Lib Novel Page 6
Flirtatiousness was superficial, and seeing as how she was softening him like ice cream held above an open flame, he would need to be superficial with her. If he wasn’t, he might mess around and find himself with a friend, and Pedro was a shining example of what he did to his “friends.”
“I’m not flirting with you. I’m being, for the lack of a better word, a dick. Do you know what that word means?”
The stove ticked, and blue-orange fire sprung up from one of the burners in the front. “I’m familiar with the term,” she said. “Why are you being…one of those?”
“I was abducted and transported across the globe while drugged. Now, I’m trapped somewhere I’m not familiar with, kilometers from home, with guns on me at all times. So far, I’ve met only two women, one who I’m probably going to kill and the other…well, at the moment, I haven’t decided what I want to do to her.”
“I guess I see your point.”
“Why am I here?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Don’t make me ask again.”
“I won’t make you, but you’ll get the same answer if you do.”
He set down the platter and approached her from behind, grabbing a knife from a wooden block. She didn’t flinch, even as he gripped her chin and raised her head, both to expose her neck and so that she could look him in the eyes. Then he held the blade against her throat, and it wasn’t fear that he saw in her eyes. Instead, what he saw was so unexpected, he faltered.
“Do it,” she whispered.
Her outfit screamed virgin, a woman of faith. Yet, that flicker in her eyes signaled something different, something darker.
A click echoed throughout the kitchen, and a steel nozzle touched his neck. And despite the guns he felt aimed at his back and pressed against his spinal column, it was that look that made him release her.
The lack of a meal in what was probably nearly twenty-four hours had altered his state of mind. A woman like this would never desire having a knife to her throat.
“Take a step back,” the same voice from earlier commanded.
Sayeda faced the stove. “Have a seat, Mr. Delgano,” she said. “Finish your bread. You must be hungry.”
He was.
But, for that brief moment staring into her eyes, he’d found himself hungry for something else entirely.
CHAPTER
TWO
Because they had more information about him than he had about them, they obviously knew the most effective form of torture would have been him doing absolutely nothing, while locked inside a house, with no communication outside of the conversations he had with the chef.
Books no longer held any appeal.
Exercise brought less pleasure daily.
They didn’t limit his access to outdoor space or sunlight, but even that had run its course. At this point, he was willing to try his luck with one of the armed guards and force an escape, but they always seemed to know when he was plotting something.
Plus, he didn’t want to die in Northern Africa. Instead, he’d found himself wanting to explore the continent from where a significant portion of Brazilian culture had originated—because his mind was turning to porridge.
The house didn’t have clocks or calendars, and he’d stopped counting the sunrises and sunsets the longer his internment had stretched. As more and more time passed, he began to suspect they were waiting for him to take his own life, but he wasn’t there yet. An unexpected bright spot remained.
Like he did every morning, he went to the kitchen and found Sayeda pouring steaming coffee into a mug from a carafe. Today, he didn’t want coffee, but he accepted the mug, uninterested in making her day worse simply because he regularly wavered between jumping from the rooftop and visiting a Moroccan market to shop for fabrics.
“Good morning, Mr. Delgano,” she greeted, and the sunlight passing through the wide glass doors highlighted the metallic notes in her irises. Every day, she wore the same thing: a patterned niqab, the chef’s coat with long sleeves underneath, a long skirt, and rubber shoes.
“Good morning, Chef.” He drew a sip from the mug and nearly failed to hide a grimace. “Hmm. That’s…different.”
“I added peach syrup. Do you like it?”