Free The Sacrificial Lamb by Elle Fiore

replied. “It’s not like I sit with her for morning tea.”
    “You’re fucking useless,” Domenic snapped. “She could be dead in there, and you’d never even know.” He strode over to the door and slid the panel aside gently. Alexis was sitting on the bed looking at the door, obviously having heard his voice. Possibly the whole conversation.
    “Well? Is she dead?”
    Domenic pressed his lips together and slid the panel shut. He paused for a moment, clenching his fist to stop himself from pistol-whipping Marco.
    “Get the hell out of here,” he said in a low voice. When he didn’t hear any noise, he turned to Marco and Vince. “I said, get out. Make yourselves scarce. Take a break or something. OUT!”
    Finally, they got up and wandered out of the room, grumbling to one another. He watched them leave, secretly pleased with having a chance to be alone with the girl. Domenic waited an agonizing five minutes to make sure they were gone before entering the room. She was sitting in the same place where he had spied her through the panel. There was an odd expression on her face—not fear any longer but something else. She still regarded him suspiciously, but there was also a look of expectancy, as if she were almost looking forward to seeing him.
    Domenic mentally berated himself for being idiotic and turned to close the door behind him. After the door was shut, he grabbed the chair and straddled it like the other day. He didn’t want to come across as threatening and felt this position made her feel most comfortable. There were slight differences in her demeanor toward him today—her fists were no longer balled up at her sides, and she didn’t hold her body as tensely, ready to defend herself.
    “The clothes fit,” he said, looking her over. They were nothing fancy, just a pair of navy sweat pants and a matching zip hoodie.
    “Can’t go wrong with size medium,” she answered, picking at her nails.
    Domenic pursed his lips together to keep from smiling.
    “You’re welcome.”
    Alex looked up at him flabbergasted, anger flashing in her eyes. “You expect me to thank you?” she said incredulously.
    “I could have left you to freeze in the flimsy skirt you were wearing.” With nothing underneath it . The image filled his mind, and he felt his pants tighten. Damn it .
    “You could have left me alone, instead of you and your cronies kidnapping me in the first place!” she snapped.
    “You know, you’re pretty mouthy, all things considered,” he said pointedly while she glared at him. A minute passed, their gazes locked, neither willing to look away.
    “Why were you in a skirt, anyway?” he asked abruptly. She frowned at him, the tense moment broken.
    “Um, I was…wait, why wouldn’t I be wearing a skirt?”
    “You don’t seem the type to wear skirts.”
    “How would you know that?” The frown line between her eyes deepened. Domenic had an odd impulse to smooth it away with his finger. If he were sitting closer to her, he might have acted on it.
    “I can just tell,” he replied smoothly. Domenic had been around enough women to know when they were accustomed to wearing overtly feminine clothing. Alex didn’t seem to fit that mold. He didn’t want to tell her that, fearing for some reason how she might interpret it. It occurred to him how utterly ridiculous that was.
    Alex looked down at her hands again, the pucker between her brows still present. “I was dressed up to look nice for my boyfriend. He was at the airport waiting for me when—” her voice faltered “—when I got taken.”
    Domenic felt a slight flare of jealousy when she mentioned her boyfriend, which was completely illogical. Much like his earlier thought, he wondered why the girl affected him so strongly when he knew nothing about her. He tried to imagine her with someone else, and he felt his gut twist at the image. Then he tried to imagine her with him, and that came very easily, a little too easily. He had a flashback of