He looked up, straight into her eyes. His jaw flexed. A moment’s battle raged in his silver eyes, and then his lips flattened on a single word. “No.”
A vice tightened around her throat. “What do you mean?”
He schooled his features, turning his face into an expressionless mask. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I want to talk about it now,” she said, feeling a little hysterical. If he was going to kill her, she had a right to know. “You can’t keep me against my will.”
The words were idiotic and futile. They both knew it. He didn’t even acknowledge them. He only carved the fish into slices.
Looking around the kitchen, she searched for windows or doors. Everything that could open was barred. Claustrophobia wound around her, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe. The room closed in on her.
“Cle.”
His voice was dispersed through the blood that gushed in her ears. She ran to the backdoor and tried the knob. It was locked. She rushed to a window and pulled on the latch, shaking the glass in the frame. It didn’t budge.
She wanted out.
Now.
She ran from window to window, banging her fists on the glass. It was useless. Even if she broke the glass, the shutters were barred from the outside. She turned around the room in a circle, her panic escalating. She was trapped in a ghost house with a man who’d just admitted he wasn’t letting her go when his job here was done.
“Cle.”
She turned her face to the sound. Joss stood very still, regarding her with a strange expression on his face. Pity. Fury heated her clenched stomach. All of this was his fault. He had no right to pity her.
Her gaze found the dark hallway, the only way out. Joss followed the direction of her eyes, clearly anticipating her move, but her body was in flight mode, overriding any logical thoughts. Nothing mattered but getting out.
Putting everything she had into it, she sprinted toward the corridor. With a couple of sideways steps, Joss cut her off before she could make it.
“Cle,” he said again, holding out a hand.
She escaped that hand, the outstretched arm, retreating until her backside hit the counter.
“Easy,” Joss said. “That’s a good girl. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”
The words snapped her back to reality, to the threat hanging over her head. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her, but he would kill her. He’d said so himself.
Not moving her gaze away from Joss, she searched behind her for the knife he’d been using. Arms crossed, he watched her quietly as her fingers gripped the shaft.
She swung the knife forward, aiming the sharp point at him with a shaky hand. “Let me go.”
“Or?” he asked in a flat tone.
Holding the knife in front of her, she took a step toward him. “I’ll use this if I must.”
He didn’t budge. He didn’t even look scared, damn him. “Then use it. Do what you have to.”
She inched forward. “Step aside!”
He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “You’d want to go for the jugular vein. An injury won’t slow me down. It won’t stop me from handcuffing you again. The only thing that’ll stop me is to go straight for the kill.”
“Don’t make me do this,” she said, hating how her voice trembled.
“I’ll give you this. One chance only. Come on, little witch. I won’t resist. Cut me.”
He was taunting her, testing her to see how far she’d go. All the damn way. She closed the distance between them and pushed the blade against his neck. “Open the door. Let me out.”
He smiled. “The only way you’re walking out of here is if I’m dead.”
Damn him! She could do it. She could snuff out his life. It was him against her, right? Self-defense. She pressed harder, until a thin red line appeared on his golden skin.
“A sharp drag to the left should do it,” he said, his gaze locked onto hers.
A swipe to the left. Easy. She couldn’t be the weakest. Her hand shook even more.
“Do it, Cle, or don’t, but make your choice.”
She applied more pressure. Still he didn’t move. Not even when a trickle of blood ran down his neck and into the collar of his T-shirt.
The sight of the blood shocked her. What was she doing? She couldn’t. She couldn’t do it. Tears blurred her vision, distorting his handsome features. She couldn’t kill him. How pathetic.
Her hold slackened. The knife hit the floor with a clang, a deafening sound in the silence. Strangely, she breathed easier, dragging greedy gulps of oxygen into her lungs. Her chest expanded when it should’ve shrunk, and the knot in her throat untangled when she stopped trying to hold back the tears.
Joss reached for her, but she jumped out of his way, backtracking until she collided with furniture. The table. A chair rattled. He was going to make her pay for what she did.
His gaze followed her as she ran around the table, his silver eyes smoldering. She made it to the other side of the room before he’d rounded the table. Flattening her body against the backdoor, she dragged her nails over the wood in an instinctive but futile effort of escaping her prison.
His footsteps fell softly behind her, but they echoed in her chest. How would he extract revenge? How would he punish her? She expected him to strangle or slap her, not to press his body against her, trapping her with her arms above her head against the door. He simply stood like that, with his chest against her back, until she stilled in defeat.
She pinched her eyes shut, waiting for the blow, but he only cupped his hands over hers.
“Shh,” he said, his lips pressed against her ear. “You’re safe with me.”
Was she? Promises were made to be broken. “I want to go home,” she managed through her tears.
He brushed his cheek over hers, grating her skin with the stubble.
