Corrupt Prince by Ivy Mason

Five

True to his word,Coulter moved me and all my stuff from the old, now smoky, room to his. Excitement had flit through me at the thought that I may have a chance to use this opportunity to my advantage.

To my dismay, I'd been locked up in his room for four days now and not once had I even seen him. Not to shower, change clothes, or even sleep.

The prick.His only redeeming grace was that every morning since, I awoke with a plate of cookies by my bedside.

Still, he was clearly cheating, promising to give me an opportunity to kill him and then not showing up for the tête-à-tête.

Disappointing, seeing as how I’d been thoroughly prepared to partirle su madre,kick his ass, since the day he’d locked me up in here.

He’d removed all his guns from the room but he hadn't bothered to search for any other weapons, which was a severe underestimation of my skills.

Silly boys.

I was as familiar with guns as I was the back of my own hand. I preferred rifles but handguns would do in a pinch. However, I was also the innovative type and had several potential weapons all scattered about the room, ready for when his lazy culo actually came to his room.

While I was awake.

I mean, did he even really live here?

It didn’t look like it.

The beer in his mini fridge was probably a hundred years old and he had very few personal items. There was only one framed photo, of him when he was a kid with another boy. Their arms were slung around each other, bright grins on their faces, even though their eyes were a bit wary, as if, even at a young age, they’d seen dark things.

The rest of the room had very little personality, with grey and black overtones, framed artwork that might show up in any hotel, and a large, comfy bed. The only interesting thing about it was the shelf of books that looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.

It was also spotless.

Well, that was before I got here. Ha.

Now it was a mess.

I mean, don't get me wrong. I was, possibly, a bit spoiled by my Papa. I mean, maybe I was the apple of his eye, the jewel of his crown, the center of his heart. After my mama died, my Papa made sure I had everything I needed. I had no limit on my spending, and had private tutors in art, computer science, and the piano.

He also gave me the large garden in the middle of our courtyard, allowing me to take over my mama’s old hobby and grow it into my own personal garden of Eden.

However, I was still responsible. Without mama, I took on the responsibilities of taking care of my precious Papa, cooking and cleaning after him better than any old maid.

But. Kidnapping men didn’t get the same treatment.

I grinned as I took in the sight of my new bedroom. Prince Charming’s clothes were randomly thrown about, along with his fancy watches and ties. The pictures on the wall were now all upside down. My bra hung from the light fixtures and hair ties were on the knobs of his dresser. A pair of his boxer briefs were stretched across the top of a lamp.

I’d also casually tossed the boring-looking books off his shelves and placed those that looked interesting enough to read in a pile by his bed.

If he was going to keep me locked up in here, the least I could do was entertain myself.

And, admittedly, I was having a little bit of fun.

I laid back on Prince Charming's mattress, holding a book in my lap and lit one of the cigarettes from the pack I’d found in my old room.

I wasn't much of a smoker, but the smell reminded me of my Papa.

After breathing in the pungent smell of herbs, I crushed the tip on his nightstand and took a swig of the ridiculously expensive wine that I’d found hidden under his bed.

I’d had to smash the top of the bottle open, leaving the neck with the cork still inserted on the counter. So, the edges of the glass bottle were jagged and sharp, but that didn’t deter me.

And Lord, the taste was to die for. The silky flavor slid down my throat. So rich. So sensual, it tasted like I was touching the very soul of my bendito Dios, Himself.

Or maybe I was a bit tipsy, I wasn’t quite sure.

I took another sip, then squinted my eyes, trying to see how much I’d already drunk.

It looked about half-way full.

I frowned, disappointed. I was certain I’d had more, but, no matter, I’d fix that soon enough.

I stared down at the book delicately placed on my stomach, trying to read it, but the words were a little bit fuzzy.

The lock jingled and my eyes shot to the clock, hoping it was the cook who would talk to me sometimes. Unfortunately, it was too late for Marisol, unless she was bringing me a two a.m. snack.

Which would be perfect, actually. I did miss my chili and lemon peanuts.

The door slammed backward and my hope was squashed when Prince Charming himself appeared in the doorway.

He leaned against the doorjamb, blinking lazily as his eyes roamed the room. Pride filled me as his face grew darker and darker.

He didn't like what I'd done to his room.

And then his eyes landed on the bed, slowly moving from its rumpled state, up to my bare legs.

I was wearing one of his button-up shirts and a loose tie around my neck. I’d only bothered to button up the bottom ones, leaving a top notch view of my cleavage.

Sensuality was just as much of a weapon as a gun.

I smirked, opening my legs just a little bit. Enough to tease him. His eyes narrowed in on my panties but they didn’t settle there. They climbed upwards, taking in his large shirt, the curves of my breasts…

Finally, they settled, not on my face, but on the wine in my hand.

He face darkened, turning into a storming rage as his back straightened. The lazy, exhausted look on his face was gone in an instant.

I burped.

His eyes moved, finally, to my face, and I gave him a snarky grin. “Hola.”

"Where did you get that wine?" His jaw flexed.

