He paused. Interest replaced the hardness in his eyes for a brief moment, before the shutters slammed closed again. “Go on.”
There wasn’t much else to say. “I’ve yet to sit final exams, but I studied how to do building budgets, deal with local councils, permits, trade requirements. I’m top in the class for an eco-sustainable village concept for our mid-terms.” I fibbed. I came second, but if he wanted me in property, shit, I’d be the best in property I could be.
He leaned back, steepling his fingers again. I fast recognized the trademark move. Q moved with power and the undeniable knowledge of perfect control. “How did they take you?”
The abrupt change in conversation side-lined me.
I thought I’d pushed the terror down deep from being kidnapped, and purged myself last night through a wash of tears, but panic rose and roared, blotting out everything, apart from the agony of seeing Brax bleeding and men knocking me unconscious. Oh, God, would I ever be free?
Q shifted, waiting. He neither cared, nor took sadistic interest as I struggled with memories. Why the hell did he bring it up? Bastard.
I answered in monotone, pretending I hadn’t lived it. Surprisingly, it helped distance myself, and a shot of pride filled me. I’d fought and taught Leather Jacket a lesson or two. I celebrated the small win. “I was taken in Mexico. They hurt my boyfriend, knocked me out, and took me somewhere.”
“Did they hurt you? Apart from your ankle?”
If he classified being beaten and tattooed, then yes. I nodded.
He sucked in a breath, forehead furrowing. “Did they rape you?”
Leather Jacket tried, but failed. A cold smile tugged my lips. “No. One tried. He wasn’t successful.”
His hard smile matched mine, and something webbed between us. Understanding? Respect? Something I said changed the way Q thought of me.
My pulse accelerated. Perhaps, if I made him see me, not as a possession but as a woman, things might not be so lost after all.
Whatever his feelings, if his respect granted safety, I was all for it.
Whatever happened between us disappeared when Q murmured, “What’s your name?” He kept eyes shadowed by looking at the newspaper on the table. Did he not think I noticed the casual question?
I pursed my lips, not answering.
After a moment, he looked up, glaring. “You will tell me your name.”
My breath came faster, hurting my rib, but I remained silent. What are you doing, Tess? Is another beating really worth keeping your name a secret? I knew the answer: yes, it was. My name was the only thing I owned. It was sacred.
I jumped as Q called, “Suzette!” His chin rose, showing a graceful neck and rough-smoothness. Cords of muscle hinted at a rigorous exercise program, yet his body wasn’t bulky. In another life, I would’ve drooled over him. He ought to be on the cover of a GQ magazine. My eyes narrowed. Was that why he called himself Q? So egotistical.
The maid appeared. Her soft smile and adoration for her employer shot me in the heart. How could she be loyal and like this man?
“Oui, maître?”
“Enfermer la dans la bibliothèque. Retirez le téléphone et l'ordinateur portable. Ca comprend?”
I blinked, wishing I’d stayed with French in high school. Rusty cogs worked hard, shedding dust on a language I knew, but hadn’t used in years. Something about a library and a computer.
My eyes flashed between Q and Suzette.
She bowed. “Oui, autre chose?”
My mind sped, letting my brain stretch and remember. She’d asked if he wanted anything else. I’d never been thankful for a good memory before, but I wanted to cry with relief—I wouldn’t be completely in the dark.
Q froze, and Suzette locked him in her hazel stare. Her stance yelled protectiveness, understanding. Eyes urged him to do… what?
They stared for an eternity, involved in silent conversation, leaving me a third wheel. Finally, Q nodded, sighing, “Vous savez?” You know.
She relaxed, face full of sad acknowledgement. “Elle est différente.” She shrugged. “Ne vous punissez pas.”
She spoke so fast, I only caught different and punishment. My stomach clenched as Q glanced at me, a tortuous mix of lust and hatred in his face.
He nodded sharply, letting his guard down; eyes flared with hunger. “Oui.” His voice sent shivers across my skin.
Instinct knew before my mind. Something changed in Q. He’d given in to the battle he fought. My heart jumped from its prison of ribs, galloping around my chest. Sinister knowledge coiled through my veins. He gave up fighting. The decision shone in his resigned but tense body. Terror demanded to know exactly what he’d given in to.
Suzette looked at me with pity and hope, before disappearing into the lounge. I wanted to run after her, beg to know what was happening.
Q stood, brushing his immaculate suit and silver shirt. Avoiding my gaze, he said, “Suzette has her orders. Follow them. And, seeing as you refuse to tell me your name, you’ll be called esclave until you do. If you’re going to learn French, let that be your first word.”
Now was not the time to advise I knew enough to understand.
He went to walk around the table, but changed his mind. My skin heated as he came closer, and I sucked in a ragged breath as he pressed against me. His hard thigh connected with my shoulder. He rocked his hips, deliberately making me very aware of what was between his legs.
My mind rebelled as everything within flushed to an all-encompassing need. He was so hard and long—rigid and unforgiving. The way he loomed above sent fear fluttering, mixing with unwanted desire.
I twisted away, wincing from my rib, but the pain couldn’t stop the hatred for my traitorous body. How could I even think of desire? That was the thing—I didn’t think. My body reacted. Starved of something it needed for so long, coupled with the act of control, triggered buttons despite my terror and repulsion. Tears choked. How could I? I’m a sick, twisted freak.
Q interrupted my confusion and hatred. “Do you know that word?”
I didn’t have a clue, too involved mentally beating myself for such a horrid betrayal. Fight! Think of Brax. My heart stopped. No, don’t think of Brax.
Q captured my chin, a flare of heat clenched my stomach. “Esclave, answer me. Do you know that word?” His mouth was so close; I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Ordering my brain to work, ignoring my sinning body, I shook my head. I did know the word: slave. But ignorance was a weapon, and I didn’t want him to know my arsenal.