Dollars (Dollar #2)

Swallowing was hard enough with a stitched tongue, but as his fingers tucked away the clip and stroked a fresh ten-dollar American bill, I struggled even more.

“I’ll allow the silent treatment for a little longer, Pimlico, but fair warning…it will get old very fast.” His face tightened. “Especially when I expect answers to questions that are suitable enough for polite conversation.”

I bristled.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the way he pinched the money and folded creases in preparation for whatever bewitchment he would create. The thought of another gift pacified me enough that I didn’t bother with the broken pieces on the carpet nor sniff in indignation at his threat.

Leaving me standing alone in the middle of the sumptuous suite, he moved toward the table where lunch waited. “Come.”

He likes that word. How often has he ordered me to come like a poodle since I became his?

His command licked down my spine, doing its best to hijack my control and force me to obey.

I’d obeyed for two years without a choice.

Why would I want to trade one prison for another? Even if this prison was colour and sensation when the last had been monochrome and agony?

Fighting the urge, I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t mean to antagonise, but I was done being a toy for a man too rich and powerful to be governed by rules and decency.

If he wanted me to comply—if he wanted me to talk…well, politeness and civility was the price he had to pay.

Shaking his head, he swallowed a growl. It wasn’t anger percolating in his chest but a rare emotion I hadn’t seen in so long.

Pride.

He’s proud that I’m standing up to him?

“Please.” Hiding a roguish smile, he bowed his head, his fingers never stopping their folding. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it? Come here, please?”

My chin rose even as I rewarded him with a step toward the table.

His gaze fell on my legs, his smile slipping into a sharp cough of approval.

Why did I get the distinct impression of an endless conversation happening when we’d barely interacted? Was this how animals introduced themselves? Body language and mutual respect?

Respect.

Another emotion I was no longer acquainted with. Respect for another person or for myself. How many things had I forgotten? And how long would it take to relearn?

Pulling out a chair, Elder watched with a predatory glare until I came close enough to sit. I did so as gracefully as I could with my bruised body and waged war with what to look at.

Delicious food or dangerous man.

The soup curled with flavour; the noodles steaming with savoury tease. But then there was Elder and his sensuous fingers creating a gift for me because…

Wait, why is he making me another gift?

The first he’d given me as payment for the night together. A night that’d ended in horrendous ways. But he’d still earned something from me to warrant his origami present.

That wasn’t the case today. Not only had he returned for me. Stolen me. Healed me. Protected me. He now gave me rooms of my own, nourishing food, and most of all, the courtesy of letting me rest with no undertones of evil or malicious expectation.

Is it right I accept another gift when he’s already given so much?

The faint whispering of folding linen paper hushed my questions as his fingers flew. Sitting elegantly, he didn’t look up from his creation, but his lips twitched. “You eat. I’ll fold.” His voice flirted with a sensual bargain. “Do we have a deal?”

My tongue ached in upcoming agony even as my mouth watered.

His fingers stopped folding when I didn’t move.

“Well?” He raised an eyebrow, looking from me to the food.

Never glancing away, I carefully pulled the bowl of soup closer and picked up a spoon. It didn’t go unnoticed that there were no dog bowls or forbidden use of utensils. Here I was human…a girl. Here, I was someone not something.

I just hoped it was the beginning of how my future would unfurl and not a cruel game he was playing while waiting for me to heal enough for his requirements.

Dipping the silver spoon into the creamy potato soup, I raised my own eyebrow.

Keep being a gentleman and you’ve got yourself a deal.

He licked his lips as I inserted the spoon into my mouth and struggled with the lack of robust taste or warning if the liquid was too hot. The doctor was right when he said he didn’t know if he’d been able to save those senses. It took a second to remind my body how to swallow and winced as the food slid down my throat.

Elder paused his folding. “Hurt?”

I wanted to shake my head. To give him some sign that I was willing to work with him while he was being so kind, but once again, the safety mechanism of my past forbid me.

Tilting my chin, I focused on gathering more soup and swallowing another spoonful.

He didn’t ask again, taking my willingness to keep eating as answer enough. Silence fell as he crimped and creased, and I ate slowly, trying to blow on the hot liquid but unable to position my swollen tongue enough to purse my lips.

After a few minutes, Elder spoke calmly but with a cold undertone. “You know why I came back for you, don’t you?”

I didn’t look up, keeping my gaze resolutely on the soup. He wanted to talk? I wouldn’t stop him. But if he was looking for conversation, he hadn’t earned that yet.

Taking another sip, I kept my head down but my body relaxed, hoping he understood that I was willing to listen if not participate.