Foxy in Lingerie Page 11

  The only reason I took his threat seriously was because I didn’t know him at all. He was an enigma that made no sense. He bought me for a fortune but had no plans for me. He didn’t outright hurt me, but he didn’t respect me either. There was nothing more terrifying than being with someone with unknown intentions. When you didn’t understand what a person wanted, they became unpredictable.

  Carter was completely unpredictable.

  If I the possibility arose, I might take it. But if I learned more about Carter, perhaps I could persuade him to let me go. He understood compassion, so it wasn’t impossible. I would take the time to learn more about him before I made my decision.

  I had plenty of time.

  Thirteen

  Carter

  I sat across from my prisoner at the dinner table. We shared a bottle of wine while we ate, and I had my phone out most of the time. I was exchanging emails with my assistant and going over my schedule for the upcoming week. After all the stuff that happened with Conway, my business had been put on hold.

  She looked at me as she ate, and then she launched a smartass comment my way. “You’re being awfully rude right now.”

  I looked up from the screen, my left eyebrow raised in shock. “What did we just talk about?”

  “You told me to behave. And you defined good behavior as me not trying to kill you.” She took a long drink of her wine, savoring it like it was the best thing that had ever touched her lips. “That’s what I’m doing right now—not killing you.” She took another bite of her food, eating quicker than me as if she was starving.

  “I also told you not to be a pain in the ass.”

  “Well, you’re being rude.”

  I locked the screen of my phone and set it down. “I can be rude all I want.”

  “And I can call you out for it.” She grabbed the bottle from the table and refilled her glass.

  Despite her annoyance, I was impressed by her quick wit. She couldn’t fire off those comebacks without an impressive level of intelligence. That was the way my sister was. She was argumentative, but she was so clever that she usually won her arguments—even if she was wrong.

  I placed my phone on the table. “There. You have my attention.”

  “I didn’t ask for your attention. I just don’t want you to bring your phone to the table. Even an eight-year-old knows better.”

  “Yes, but you aren’t my mother.”

  “Good mothers raise good men. Maybe your mother didn’t do her job well enough.”

  I could deal with her insults and her sassiness, but I drew the line when it came to my family—especially my mother. “Don’t talk about my mother like that ever again.” My heart pounded harder in my chest because her insult bothered me all the way down to my core. I was livid, to say the least.

  She must have understood that because she didn’t rise to my words. She turned quiet, focusing on her dinner instead of me.

  When she backed off, I picked up my fork again.

  “This is really good. So much better than the sandwiches I was eating every day.”

  “Thanks.” My sour mood still hadn’t recovered. My family was the most important thing to me, and I couldn’t handle anyone saying anything negative about them. I grew up watching my father defend his brother when he wasn’t around, but the second they were alone together in a room, my father insulted him left and right. But only he could insult him—no one else.

  “You’re still angry.”

  I locked my gaze on hers. “Yes.”

  “Well, would it help if I apologized?”

  “Is it possible for you to apologize?” I countered. “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “You’re right, I’m not. And I definitely don’t apologize to men who kidnap me,” she said coldly. “But I have a soft spot for mothers so…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult her.”

  “Thank you.” I was close with my father because we had more in common, but I’d always been a momma’s boy. My mom stayed home with us when we were growing up, so she took us with her to the store, made dinner for us, and spent all summer with us. She dedicated her whole life to raising us. She deserved all the respect she had earned.

  “Are you close with her?”

  “Very.”

  She was about to put a bite of food into her mouth, but she hesitated. It seemed like she was going to say something but decided against it.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were going to say something.”

  “Nothing you want to hear. Don’t want to piss you off again.”

  I should just let it go, but now I was curious. “What?” I pressed.

  She finished chewing before she spoke. “Well, if you love and respect your mother, it usually means you respect all women. I find it surprising that you think it’s okay to buy a woman for your own amusement, considering your fondness for your mother.”

  She didn’t know that I bought women with the intention of returning them to their families. In this instance, I looked like a bad guy. But since I couldn’t tell her the truth, I had to pretend her opinion of me was correct. Egor told me not to tell her the truth, and I agreed with him. After seeing those scars on her back, I knew returning her to him was the last place she ever wanted to go. If I told her the truth, she would panic and become impossible to control. I still had two weeks with her. I didn’t want to spend those two weeks keeping her chained to a wall. “She did her best to raise me right. It’s not her fault I’ve turned into an asshole.”

  She dug her fork into her food and didn’t continue the conversation. She didn’t wear makeup because she didn’t have any, but she still had undeniably beautiful features. Large eyes in the shape of almonds and thick lips that looked utterly kissable. She had long brown hair, and even when it wasn’t styled, it was beautiful. It was the perfect length to wrap around my fist. She was a rare beauty, with natural looks that didn’t require cosmetic enhancement. She was perfect all on her own.

  No wonder Egor was willing to pay so much for her.

