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Okay, buddy, gaslighting is only funny when it’s clear you know I know you’re doing it, not when you seem serious. “You told me earlier you were upset.”
“Did I?”
I frown. “Are we really playing this game right now?”
“Not everything’s a game, princess.”
“I beg to differ.”
His fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts and drag along the elastic of my underwear. “Then—” He swears. “—beg, Briar. We both know it’s a good look on you.”
Because I want nothing more than to take him up on this challenge that I know will end very poorly, and likely with us both entirely disrobed, I grip his hand to shove it away.
It doesn’t budge.
So, I try to stand and put distance between us entirely.
His arms lock around me, refusing to let me escape.
I’d stomp my foot if I could reach the floor. “Rowan.”
“For someone so worried that I’m going somewhere, it seems to me like you’re the only one trying to leave.”
“Okay. What did I do? Treating me like this and using gaslighting and mind games when you’re actually upset is normal abusive, not fun abusive. You know that, right?”
“Sweetheart,” he patronizes, “abusive tactics are going to be abusive in any context. You don’t know if I’m really upset, or not. Who knows what’s too far when I’m playing to win? I get to console my morals by assuring myself it’s all part of the game.”
“You just said not everything’s a game.”
The severity in his gaze constricts a fist around my heart. “Did I?”
I don’t like this game.
“Stop it, Rowan. You’re freaking me out.”
“A thousand pardons, princess. That was not my express intention.”
I am not in the mood for this right now. I don’t handle anxiety very well. I tend to start stabbing people.
After struggling, however, I discover that whatever Rowan’s made of is at least ninety-five percent metal. His arms are immovable iron tree trunks, caging me to him. Awkwardly chained to the human chair, I finagle a way to reach my boot.
And find it empty.
Thunk.
My head jolts toward the sound, toward my knife in the wall across from us, embedded in the plaster.
“Looking for that?” Rowan murmurs.
“When did you…” My face heats, and I…
I don’t think I have ever been more attracted to a man.
He’s stealing my brand. Mind games on top of apparent displays of skill is my very good brand. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt closer to someone.
When the fight leaves my limbs, he loosens his hold and splays his fingers. “Give me your hand.”
I do as I’m told.
