I shake my head, but we both know I am. The fight goes out of me, my energy spent.
“If you scream,” he says, “I’ll leave. I can do this for days until you’re ready to listen.”
When I go still, he removes his hand. “That’s better.”
I lie on my back on the damp stones, the wetness seeping through my coat and dress, through my very skin and into my heart. He’s crouching next to me, studying me with one arm braced on his knee. His frame is big and powerful. The shadow he casts over me swallows me whole. Somehow, it seems darker and colder than the winter night I spent in my cell.
“I want you to listen to me, Zoe.”
My gaze homes in on his face, on the non-symmetrical lines of his features and the bump on the bridge of his nose.
“When I take you home,” he continues in his musical accent, “you have a choice.”
My hope lifts a fraction. “To South Africa?”
“To France.”
The words are a punch. I don’t know how many more punches I can take. I force the question from numb lips. “What choice?”
“It can be like yesterday, like the day we spent, or it can be like this.” He motions around the space. “What you decide is entirely up to you, but you should know that each choice comes with a price.”
I hold my breath, waiting for him to carry on.
“If I take you to my family in France, this is what awaits you. You’ll be locked up, a prisoner. The men will take turns with you, starting with my brother, and he’s not a kind man. He’ll keep you alive, but you’ll wish you were dead. The only way I can protect you is to lay claim to you.” His gaze pierces mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
My body is shaking uncontrollably, my mind refusing to give meaning to the words.
“Do you understand, Zoe?” he asks in his musical accent.
I shake my head.
“You’re going to have to become my mistress.” The flames in his eyes burn glacially. “You’re going to have to let me fuck you, convincingly and often.”
Chapter 8
Maxime
Zoe’s pretty, blue eyes flare, as always giving away her heart. She finds the idea of me fucking her disgusting. I didn’t expect otherwise. Nonetheless, it stabs into my chest.
I bet she’ll find Alexis handsome. All the women do, until they discover his fetishes.
She licks her cracked lips. “Are you asking me to sell my body in exchange for your protection?”
“I don’t need to buy sex, little flower.” Despite my physique, I have enough eager bed partners.
“You mean your mistress as for real?”
I nod, a sadistic part of me enjoying her discomfort for making her distaste so obvious. “For real.”
I can almost see her brain kicking back into action. “Why can’t we pretend? Why do I have to sleep with you?”
“Because my family will know.” More accurately, my father and brother.
“How?”
“Believe me, there are signs that will be obvious.” I fuck hard. My family knows me. My lovers don’t walk straight in the morning, not that they’re complaining. There will be medical checkups, birth control, and our doctor is a family friend. He’ll report back to my father. Changing to a different practitioner will be suspicious, a dead giveaway. No, there’s only one way of playing this.
For real.
She swallows. “Why would you help me?”
Yes, why indeed? “Because I’d hate to see your life wasted.”
She blinks, her lashes wet with unshed tears. “Isn’t it already wasted?”
“Choice, Zoe. It all depends on how you choose to look at it.”
Sniffing, she turns her face to the light that falls in a wedge from the hole in the wall. Between the two options, I know, and she knows what her choice is going to be. I let her have the moment, let her bask in denial for a little while longer.
When she finally looks back at me, her tears are spilling over. It both pains and pleases me how little she wants me and that she’s already admitting her defeat, because when she opens her pretty, little mouth, she’s going to give me her consent.
She nods, a small movement that barely tilts her head.
I wipe a strand of hair from her dirty face. “Say it.” The quicker she consents, the quicker I can carry her out of here, clean her, and give her sunlight and water so she’ll flourish again.
“Yes,” she says in a faint voice.
“Yes, what?”
“I’ll be your mistress.”
“That’s a good choice, Zoe.” I drag my palm over her cheek. “You made it wisely.”
I don’t waste time. I scoop her up from the cold floor, cradling her against my chest. The demonstration was a hard one, but it was necessary. It hurt me as much as it hurt her. The fresh cigarette burns on my stomach and chest are proof of that.
She weighs nothing in my arms as I mount the stairs. I hold her tighter, sheltering her against the cold as much as I can. She’s mine now. I’ll take care of her every need.
Gautier waits at the street level with a blanket. He drapes it over her, careful not to touch her, and I tuck it around her body. She’s shivering like a petal caught in a storm. We don’t go down the alley but take the steps to the jetty where the motorboat is tied. Benoit is aboard. At our approach, he unties the boat. I lower Zoe to her feet and help her inside. When we’re all in, I sit, drawing her into my lap and making sure she’s covered with the blanket.
Benoit starts the engine and turns the boat into the canal. The wind nips at my face and ears. In the fight, Zoe lost her hat. She draws deeper under the blanket, huddling close to me. It feeds a hungry part of me. I open my jacket and pull it around her under the blanket so the heat from my body can warm her better.
After a short ride, we moor the boat in front of our hotel. It’s early. Few people are about. I lift Zoe out and carry her inside while my men scout the area ahead of us. We don’t run into anyone in the lobby or on the stairs, and a few minutes later we’re back in the suite.
Carrying her straight to the bathroom, I lower her onto the bench next to the bath before crouching in front of her. When I reach for the blanket, she clutches it tighter to her chest.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“You need a shower.” When the pleat on her brow doesn’t smooth out, I explain my intention. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need to take care of you.”
“Then get out.”
I stand. The rejection stings, but I welcome the hurt. Feeling something after nothing, after thinking I’d never feel again, is a miracle and joyful in itself.
She agreed. I want to remind her, but I have to be patient. In fact, it’s better I don’t see her naked before tonight. The drawn-out expectation will only heighten the pleasure.
Still, I’m not comfortable leaving her in this state. She’s tired and weak. She can slip in the shower and crack open her head.
“Please?” she says.
The word pulls at my heart, another foreign sensation, because I do want to please her.
“Call if you need me.” I turn and leave but stop in the door. “Maybe it’s better if you have a bath.”