  I’d been with a lot of beautiful women, models, dancers, strippers, all kinds. But I could honestly say I’d never met someone with her unique qualities. Her beauty stared me right in the face, but I couldn’t put my thumb on the single quality that made her stand out. Maybe it wasn’t her looks at all—but that smartass mouth of hers.

  “So, what do you do for a living?”

  A few hours ago, I’d released her from the shackles and watched her shower, treating her like an inmate in prison. Now we were talking casually, like two friends catching up. “Does it matter?”

  “Just trying to make conversation.” She rolled her eyes. “I can only assume your trade is in the criminal sector, so nothing you say is going to surprise me.”

  I didn’t see the harm in telling her, not when she had no power over me. She couldn’t run away, and once she was back with Egor, I would never see her again. “I own a car company. I design them and market them.”

  “You design cars?” she asked, genuinely impressed. “What kind of cars?”

  I could talk about my work all day. Sometimes I got carried away and talked people’s ears off. I’d done it on dates, but they didn’t mind because success usually turned them on. “The kind you arrived in.”

  “Ooh…sports cars. That’s cool.”

  Since I was so successful, people’s compliments shouldn’t matter to me. But flattery still worked.

  “How do you design them? Do you design the look?”

  “I design everything. I’m also an engineer. I have a team that helps me with other elements, like making cars electric or improving gas mileage, but I do the basics, from the interior to the exterior.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive. I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” She finished eating and set her fork on her empty plate. She’d wiped it clean, getting every single bite like she might not get the chance to eat again. “How long have you been doing that?”

 
“About ten years.”

  Her eyebrows furrowed. “How old are you?”

  “That’s blunt. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six,” she said without offense. “The only reason why I ask is because you seem young to have had that kind of success for such a long time.”

  “I started young.”

  “Clearly. But that makes it more impressive. When I imagine a man saying something like that, I picture a guy in his forties—at least.”

  “I’m not in my forties.” Not even in my thirties.

  She pressed her lips tightly together as she considered her guess. “Thirty-three?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  She shook her head slightly. “That’s unbelievable. You owned an entire car company when you were nineteen?”

  “At that age, I was starting out. Had a little success. It slowly grew over the following year before it started to snowball. People like my designs and the power of my engines. Not only that, but people are impressed by my clean energy emissions. It exceeds the government recommendations by a factor of ten.”

  “Speak English, Carter,” she teased. “Exceeds what?”

  “The government regulations for gas emissions,” I said. “Mine are the lowest in the industry without compromising on speed and power.”

  She nodded slowly. “Wow. If I had the money, I would buy one of your cars.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks.”

  She cleared the plates then carried them into the kitchen. I heard the faucet turn on a moment later, and the sound of her washing dishes and clearing the kitchen counter filled my ears.

  I wouldn’t let my guard down around her because she was still unpredictable, but it seemed like I’d neutralized her hostility. I didn’t ask her any personal questions because I didn’t want to know anything about her. If I sympathized with her, I might struggle to hand her off to that Russian demon. The second I saw those deep scars on her back, the evidence of severe punishment with a whip, I immediately felt sorry for her. A woman didn’t deserve to be treated that way. But at the same time, I found it arousing. I’d never been turned on by pain before. I liked spanking a woman or grabbing her by the neck, but I’d never seriously wanted to hurt someone. But the idea of punishing her like that got me hard.

  This woman did strange things to me.

  She watched TV in the living room with me, enjoyed another bottle of wine, and then I walked her to her bedroom.

  “I feel like we’re on a date,” she said as she stepped inside her bedroom.

  “That’s a nice way to put it.” I pulled the key out of my pocket and grabbed the door handle. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She glanced at the metal key in my palm. “Are you going to lock me in here?”

  “Yes. Need anything else before I go?”

  Her eyes narrowed until they looked like two piercing bullets. “What about our deal? You said if I didn’t pull anything, I could have a very comfortable life.”

  “I’m aware of what I said.”

  “Then you can’t lock me in here.”

  “I can do whatever I want. I’ve given you a great deal, and you would be stupid to fuck it up. But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

  “What if I need something?”

  I pulled the phone out of my pocket and handed it to her. “My cell number is programmed into the contacts.”

  She gripped it in her hand, staring at it like I’d just handed her a piece of solid gold.

  “It’s not a regular cell phone.”

  She looked up again, her confused expression becoming heavy with disappointment.

  “It can only connect to my cell phone. So you can’t call the police, a friend, or any other number.”

  She clutched it in her hand again before lowering it to her side.

  “Good night.”

  She sighed before she turned away. “Good night, Carter.”

  Instead of shutting the door, I stared at her back, seeing the way she tossed the phone on the bed. “What’s your name?” Egor never mentioned her by name, and at the Underground, she was simply referred to as a slave. In the weeks that I’d had her, it had never crossed my mind. I wanted to be as unattached as possible, so when I handed her over to Egor, I wouldn’t lose any sleep at night. But if I was going to keep conversing with her, it would be easier if I knew what to call her.

