Damn.
That would have been kind of cool.
“Can you tell me what countries your land borders?” he asks, as if he’s going to know what Canada and Mexico is.
I tell him anyway and just as I suspect, he frowns, his brows snapping together before his gaze shifts over to Colt, then comes back to meet mine.
I reach for the bread, unable to wait even another moment before trying it. I’m freaking starving and this soup is surprisingly damn good, but it doesn’t compare to the warm bread. The men don’t say anything while I continue to take bites of the crusty warm bread, then I stop.
Okay.
I know why people were so thin back in the day. My stomach is full and not because I’m not hungry, but because of the damn corset. Lifting my head, my eyes are wide as I look over to Colt in a pleading glance.
He frowns, but doesn’t say anything. He probably has no fucking clue that I’m panicking. I’m hungry, but I physically can’t eat anything else. I want to cry. Then tears actually fill my eyes when Martha walks into the room carrying what looks to be like a big platter of sliced beef, potatoes, and carrots.
I want to eat it all.
“Are you unwell?” Colt asks.
Lifting my eyes to meet his, I can’t control the tear that escapes and falls down my cheek. “I am,” I whisper.
“What’s amiss?” Logan asks.
I don’t turn toward Logan, my focus is being held by Colt and only Colt. My stomach starts to flutter and I feel a heat fill my belly at the same time and start to slowly flow through my veins.
“I’m hungry,” I admit on a choke.
Colt dips his chin toward my plate. “Then eat, or is there a problem?”
Shaking my head, I decide that I can’t tell him. It’s too embarrassing. Instead, I decide to lie. “There’s no problem. I am just too hot still from being outside today. I think I need to lie down.”
Colt’s eyes narrow and he leans forward. “You lie, Birdie.”
I do lie, but I’m not telling him the truth, especially not in front of this stranger. Clearing my throat, I straighten my shoulders and shift in my seat. Shaking my head a couple of times, I try to ignore the way the meat, potatoes, and carrots assault my senses. It’s really fucking hard to ignore, but I try my best.
“Okay, so you want to question me. Let’s do this so that we can enjoy our evening.” I lie again.
I’m not enjoying any of this. Right now, I want to be home, in my comfy sweatpants gorging on whatever the fuck I want, with the knowledge that my sisters are safe and sound in their own homes.
There is a long moment of silence and I watch as Colt stabs a potato with his fork. He puts it in his mouth and my blood starts to feel as though it’s almost at a boil. It feels hot and I wonder if my skin is turning red as well.
I hold my breath, wishing that his mouth was anywhere on my body. I don’t know why, but I have to press my thighs together as I start to ache with need.
I’ve never felt this way before, not even about a boyfriend, let alone a man that I don’t even know, and that isn’t even taking in to account the complete weirdness about this situation.
Stockholm Syndrome, that must be what’s happening here.
I attempt to take in a deep breath, but I can’t do too deep of a one because of this fucking corset. It was hot when I looked at my reflection and the shape that it gave me, but I already hate everything about it.
“You’re from this place called the United States, and what do you do there?”
“I’m a photographer,” I quickly answer with a panting breath as I attempt to force myself to calm down.
I don’t notice the way the men pass glances back and forth. I’m too busy focusing on my damn self and my breathing.
“You’re unmarried?” Logan asks.
Narrowing my gaze, I lift my eyes to meet his. “I am, is that a problem?” I grind out.
His lips twitch into a grin. “Not at all.” He chuckles. “I’m just trying to figure out how you arrived here.”
“You and me both,” I snort.
He clears his throat, and then he turns to look at Colt. I watch as he shrugs a shoulder. “Colt said you talked of your sisters?”
Nodding my head, I let out a sigh. “I have two sisters that are missing. I thought maybe this was all some kind of colossal joke and they were here somewhere, but it seems as though I was wrong.”
“Two sisters? Is that all you have?” Logan asks with almost a sense of urgency.
Shaking my head, my gaze doesn’t leave his. “No, I have one more.”
“So, there are four of you?” he demands.
Jerking my head back, I don’t miss the growl that escapes Colt’s throat. “There are…” I answer, feeling very confused about where this is going.
“And do you look alike? You all have black hair and blue eyes?”
I shake my head slowly. My sisters and I are an anomaly of sorts. None of us looks like the other. “No,” I whisper. “We all look completely different. We don’t even look like our own parents. We always joke that they must have adopted us, you know, if we hadn’t seen the pregnancy pictures of our mom, we probably would really think that.”
“Bloody hell,” Logan curses. “Bloody damned hell.”
“What?” I demand at the same time Colt asks the same.
Logan’s head quickly snaps to Colts. “I know you frown against this, but my grandmother needs to be summoned.”
“Drat,” Colt hisses.
“It is urgent.”
COLT
Logan’s grandmother isn’t just a sweet elderly woman as most other grandmothers are. No, Mrs. Whitecotton is a witch. Not
