Lucas sat in the dark, his eyes fixed on Arabella as she slept, her frail form barely a shadow against the pillows. He sat there thinking of ways he would punish her. What was he to do with her? She’d dragged him here, out of his carefully ordered routine, as if *she* owned *him*. Forced him out here earlier than he'd planned. The thought twisted his lips into a grimace, his fingers tightening around the brandy glass he twirled, its amber liquid catching the faint moonlight. He’d forgone his usual cigarette, knowing the smoke might choke her fragile lungs. Her rebellious streak had upended his plans, her hunger strike a bold move that forced him into action. Here he was, giving in, drawn to her like a predator to a wounded creature. He studied her, his gaze unrelenting, and then as if feeling his gaze on her, she stirred, her eyes snapping to his presence, he smiled—a cold, predatory curve of his lips. His stare, they said, felt as though it could strip a soul bare. “Come he
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