His dark eyes were unblinking. "I have a jacket you can wear."
"Okay fine. And then what?"
"What are you talking about?"
"After we've gotten me clothes. Then what?"
The expression on his face closed down. "Then you stop asking me fucking questions. Get dressed. You have five minutes."
She was ready in two. After he'd mercifully left her some privacy, all it took was to drop the blanket and pull the T-shirt down over her head. The cotton felt soft against her skin and as it fell around her, she was engulfed in the dark, spicy scent of a forest, with the cleaner, sharper scent of new snow. Him …
God, that smell. It made her shiver. Made her heart beat fast and that was just so wrong given everything he'd done to her. But it was also a weapon, wasn't it? A weapon she hadn't discarded yet, no matter what he'd said about manipulating him.
Turning, she looked at herself in the mirror once again. Sure enough, it did swamp her, the hem reaching mid-thigh and the neckline half falling off her shoulder. Jesus, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up with her daddy's shirt.
No, you don't. You're wearing his shirt. And you look sexy.
She frowned, staring at herself again. Her shoulder was pale against the black cotton of the loose neckline, and it was painfully obvious she wasn't wearing a bra.
You can use that. There's more than one way to overpower a man after all.
Yeah, but that worked better when the man in question wasn't looming over her and telling her not to play with him. Except … he hadn't looked like he'd minded when his hands were on her the night before. When he'd caressed her breast, his fingers on her nipple gentle yet firm.
Violet caught her breath as her body tightened at the memory. Okay, so she was a little sick for liking that, but she remembered the look on his face as he'd watched her, hunger stark in his black eyes.
You made him drop his guard. You made him want. That's why he's so pissy with you.
Slowly she let out a breath. Oh yeah, he wanted her all right. But he didn't want to want her-that was the issue. He had a weakness and he knew it. A weakness she could exploit if she went about it in the right way.
Yes, that was how to do it. Fuck grabbing his gun or his knife and trying to overpower him physically-that would never work. And she'd blown her one chance with hurting herself, which left using her femininity as the only option. So why the hell not? It wasn't exactly as if she had a lot of other options, and God, he had no qualms about using his superior strength against her. This was her advantage, so why not use it? After all, she'd done it before on occasion, with her professors at college-male and female-flirting a little to get extensions on her essays and lecture notes ahead of the class. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't, but she'd had a pretty good track record.
Elijah wasn't any different.
You might even quite like it yourself.
Violet shoved that particular thought way. No, this was only about getting away and getting free, nothing more. She shouldn't think about it in any other way, especially not that way. Elijah wasn't one of her professors, or a fresh-faced college boy. He was a killer and simply far too dangerous for her not to be fully focused on what she needed to do.
If this was the approach she was going to take, she'd have to be very careful about it indeed.
Giving her hair another quick tousle-finding the shortness of it weird all over again-she turned from the mirror and went back out into the living area.
Elijah was standing near the front door, his phone in his hand. He turned as she came out of the hallway, his gaze running expressionlessly over her, betraying nothing.
He was good, she had to give him that. She might as well have been a block of wood judging from his reaction.
"It's a little short," she said, tugging at the T-shirt, and sure enough, his gaze dropped to the length of her legs revealed beneath it.
Again though, there was no discernible reaction. "It'll do," he replied. "Put your boots on, then this." He reached for a long black coat hanging from a peg next to the door then tossed it in her direction.
She caught it, the soft weight of quality cashmere heavy in her hands. It was beautifully tailored and expensive, and would cover up most of what his long-sleeved shirt left bare. Just as well really, since the weather outside the apartment's windows was looking dire.
Going over to the couch, she sat down to put on her boots, noticing as she did so that her cut hair had all been cleaned away. And weirdly there was no pang of regret or even of anger at the thought, as if those emotions had been cleared away along with her hair. Just as well. She had no time for those kinds of feelings, just steely determination. That was the only thing that was going to get her out of this.
After she'd put her boots on, she picked up the coat and slid her arms into it. As she'd expected, it was deliciously warm, the by-now familiar scent of snow-clad forests filling her senses. His coat. For some reason she had a ridiculous urge to wrap it around her and snuggle into it.
Instead she rolled up the too-long sleeves and buttoned it up, and then, spying what looked like a scarf hanging from another peg by the door, she went over and grabbed it, tying that around her waist to keep it belted tight.
Elijah watched her expressionlessly. Then he raised his phone and took a couple of photos of her.
She frowned. "Hey, what's that for?"
He didn't respond, putting away his phone in his jeans pocket. "Couple of things before we go," he said flatly. "You stay close to me and you don't pull away. I have my gun and I will shoot you if you try anything. It has a silencer on it so no one will hear if I pull that trigger."
Violet pushed her hands into the pockets of the coat. "Oh sure, and no one's going to notice if I suddenly start bleeding from a surprise gunshot wound either."
"Are you willing to risk that?"
She didn't look away. "I slit my wrists yesterday. You tell me."
"You have no money, no ID. How far do you think you'll get if you somehow manage to slip away?"
"I can find a cop. It won't be that difficult."
He studied her for a long moment, his gaze opaque. "You can run, princess. But I will find you." His voice was soft but as cold as the sleet against the window outside. "I will hunt you and hunt you, and I will never stop until I have you. I'm not the kind of guy who gives up, understand?"
An icy shiver went down her spine, part fear, part that strange excitement. She ignored both sensations. "Sure. I understand." I don't give up either, asshole.
But she didn't say that last part aloud.
Elijah gripped Violet's upper arm and drew her in close as they stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. She gave a little shiver, but didn't try to pull away. He'd given her a black beanie to wear, both as a disguise over what remained of her hair and for warmth, yet even despite the hat and his coat, she must have been freezing because the wind cut like a knife.
Or maybe the shiver was because of you.
He frowned. Why the hell was he thinking about that? And why the hell did it matter to him why she shivered?
Dismissing his thoughts, he tugged her harder against him, one hand wrapped around her arm, the other in the pocket of his leather jacket, fingers curling around the grip of his gun. Ready to pull it out if she ran.
She hadn't been wrong up in the apartment. If she tried to run, shooting her would only draw unwanted attention so if he was prepared to do that, he'd have to pull the trigger while she was still standing next to him, so he could pick her up and take her back to the apartment to treat her with a minimum of fuss. In other words, not particularly practical.
Which left only the hunting-down option.
She hadn't liked that, but then that was the general idea, especially since he was running out of ways to keep her in line. She was turning out to be a far trickier prospect than he'd anticipated. Shit, even cutting her hair off hadn't quelled her. In fact, as she'd come out of the hallway, wearing his shirt, her hair all in short, soft golden spikes around her head, she'd looked tough, meeting his gaze as though he was an opponent she was taking on.
He'd had to fight with himself not to react to the hard kick of possessiveness at the sight of her in his shirt, to the surge of desire as his gaze had traced the soft curve of her bare shoulder, the press of her hard nipples against the cotton, the long length of her bare legs.
It was madness, especially the possessive part. There should be no reason for that, none at all, because he hadn't gotten possessive with Marie, and she'd been his goddamn wife. Then again, he'd been a different man back then. An easier, more laid-back man.
You were soft. If you'd been who you are now, she'd never have been taken.
His fingers dug into Violet's upper arm in unconscious reaction, and she made a little sound. But he eased off only slightly. At least this one wasn't getting away. Not today. Not if he could help it.