Surreal.
Morana walked towards the elevator in a daze, unable to believe, to actually believe, that she was going to spend a night away from home in the apartment of Tristan Caine. These things did not happen to her. And yet, there she was, walking with sure steps that betrayed nothing of her inner turmoil, her mind alert of the man striding beside her. Although how a man that big could move so gracefully was beyond her. But she'd seen him scale the walls of her house with that grace. She'd seen him tilt his bike and fight men bigger than him with that grace. And that she could appreciate it irked her.
Her eyes wandered to her car, her destroyed car in the periphery, and her heart clenched again, rage coursing through her body on the heels of pain, the need for vengeance against whoever had dared violate her burning through her. Whoever it was would get it. Big time.
She saw his hand from the corner of her eyes, pressing a code on a keypad beside the second elevator, telling her it was private.
His eyes glanced at her briefly, and Morana glanced back, with absolutely no idea of any of his thoughts. How reluctant was he to her into his space? She'd have been very reluctant. But then he'd invaded her bedroom the other night, so fair was fair.
The elevator pinged, the steel doors sliding back, revealing a spacious area that could probably accommodate ten people. Tristan Caine, the absolute gentleman that he was, entered first with smooth steps and turned around to look at her, no chivalry anywhere whatsoever.
Curious but alert, taking a deep breath, Morana stepped after him and entered. Once she was in, he pushed the only button on the dial, entering another set of codes, and the doors slid closed.
The doors slid closed, and the sight made her fist her hands for control.
They were mirrored.
Their eyes locked in the reflection, her heart pounding for some crazy reason, as the elevator began to move up.
He stood in the corner, leaning against the elevator wall, his ankles crossed and arms folded over his chest, his eyes watchful on her, seeming curious, lacking their normal hateful vibes. Morana raised her eyebrows and didn't move a muscle, her ears throbbing with the rush of blood, her entire body buzzing.
She needed to distract herself. Loath as she did to admit, the closed space, the reflections, the gaze was getting to her.
"Who were those men?" she asked, her voice even, betraying absolutely nothing.
He stayed silent for a beat. "I don't know. I think someone wants you dead, Ms. Vitalio."
"Besides you, you mean?" Morana scoffed, rolling her eyes.
She saw him tilt his head to a side, considering her. "You're not afraid of death?"
Morana felt her lips curl in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You learn not to be afraid when it sleeps under your roof every day."
Their gazes held for a tense moment, Morana's heart hammering as she saw his blue eyes study her.
"Indeed," he said quietly. Mercifully, the doors slid open at that moment, and Tristan Caine exited.
The moment he stepped outside, his back to her, Morana inhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath the entire time. Shaking her head at herself, not understanding at all why her body betrayed her like this, hating these reactions even as a part of her, the part that had been comatose for as long as she could remember, came to life. She needed to understand this, understand how she could control this. Because these were uncharted waters, and she had no idea what lay beyond. She was honest enough to admit that it terrified a little part of her.
Swallowing, watching his back muscles flex as he walked, she stepped outside the elevator. It opened right into the penthouse and the sight that greeted her eyes made her bite back a gasp.
The far wall of the huge space was nothing but glass. Endless wall of glass.
Morana saw the dark clouds in the sky, the skyline of the city on one side and the sea on the other, the view absolutely stunning. She'd never, in her entire life, seen something so vivid, so raw, so beautiful. Her hungry eyes roved over the entire glass wall, but she didn't step towards it, aware of his eyes on her, watching her every move.
Pushing her shoulders back, she pried her eyes away from the spectacular view and turned towards the room.
The interior, huge and spacious, was surprisingly inviting. She didn't know what she had expected, but what she hadn't expected was the large living area with two seating arrangements, done in various tones of grey and blue, steel and chrome shining. The far end of the room had a long electric fireplace. Above it hung a large piece of abstract art in the shades of fire, hues of red and yellow erotically mixed together, the only point of bright color in the entire room.
The couches were plush, ice grey and deep blue, the tables all glass and steel set atop navy blue rugs that looked expensive. The marble floor was black streaked with strands of gold, contrasting beautifully with the entire decor. The glass wall took the entire space from the fireplace to the open kitchen that held a dining table for six, and high stools scattered around the island.
And beyond the kitchen was one black door, beside which a staircase curved to the level above.
Her eyes finally found Tristan Caine, and he tilted his head, indicating the door at the far end.
"That's a guest bedroom. You can stay there," he spoke, his voice sending a shiver over her that she barely controlled.
Before Morana could reply, he turned back towards the elevators. He was leaving? Leaving her, the woman he hated more than anything, alone in his apartment? What kind of an idiot was he?
"You think it's wise to leave me here alone?" she quipped, disbelieving. "In your territory?"
He paused, but entered the elevator, turning around to face her, his face a clear mask. "I have nothing worth stealing. Help yourself, Ms. Vitalio."
The doors closed.
Morana felt the disbelief warring with the strange emotion in her gut. She was in completely strange territory and she had no clue how to proceed. Did he have surveillance? Was she supposed to take him literally and help herself to anything? She didn't even know why she was hesitating, considering the complete bull he was about her personal space.
Her eyes watched the darkening sky split open over the city contemplatively, her breath hitching at the view. A pang of envy hit her. Tristan Caine had this view every day that he was in the city.
Shaking herself, Morana turned towards the guest bedroom, and started walking, taking in the entire space which was surprising. And confusing, as was everything about him.
Opening the door to the guest room, she entered, looking around. It was simple, with a comfortable looking double bed, a line of cupboards in one corner, a window, and a dresser. Sighing, Morana entered, and rummaged through the drawers, looking for any weapons. None. Then, the cupboards, looking for any spare clothes. There were none.
She entered the bathroom. It was comfortably-sized, like the guest room, with all the basics – shower, toilet, bathtub.
Not that it mattered. There was no way she was going to relax. Absolutely not. But she needed a feel for the area. After freshening up a little, washing away the dust from her face, she quietly left the room. Coming out into the open living area, she looked up the stairs that spiraled up, wondering what lay beyond.
Shrugging, she climbed, one step after another, her eyes wandering around. Damn, she’d kill him just for that view. Coming to a stop at the top of the stairs, Morana blinked in surprise yet again.