Page 16 of Coerced Kiss
He stands, offering me a hand. “I’m not going to repeat myself.”
As with everything else, it’s futile to resist. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. I don’t let him help me up. Ignoring his proffered hand, I stand. The sudden movement must’ve made the blood drop to my feet, because a dizzy spell makes me sway. He catches me around the waist, rightening me.
“Easy now,” he says. “Your blood sugar level probably dropped too low. You shouldn’t wait so long between meals. It’s better to eat smaller meals more frequently, especially as the baby grows bigger and presses on your stomach.”
I want to ask how he knows this, but it takes all my focus not to fall over as the room starts spinning.
“Here,” he says in an oddly gentle way, taking my elbow and guiding me to the lounge.
He makes me sit on the sofa and takes a seat next to me. My gaze falls on a medicine kit on the coffee table.
“Where did that come from?” I ask.
Gripping the hem of my T-shirt, he lifts it to expose my back. “My driver brought it with the food.”
The swipe of his fingertips over my spine makes me shiver. Goosebumps contract my skin.
I arch away from his touch. “This is really not necessary.”
“Stop fussing,” he says with a chuckle, pressing a big, broad hand between my shoulder blades and pushing me forward. “Are you always this difficult?”
I want to protest with a retort, but his palm on my naked back makes me freeze. The warmth of the fingers he splays overmy ribcage seeps into my body, making me aware of how frozen I feel inside. That heat can melt a glacier.
Yet it’s not his warm hand that turns me into a statue. It’s how he trails his blunt nails over my back, tracing the red lines I saw in the mirror when I’d gotten out the shower. More goosebumps run over my arms and down my sides. Despite the lightness of the touch, it feels intimate. Terrifying. Because the man who takes a bottle of disinfectant from the medicine kit and tells me in a weirdly regretful tone that it’s going to burn, owns every breath I take. I’m completely at the mercy of this beautiful, cruel killer.
I’m not keen on blindly letting him tend to me, so I rest my chin on my shoulder, observing him as he gets to work.
I breathe a little easier when he removes his hand from my back to drench a cotton swab with the disinfectant. My reprieve doesn’t last long. I shiver again when he presses the soaked swab on the scrapes. Like he promised, it burns, but it burns hotter when he leans closer—too close—and blows over my skin.
“Good,” he says, pulling the T-shirt down to cover me. “All done.”
Not wanting to give him my back for longer than necessary, I turn around on the seat. For how long is he planning on staying here? The whole night?
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to let you get some sleep,” he says with a disarming smile. He takes a phone from his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “Call me if you need anything. My number is programmed on there. If the police come around again, don’t speak to them. Insist on wanting your lawyer present. Call me, and I’ll take care of it.”
I look at the phone on my palm. It’s brand new. The protective film still covers the screen. “This isn’t mine.”
“It is now.” When I don’t reply, he adds, “To replace your old one.”
“You’re confiscating my phone?” I ask, my lips parting. “I have my caller list programmed on there.”
He pushes to his feet. “I already transferred your data to the new phone.”
Feeling at a disadvantage in my sitting position, I stand too. “When?”
He smiles. “Does it matter?”
Powerlessness has me gritting my teeth. “Why can’t you tell me? Is the information classified?”
Amusement sparks in his eyes. “While you were in the shower.”
The fact that he thinks this is funny only gets my hackles up. It makes me unreasonably obstinate. I know it, but I’m beyond controlling myself. “I want my own phone.”
“The number is the same. Your friends can still get hold of you on the old number.”
“I wantmyphone,” I repeat a little louder.