Oh, he was really pissed. I took another gulp from the bottle, sighing loudly when I was done. "From under your bed, duh."

He suddenly strode forward, his long legs eating up the distance between us in mere seconds. His face was a raging storm, his eyes centered on the wine bottle in my hands.

Fear sparked in my chest, making my heart pound loudly in my ears.

For the first time since I'd been here, I was afraid for my life.

I threw the book off my lap, then jumped from the bed and skirted across the room.

"Aster," he growled, easily skating around the bed to chase me around the room. "Give me that bottle.”

He surged at me so quickly that panic made me forget the fact that I could use the bottle as a weapon and instead, I swiveled on my feet, thrusting it at him.

“Here. You can have it. It's not that good, anyways."

He growled, grasping the bottle and holding it to his chest protectively.

Jeez, what was his deal?Protective much over some stupid alcohol? Maybe he was an alcoholic.

He marched over to the dressers and unceremoniously placed it on the top. “Ruined now.” He seemed to be speaking more to himself than me. Placing both hands on the drawers, he stared at the empty space over them for what felt like forever, taking in a deep breath.

Laughter bubbled up inside me but I swallowed it down. He appeared angry and maybe, I was still slightly buzzed. Yes. Definitely still buzzed.

"Don't ever touch that again, is that clear? Or I will strip every single thing from this room and you will eat nothing but bread and water every day for the rest of your life."

He still wasn't facing me and a small, brief, semblance of guilt began to fill my chest.

"Are you okay?"

He turned, snarling at me. "I'm fucking peachy. Now get on the bed."

Any compassion for him shriveled up like a grape in the sun. "Why? I'm not tired."

He began to stalk towards me, his golden, stormy eyes on mine. I took two steps backwards, my throat suddenly dry as his angry steps drew closer.

It was suddenly there, that warm tingling feeling that started in my belly and spread in between my thighs.

Attraction.

His face was so beautiful, even in his anger, that it could be carved by Michelangelo. His furious gaze reminded me of an angry prince or god or something.

Temptation.

Sin.

Desire.

I swallowed down the knot in my throat, steeling myself.

I wouldn't have drunk his stupid, special wine if I hadn't been locked up in in his room.

I stood my ground, facing him down with my own wrath, my fingers going behind my back to the pen tucked in my underwear. As soon as he was close enough, I jumped.

He caught me, surprised, and I raised my arm to stab him with the sharp end of the pen.

Reacting quickly, he dropped me to raise his arm. The pen landed in his forearm.

He growled and shoved me away. "Would you stop trying to hurt me?”

His arm was bleeding and, cursing, he turned his back to me, striding towards the bathroom.

Silly boy. Turning his back on me. Probably because I’m a girl.

I jumped again, this time on his back. He yanked the pen out of his arm and turned with me clinging to him as best as possible.

I began to pound his back, his head, anywhere I could hit. He ran to the bed, twisting to fling me off him.

I landed on my belly and he quickly slammed his body against mine. His hand fisted my hair and he yanked, shoving me into the soft mattress at the same time.

I cried out in pain while simultaneously hating the thrill that went through me at his heavy weight on me. He jerked my head to the side, his lips coming down to press against my ear. "You don't seem to understand your position here."

I heaved against the mattress, clenching my fingers into the sheets. I hated, hated that the hair on my neck prickled at the feel of his breath washing over my skin.

The way my skin heated, the way his firm chest against my back made my insides squishy.

The position we were in was much too intimate. It reminded me of my last lover, how he used to whisper to me like this before he slid up inside me.

I blocked the image out, struggling to move my body out from under him and screamed out. “Get off!"

He chuckled darkly, jerking my hand towards the wall. It was too late when I realized that he'd cuffed one wrist to the bed.

He reached for my other hand and I turned quickly, raising my knee at the same time. I got him straight in the balls, and he groaned, falling right on top of me.

Now I couldn't breathe, the big lout. He was so heavy.

I tried to shove him off me, but he was too strong and I only had one hand.

He recovered quickly and, moving too rapidly for my fighting body, he soon had my other wrist locked to the bed frame.

"Cheater." I kicked at him and he jerked backwards, his arm blocking my blow.

He scowled down at me. “Not a cheater."

He crawled off the bed, heading towards the bathroom.

"You are," I insisted, trying and failing miserably to jerk the cuffs off. At least they were lined with a soft material so they weren't too uncomfortable. “You said I was welcome to try and kill you.”

"I'm not,” he disappeared into the bathroom and, after a moment, the water came on, “a cheater.”

While he was out of the room, I shifted, trying, and failing, for several minutes to figure out a way to get out of the cuffs.

He suddenly appeared in the doorway and I stilled, pretending I wasn't trying to saw the cuffs through the wooden frame. He’d taken off his jacket and shirt and had bandaged up his arm.

His eyes went straight to the cuffs and he smirked, as if knowing what I'd been trying to do. At the same time, I tried really hard not to stare at his chest.

And failed.

It was broad and expansive, and totally and completely ripped. Damn, he even had that sexy vee that dipped into his pants, and a trail of golden hair peeked out from--

I cut off the thought, suddenly realizing that he had several scars all over his chest, with three prominent ones in the middle.

