Rett turned from the closing door. “Do you plan to eat our midday meal wearing a towel?”
“Rett, tell me who you were talking to.”
“Ian. He’ll bring the food from the kitchen.”
“Was he...” My stomach twisted. “Was he in here?”
Rett’s gaze narrowed. “No, Emma.”
My gaze went to the door and back to Rett before I stepped back into the bathroom.
I tried to reason—it was simply my nerves playing tricks on me. The door wasn’t closing to let him leave, but for Rett to speak to the man stationed there.
Still wearing the towel, I repeated that mantra as I took care of business, washed my face, combed my long hair, placed it in a messy bun with a hair tie I found in the drawer, and brushed my teeth. As I contemplated a shower, the door opened as if my privacy wasn’t something Rett even considered.
Standing in all his clothed grandeur, Rett held the robe that I’d discovered in the closet last night. Now with the full light, his dark stare scanned me up and down. “Our food will be here in a few minutes.” He held the robe toward me. “I’m having more clothes delivered. For now, this is better attire than a towel.”
Emma
“Finish your meal,” Rett said, nodding toward my plate.
After my interesting and erotic awakening, the midday meal we shared was the polar opposite. Tension bred from unfamiliarity settled around us, stealing our words and my appetite. More than once, one of us would begin to speak, only to stop when met with the other’s stare. While I wasn’t convinced I’d made the right decision in accepting what Rett claimed was fate, I had made a few observations. Based on the empirical evidence, I had no question that Rett and I could enjoy physical compatibility. My uncertainty hinged on the nagging concern that intimacy may be our only common ground.
As I pushed the food around my large bowl, I had the odd feeling that is associated with a blind date gone wrong or perhaps a misguided match from an online dating app. “Tell me something about you,” I said in an effort to facilitate a conversation and perhaps to find shared interests.
Rett’s dark stare met mine. “Emma, there are things you don’t need to know.”
I set my fork down beside the large bowl filled with green-leaf salad and slices of spicy grilled chicken. “You say we’re to be married.”
Rett nodded.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I’d like to know more about the man I’m to marry than his ability to bring me to orgasm.”
By the way Rett choked as he reached for his glass of ice water, my directness may have caught him off guard.
One point for me.
Setting down his glass, Rett grinned. “On the contrary, my dear, by culture’s definition of old-fashioned, sexual compatibility was never considered an issue. Women were expected to simply fulfill their wifely duties. It was all about the man’s satisfaction in having his needs met.”
“Then call me new-fashioned. I would like to know more.” With me not having showered and wearing only the robe Rett had brought to the bathroom while he sat across from me, fresh with the exception of being unshaven, in blue jeans worn out in all the right places and a white button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled to below his elbows, the situation exemplified our current inequality. “Fine,” I said, “I’ll go first. What do you want to know about me?”
His cheeks rose as a grin came to his lips. “I told you that I’ve researched you all the way down to your preference of wine.”
“There’s more to a person than red or white wine.” I sat taller. “For example, I enjoy the outdoors, hiking in the mountains, sitting near a lake, or on a beach.” I stood, making my way to the window. “Speaking of which, it’s too dark in here.” I reached for the heavy draperies.
“Emma, sit and eat.”
“After I open the curtains.”
Rett stood, pushing back his chair. “Not...”
I pulled the cord. “What the hell?”
Beyond the panes of glass were barriers—solid, light-stopping barriers.
“They’re shutters,” Rett explained.
“Why?” I hurried to the other window and without pulling the cord, fumbled with the heavy drapery. Each window was the same; it was no wonder that sunlight hadn’t shown around the edges. I secured the robe, and moving quickly, I entered the exercise room only to realize it was without windows.
I spun around, my fists going to my hips. “No.”
Rett leaned against the doorjamb between the library and bedroom with his arms crossed over his wide chest. The seams of his shirt pulled tight with each breath, and on his face was an expression I couldn’t read.
“No,” I repeated louder. “You’re not holding me in a damn box.”
Rett took a step toward me. “You asked me to be patient. I’m asking the same of you.”
My blood pressure was rising. “So if I have sex with you, you’ll let me see sunlight?”
“That wasn’t my plan, but now that you mention it, there could be some merit to that.”
“No.” I pushed past him, going to one set of windows in the library and pulling the cord. The view beyond the panes was the same as the other windows. Fumbling with the old-fashioned latches, I found the windows opened inward. With the blue barrier now at my disposal, I searched. The shutter had no hinges, no latches, and no louvers. In my frustration, I pounded on the solid metal barrier. “No. I can’t do this.” No amount of pounding would lessen its hold.
Rett reached for my wrists. “Emma, stop.”
I tugged to free my wrists, but I couldn’t loosen his grip as he pulled them to my sides. “Let go of me.” When Rett didn’t move or reply, I pulled harder. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not staying here. If I do, you’re holding me against my will. It’s a crime.” My volume rose.
Rett’s faux laughter echoed off the window panes. “My dear, if you haven’t figured it out yet, crime is what I do, and I do it well.”
“You can’t do this.” I pulled against his hold.
“Calm down, Emma.” His cadence was back to measured. “You’re not being held a prisoner. You’re under my protection.”
“I’m calling bullshit on witness protection. I’ve watched movies and read books. You’re not law enforcement.”
“You’re right, I’m not.” He brought his nose near mine. Each sentence was punctuated with the scent of his vinaigrette dressing. “Listen to me. I’m going to let go of your wrists. When I do, you’ll calmly go sit upon the chaise.” Holding my wrists in one hand, he brought a finger to my lips. “I will not repeat my rule.”
Apparently, doing as he said, when he said, was not limited to sex.
As I stared into his dark gaze, I wasn’t certain what would happen if he repeated his rule. However, by the way the brown of his eyes swirled with black, reminding me of churning water at the bottom of a well, I decided now wasn’t the time to learn. I nodded. “Fine, I’ll sit.”
Rett freed my wrists. I noticed that each one bore redness from his grasp. As I walked to the lounge chair, I rubbed one and then the other. Straightening my neck, I slowly made my way to the chair where I’d fallen asleep the night before.