White Is The Color Of Intimacy

Chapter 9

It had been four days. Four long, awful days. Angel was still bound by her wrist and she was growing so tired of being stuck in the same place. She needed a bath, even to her own nose, she did not smell pleasant. She was also virtually starving. She had refused any food offered to her over the last couple of days, as well as water or wine. She refused to eat or drink especially it were going to be given to her as if she were a child. She was stubborn and full of pride; a trait that her family possessed in abundance. Every Hugh had the same prideful stubbornness that, at times, could easily become a flaw that left blemishes. She had that particular flaw but, of course, found no fault in it.

Viktor had taken to the task of ignoring her presence. He did it with ease. Every night was the same. He would gently place her at the side of the bed closest to wall and then sleep. He had not kissed her since the first night aboard this God, awful ship and for that she was glad. At least that's what she tried to convince herself.

She would not acknowledge that she did in fact find the man somewhat attractive. His voice was nice to her ears, his accent, especially when he was frustrated let her feeling strangely warm. The set of his jaw, his short black hair...and his broad shoulders, the man was...gorgeous. But he was also a kidnapper.

She rolled her shoulders again for the umpteenth time, a loud passing her lips. She shifted on the bed, her hip beginning to hurt as she had been lying in the same spot for hours. She rolled on the bed, changing her position. She ended up in a weird position, wincing as her wrist ended up underneath her. She looked up, her eyes landing on Viktor's back. The man did the same thing every day. Eat the disgusting brown slop that was supposed to be beef stew, drink a glass of dark red wine and sit at the table, shuffling through those documents.

She frowned up as she realized that she could not expect him to help her. And she'd be damned if she were going to ask for help of her own accord. She shifted again but shrieked as she ended up at the edge of the bed, her body slowly slipping down onto the hardwood floor.

Viktor suddenly stood and turned on his heel, his eyes landing on her. "Cheri poberi, Angel." He mumbled underneath his breath.

He walked toward her, his hands large and warm, wrapping around his waist. He lifted her up as if she were a twig, as if she weighed nothing at all. He sat her down on her feet, his hands still on her.

"You never cease to make noise, do you?" He asked, his voice sounding gruff and irritated.

She scowled before taking a step back until dizziness hit her and she nearly fell to her knees. He caught her but not before mumbling a string of what she assumed were curses in perfect Russian. She stared up at him, narrowing her eyes. God, when he was speaking in his native tongue...it was sexy as hell.

But she wouldn't let him know that.

"Speak English!" She snapped as dizziness hit her once more. He frowned but pulled her along behind him, forcing her into the nearest seat at the table.

He left her there and walked out of the room, leaving her to stare after him with confusion. She turned in the seat, her eyes falling onto the papers littered across the table. She glanced behind her once more before leaning forward, curious as to what he was so focused on. Her eyes moved over the words, paragraph after paragraph of writing that she could not truly understand. But still, she continued looking through them until her eyes came upon a language that she recognized: French. She quickly scanned the letter, suddenly thankful for her Aunt Jewel forcing her and her cousins to sit in on French lessons.

Her eyes widened as she took in the information on the page and just as a gasp fell from her lips someone cleared their throat behind her. She jumped in shock. Viktor moved the papers back and sat a tray on the table. "Do you enjoy snooping, Angel?" He asked as he took the seat next to her.