I met his eyes, not wanting to think about what that might mean. “How can I kill you if I can’t move from the bed?”

His smirk grew bigger. “That would be your problem. I never said I wouldn't cuff you."

I opened my mouth to protest but he disappeared into his closet, returning only a few minutes later with only a pair of sweatpants on and he headed straight for the bed.

Oh no.He wasn't planning on sleeping in the bed with me, was he? I spread out my arms and legs as far as they would possibly go, taking up as much space as possible. He came to stand over me, a frown gracing that sexy face.

"Sorry." I stared up at him, shrugging a shoulder. "No room for you."

He leaned down to within inches of my face. From here I could see flakes of yellow and dark brown in his golden eyes. They were incredibly stunning, and I could sense the barely restrained emotion he was holding back.

"Little baby nightmare, if you don't move your ass over, I will do it myself. Then I will tie up the rest of your body, positioned exactly the way that I want it, and I really don't think you would like that." He grinned, showing off his perfect smile that I hated so much.

"Say please, mami,” I purred, and his smile fell. Heat filled his gaze and my throat was suddenly dry again.

Damn it.

Too much wine and no late-night snack. It was making me horny.

"How about this,” his voice was a deep, sensual growl that did very bad things to my body. “I’ll make a deal with you. You stop behaving like a brat, and I'll give you more freedom.”

Hope sprung and my chest was tight with the thought. "Really?"

Dios, I sounded like a naive child but I couldn't help it.

He sighed, and leaned back on the bed, sitting down on the edge. He rubbed a hand over his face. He suddenly looked very tired. “Yes, Aster. I will."

“How about Rose? I want to see her.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re going to have to really behave if you want to see your sister.”

“But, if I’m really really good, you’ll try?”

“Maybe.” He didn’t look too confident about the sentiment.

“Promise me.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Swear it. On your mother's life.”

He didn't answer right away, only stared at the floor. Finally, he tipped his head towards me. "My mom is dead, so no, I don't swear on her life."

I bit down on my lower lip, that old guilt resurfacing, even though I didn't want to feel bad for him. "What happened?"

His voice was flat and emotionless. "My father had her killed."

“Oh."

Shit. Maybe he wasn't as much like his father as I'd thought. A little bit of the hatred I had for him trickled out of me.

“I’m sorry."

He sighed heavily again and began to scoot me over. I let him. Laying next to me, he pulled the covers over both of us. “Don't worry about it, she wasn't a very attentive mother anyhow."

He turned on his side, his back to me, and I stared at him, trying to figure out what to do. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He shook his head. "I want to sleep."

I didn't say anything, and suddenly the room descended into silence, except for the sound of the crickets outside. He began to snore softly, almost asleep within seconds. I shifted, trying to get comfortable but it was too hard with my wrists handcuffed to the bed.

"Prince Charming?" I suddenly, guiltily, realized I didn’t know his real name.

"Stop calling me that," he growled.

"I would if I knew your name," I grumped back.

"It's Coulter."

"Fine," I tried to be polite, "Coulter, would you please unlock my handcuffs? I promise I won't try to kill you. Not tonight, anyhow.”

He chuckled. "Not on your life."

"Please?" I shook my hips at him, trying to keep him awake. “With whipped cream and cherries on top?"

“I don’t use whipped cream on naughty girls. Only good girls get the cream.”

I swallowed down my response, not trusting my voice.

When I didn’t answer him, he turned towards me, a scowl on his face. “Go to sleep, little nightmare.”

I scowled back at him. “How come you get to call me Nightmare, but I can’t call you Prince Charming?”

He shifted, sitting up to lean on his elbow, and I was overcome by the sexy, musky smell of him. Manly, like cedar and suede.

He lifted his hand to clip my jaw, his thumb coming up to part my lower lip as he leaned closer to me.

Oh, Dios. Was he going to kiss me?

My heart pitter-pattered, fluttering like a butterfly in my chest. Rouge marred my cheeks with arousal and my body stilled under his touch.

Digging my nails into the skin of my palms to keep myself grounded, I held my breath, my tongue coming out to lick over his thumb as I stared into impassioned, golden eyes.

Did I actually want him to kiss me?

He was so close now, close enough that he could easily brush his lips over mine.

“Because,” he whispered, his cool breath washing over me. The scent of his musk marred my senses. “I’m neither a prince, nor charming.” Tension strung my whole body tight, and it was only when he released my chin that I realized how much I’d wanted him to kiss me. Disappointment coiled in my stomach as he laid back down, turning away from me. Dismissing me. “Now go to sleep knucklehead, before I smother you with my pillow.”

And, with that, he stilled, ignoring me. I tried to get comfortable, even though I was acutely aware of the heat of his body pressed to mine. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, and I hated the rejection burning inside me.

I closed my eyes, determining that I couldn’t trust this man and his impossibly sexy looks. I shielded a wall up around my heart and forced myself to sleep, resolute to hate him with every core of my being.