know my fate, my duty, and what’s expected of me, but if I’m to have any chance of surviving a life lived under their rule, I need to take a stand.
Even if my protest is in vain.
It matters not that I was raised in a position of royalty, beholding the title of a queen. My title is worthless, little more than a deceptive signal of power, because under the jurisdiction of the Zodiac Brotherhood, I’m a subject.
And these men are my ruling kings.
6
The day trudges on endlessly. I pass the hours on a balcony lounger, sprawled in the sun and avoiding Miles. With nothing to occupy my attention, not even a magazine or book, I spend too much time trapped in my head, alternating between rage, hopelessness, and a weariness in my bones that turns me into an intermittent dozer.
For the most part, Miles leaves me alone, only towering over me when lunchtime arrives. Like a stubborn and sulky child, I tell him I’m not hungry despite the deep ache in my belly.
The bluff is blatant, but he doesn’t call me on it. He doesn’t push me to join him, either. Dinner is another matter.
“You’re looking a little pink, my queen.”
“I was raised in the tropics,” I remind him without bothering to open my eyes. “I don’t burn.”
“Maybe not, but you do need to freshen up for dinner.”
“If clothing isn’t involved, I’m not interested.”
“It wasn’t an offer.” He hoists me over his shoulder before I suck in a full breath.
“Hey! Put me down!”
His palm lands on my ass with a q
uick smack. “You’re in for a major attitude adjustment.”
“Don’t touch me.”
He strikes my ass again. “You’re mine to touch if I wish.”
“What gives you the right?” I almost growl the question as he drops me on my feet in the bathroom.
“What gives you the right to object?” he counters.
I open my mouth to argue my case, but I don’t have one. Experience has taught me women aren’t equal to men. Even my own parents, who were happy and madly in love with each other, followed a traditional and customary power-exchange dynamic.
In my limited world view, the men are always in charge, and if such a dichotomy is a familiar practice to me, then it’s reasonable to assume Miles knows nothing else, considering his upbringing. The same could be said of every man in the tower. Much like a parent holds dominion over their offspring, the men in the Zodiac Brotherhood were raised to believe they hold all the power over the queen.
Over me.
I turn my back on Miles and switch on the faucet, preparing to wash my face. From the corner of my eye, I spy his reflection in the mirror as he leans against the doorjamb. He folds his arms and observes me without a word. Foregoing makeup, I pile my hair into a messy updo—the best I can do under the circumstances.
When I face him, I decide to try a different angle. “I promise to do better. Please let me dress for dinner.”
“Absolutely not. You need this lesson.”
“Then you’ll have to physically remove me from this house.” To punctuate my challenge, I set my hands on my naked hips.
“As you wish.” He grabs me by the waist, and ignoring my shouted outrage, the bastard tosses me over his shoulder before marching through the front entrance. Only after we reach the main floor of the tower does he set me on my feet again.
Mortified doesn’t touch on the emotions boiling in my gut. Neither does anger. I’m beyond both as he forces me down the hall toward the circular dining room, my arm held tightly in his as the jacket of his suit brushes my side with each step. I’m a mess, on the inside and out, seething with outrage and unkept in appearance without a speck of makeup on my face.