“I’m starting to get it.” She cocks her head to the side, and this time it feels like she’s really looking me over. “Don’t fight it. The sooner you give in, the sooner you’ll both be happy.” With that, she heads out the door. “This is the master by the way,” she tosses over her shoulder as she exits, leaving me even more confused about this situation than I was before.
I slide off the bed that does smell like Mr. Vincent. I think I knew it was his room when I ventured in here. This shouldn’t even be called a room. I think it’s eight times bigger than my place. Every room in this place is as breathtaking as the last. It makes me wonder who Mr. Vincent really is. Well, besides an extremely handsome kidnapper.
I take off toward the bathroom to peek inside.
“What the hell?” The bathroom is definitely big enough to fit three or four of me in it. Everything is so shiny and white. I itch to go inside. I’ve never seen a bathtub so big in my life. You could swim in it. I turn and stomp out of the room before I’m tempted to crawl into the tub. I won’t give Mr. Vincent the satisfaction of finding me naked in his bedroom.
I descend the stairs, now mad that I can’t take a bath. I follow the scent of fresh baked bread into the kitchen. Mr. Vincent is standing at the island. I watch as his big hands make quick work of whatever it is he’s chopping. He doesn’t look as if he’s a stranger to using the blade.
“Come have a seat with me, precious.”
I bite the inside of my lip and debate if I should do it. There really isn't anywhere else for me to go. I might be able to get some more information out of him if he thinks I’m cooperating. I walk over and climb up in the chair.
“This is for you.” He pushes a mug toward me.
“What’s that?”
“I think you know what it is.” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Oh my gosh. It's a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.” I wrap my hands around it and pull it to me.
“You like Italian?”
“I’m starting to think you might already know the answer to that, too.” I eye the ingredients laid out in front of him.
“I can be a little obsessive about details. If there’s something I want to know about someone, I don’t stop until I know everything.” Obsessive. I can have the same problem if I let myself. I don’t. That’s why I keep everyone at arm's length.
“You want to know everything about me?” No one’s ever taken that much interest. Not in me. Star, now she has tons of admirers and stalkers. But not me.
“Yes.” A timer goes off. Vincent walks over to the oven and pulls out a loaf of bread. It smells heavenly. The man can cook, too.
“You don’t need to kidnap women. I don’t understand you. You could get anyone you want.” I fold my arms over my chest, not caring that I probably look like a child pouting.
“That’s not true. I remember someone who turned me down a dozen or so times. No matter what approach I took, it never seemed to be the right one. Leaving me with no other options, really.”
“You don’t want to date me. Trust me. I don’t date. I can’t. It’s not my thing. You may as well let me go.” I take a delicious gulp of the perfect hot chocolate.
“You can’t date?” He peers at me, his gaze so direct it’s like a touch.
I shake my head. “No dating.” Why are my cheeks heating? Am I flirting? I should be running, but everything smells good, and on top of it, Mr. Vincent looks amazing in his black button down and black pants. He’s tailored and gorgeous. And probably planning your murder, my brain adds.
“So no dating.” He bounces the knife on top of the diced onions, a thoughtful look on his face. “That’s fine.”
Okay, he’s getting it.
“Right, so I should be going.” I take another drink.
“Do you need something more serious? Marriage.” He gives a decisive nod.
I spit out the hot chocolate, splattering it across the white marble counter. I put my hand over my mouth. I did not just do that. My face burns with sheer mortification. I will not be embarrassed about this. He kidnapped me. He should be embarrassed. Even as I tell myself that, my face only heats more.
He lets out a chuckle and grabs a hand towel to quickly remove my mess.
I lean back in the chair and decide I’m just going to keep my mouth shut for now. I watch as he fills two plates and places one in front of me. He comes around and sits down next to me.
“You want me. That’s why I’m here. You want me for … dating? For … more?” It’s all been right there in front of me. Everything is starting to add up now. All the times he asked me out, paying the money today, the kisses, and his erection that brushed against my butt when he tackled me to the ground. He’d been turned on. My body’s reaction to it is not one I was prepared for.
Then there’s the sweet name he keeps calling me. Precious. I hate that every time he says it I get a warm feeling in my stomach. I also got that feeling when he made Tommy pay for what he’d done to me. As messed up as it all was, it felt good to have someone stand up for me. After so many months of taking crap from Star, who is constantly doing mean stuff to me, it felt good for once to get a little payback. Even though it wasn’t done by me, it was done in my name.
Despite these facts lining up right in my face, it’s still hard for me to believe that someone like him wants me. It’s another reason I kept turning him down. He’s so handsome, and clearly rich. I’m just me.
“You need to eat.” He jerks his chin at my plate.
“Answer me, and I’ll eat. Why did you take my offer? Why am I here? Because you want to ...” I swallow hard. “Have sex with me?”
He turns his head, his dark eyes locking with mine. “Want isn't a strong enough word for what I feel for you.”
I look down at my plate, unable to hold the intensity of his stare.
He’s never going to let me go. That much is clear from the look in his eyes.
I should be afraid, and I am, but not enough. Not when there’s another emotion at war with my fear. Longing.
8
Xavier
She eyes the knife I used to chop the onions.
“Take it.” I gesture toward it with my fork.
“What?” Her eyes widen.
“If you’ll feel better with that smelly knife in your hand, then by all means.” I want her to feel comfortable and safe. If that means she needs a deadly weapon to do it, that’s fine by me.
“What if I kill you with it?”
I try not to smirk. I fail. “I’ll hide my rising fear under a mask of stoicism.”
“I could kill you!” She reaches for it and takes the hilt in her hand. “See?” She brandishes it toward me, but nowhere near me, which is a good thing given she might wind up taking an eye out.
“Yes, you’re a real killer.” I take another bite of penne. “Other than your violent streak and affinity for blades, tell me about you.”
Her face falls a little. “I could be a killer,” she grumbles under her breath. She keeps the knife and retakes her seat. “Me? Nothing to tell, really. High school dropout, assistant to Star, a general nobody just trying to survive.”