  She slowly turned around, pulling her hair over one shoulder. The t-shirt she wore was loose on her curves, but the jeans hugged her tightly, showing her bubble ass and slender thighs. She looked at me with her light brown eyes, the color of young tree bark. “Mia.”

  Fourteen

  Mia

  Carter unlocked the door in the morning, letting me out of my cage like some kind of dog.

  I told myself not to complain, not when I was able to sleep comfortably in the bed without a chain hooked to my ankle. I could shower when I felt like it, pee when I felt like it, and I could look out the window all I wanted.

  We were somewhere in between Milan and Verona, in the countryside, without another house in sight. He had olive trees around his property, and there was a high stone wall that surrounded it, keeping everything contained. He had a swimming pool, a nice terrace, and a spectacular garden. There was no way he took care of that himself.

  He didn’t wait around for me after he unlocked the door. He headed downstairs.

  I followed him a moment later and examined my surroundings, finally exploring the house without him breathing over my shoulder. There was a picture mounted on the wall, so I stopped to look at it. Carter was in it, along with other people who looked similar to him. It seemed to be a family portrait at Christmastime. Of course, they were all beautiful just like him.

  I glanced down the hallway and assumed the room with the partially open door was where he slept. His office was there too. I was tempted to sweep the place for stowed away guns, but he probably cleared everything—with the exception of his room.

  I still hadn’t decided what I was going to do about him. I could either try to kill him or convince him to let me go. He seemed to be a momma’s boy, so that told me he had a heart under that hard chest. But the fact that he bought me at all told me he wasn’t innately kind. If I laid my cards on the table too soon, he would never drop his guard and would know I would always be a flight risk.

  So I had to do this carefully.

  I walked downstairs and joined him in the kitchen. He had made a cup of coffee with the espresso machine.

  “Can you cook?” He unbundled the newspaper from the rubber band and laid it out on the table. He pulled out the sections he wanted to read, sports, world news, and surprisingly, comics.

  Cooking was one of my skills. I hadn’t done it in years, but I used to cook almost every meal. “Yes.”

  He grabbed his coffee and headed to the dining table. “I want scrambled egg whites, a piece of toast, sliced tomatoes, and an assortment of fruit.” He issued the command without even looking at me. He turned his back on me, the muscles under his skin shifting and moving as he carried himself. All the muscles of his back were precisely tuned, like he lifted various kinds of weights to work out each one. With tanned skin that complimented the dark hair at the nape of his neck, it was a nice sight. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, showing the muscles that flanked him on either side of his spine.

  The sight distracted me for a moment. “That wasn’t a very nice way to ask.”

  He didn’t turn around as he stepped into the dining room, which was filled with natural light. “Because I didn’t ask at all.”

  I reminded myself that making him breakfast was much better than the ways Egor expected me to serve him. He preferred to have large meals in front of me while I starved. Then he liked to beat me until tears emerged from my eyes. Only then would he fuck me, when he could listen to me cry.

  This was definitely preferable.

  But I refused to be grateful for it.

  I whipped up the food he asked for and served it t
o him.

  His newspaper was off to the side, and he was scrolling through his phone, checking emails. He didn’t lift his gaze to look at me. “Thank you.”

  “Sure.” Now that my job was done, I walked back into the kitchen.

  “Sit with me and eat.”

  I came back to him. “Eat with you?”

  “Yes.” He kept typing a message. “You made something for yourself?”

  “No. You didn’t tell me I could eat.” If I ever tried to eat without permission, Egor didn’t refrain from strangling me, which was ironic considering he starved me in the first place. He pushed me until my breaking point then punished me for placing a piece of bread in my mouth.

  He finally looked up from his phone, his right eyebrow arched. “You were waiting for permission?”

  Maybe he thought it was a joke, but I certainly didn’t. “Yes.”

  His incredulous look slowly evaporated, replaced by a look of sadness. He never asked me about my past, where I came from, and he’d waited a few weeks before he bothered to learn my name. He’d seemed indifferent to me. “Well, you can eat whenever you want while you live here.”

  A sense of gratitude welled up inside me, and it was so strong that I nearly let tears form in my eyes. His gesture wasn’t even that kind, but it meant the world to me. It was one of the few times I’d been treated as a human being in the presence of a man. He had more power than me, but he didn’t abuse it like the others did. “Thanks.” I walked back into the kitchen, made something for myself, and then joined him at the table again.

  He read the newspaper, took a few phone calls, and then picked at his food slowly. He paid more attention to his coffee, savoring that more than the food. He didn’t make eye contact with me once or attempt to make conversation with me. Then the phone rang again.

  He nearly did a double take when he saw the name on the screen. He took the call quickly, hardly letting it ring. “Hey, man. How are you feeling?”