Page 37 of Sinful Wrath

I frown, glancing down at myself. “I am dressed.”

“Lucia.” Mikhail’s jaw flexes.

“Not everyone has to be like you, Mikhail, and wear full on suits every minute of the day. Besides, it’s not like I’m going anywhere anyway, so what’s the point?”

“I’mnotwearing a suit.”

I take in his black shirt and pants, trying not to picture what’s underneath.

“Semantics.” I wave a hand. “But if you’re so offended by a little skin, then so be it. Whatever my captor wants, he gets.”

I take my time sorting through my clothes until I find a pair of black leggings and a pale blue sweater.

“Am I allowed to change in my bathroom, or do you need to supervise that too?”

Mikhail’s answering glare has a smirk tugging at my lips.

Once I’m appropriately dressed, I follow Mikhail down the stairs and into the kitchen to find the place transformed.

“What’s this for?” I eye the candles and the bottle of wine on the table. There’s even a single red rose in the center.

“It’s dinner.” He stalks over to the stove where a pot is simmering away.

“I can see that. Do you go to this effort every night, or is this Mikhail talk for ‘I’m sorry’?”

Mikhail sighs, turning around to lean against the counter as he looks at me.

“I might have been a bit hard on you.”

“A bit…” I shake my head. “Youlockedme in my room.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you did as you are told. It’s for your own good.”

“You actually expect me to believe that?”

“Yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Can we please just sit and enjoy the meal without trying to tear each other's throats out?”

“I don’t know, can we?”

“Just sit,please.”

I don’t want to, but my stomach growls as I catch a waft of whatever it is that Mikhail’s cooked, and I bite back a moan. It smellsincredible.

So, I decide I can continue to be pissed at him once my belly is full.

Taking a seat at the table, I watch Mikhail as he gets two bowls out of the cupboard and starts to dish up the food.

He looks so domestic, it’s hard to believe that this is the same man who killed two guys without a second thought.

It makes me wonder what else he’s hiding behind his cold exterior.

He sets down a bowl of shrimp pasta in front of me before taking a seat and pouring us both a glass of wine.

I pick up my fork and tucking in, biting into one of the garlic shrimp. “Oh mygod,” I moan. “I can’t believe you made this.”