Chapter 9
9
SOFIA
M ake me love you, Little Bird, so that I set you free.
I’m sitting in my alcove, staring out through the stained-glass, rubbing behind Winter’s ears. The sun is beginning to rise, but I’ve yet to fall asleep. Damn Gideon and his games.
“Give me a reason to stay,” I mimic in a whiney voice. “Make me fall in love with you.”
Winter gives me an annoyed meow and grabs at my hand, claws out.
“Ouch,” I pull away. He meows again, and I realize it’s because I’ve stopped petting him. “What? I’ve been doing this for hours? What more do you want from me? If I don’t pet you, I get scratched?”
He purrs and rolls onto his back.
“Ugh, fine. I’ll give in, but only because you’re cute.” I sigh. “And soft. And I like you. And you’re my little shadow. And I don’t want you to leave me here alone.”
I can think of a million and one reasons to give into my feline friend’s demands.
Gideon on the other hand… He’s cute, I’ll give him that. Well, not exactly cute. More like, dangerously sexy. But I don’t like him and I definitely want him to leave me alone.
Shit .
“How do I make him fall in love with me when I want to stab him?” I ask Winter. “I want to murder him in his sleep!”
An idea forms in my mind, something that can give me that extra bit of motivation to do whatever I must to make him love me. If I do, if I can seduce him, I might gain access to his bed. When he’s sleeping, I can smother him with a pillow. Less messy than the knife.
“I’d just put all my weight on it as I press it to his face. Hmm.” The thought puts a smile on my face.
I take Winter to the bed, then go to the closet.
Okay, he obviously has something against my Columbia hoodie. I pluck it away from my skin and grimace. At this point, even I can’t stand it.
“What to wear.”
I search for an appropriate breakfast outfit that will be sexy, yet elegant. Gideon seems to favor business suits, perfectly tailored to his tall frame. The man can dress, I’ll give him that too.
The thing I have going for me, is that he’s already proven he wants me. Beyond whatever his need for revenge is, he wants me physically. That means anything I wear will probably please him.
With that in mind, I select a silk longsleeved blouse and black slacks. From the chest of drawers, I grab a satin thong and a lacy bra.
He promised there were no cameras in the bathrooms, saying that he drew the line at watching people on the toilet. I actually believe him.
It’s the longest shower I’ve ever taken, and am thrilled to find the hot water never runs out. I stand under the water jets, letting the warmth seep into my bones and relax me. It’s strange how I can enjoy anything in this moment, under these horrible circumstances. But I do.
I’m even looking forward to breakfast. The eating of the food, that is, not that man that will accompany me.
Last night’s dinner was delicious, the steak buttery and tender, and the mashed potatoes heavenly. The peas… Well, those are always gross.
It makes me wonder who the chef is. Where he is.
“He has staff,” I say to myself. Either people live on site and I haven’t seen them, or they are coming in. That means, there must be another way into the house besides a helicopter. If there’s a way in, there’s a way out.
I tuck that information aside for another day. For now, I focus on the mission at hand. Make Gideon fall in love with me. Or at least, pretend to.
After slipping into fresh clothes,— why did I fight this so long?— I walk down to the dining room.
Gideon is there, seated in the same spot we were in last night. He lifts his gaze from his phone, eyes glittering as he takes me in. “Good morning, Sofia. You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” I fight the urge to sit as far away from him just to piss him off. “You look nice, also.”
His mouth curves into a devilish grin. “More than nice, I hope.”
“Yes.” I clear my throat and go to sit beside him. “I didn’t expect breakfast would already be served. The chef comes in early.” I scan the serving dishes within reach in front of us— eggs, bacon, hash and an assortment of fruits.
“I do get up early, yes.”
My face snaps to his. “You’re the chef?”
“Indeed.” He winks, then places a white cloth napkin on his lap and begins to serve himself.
“Oh.”
“You sound disappointed. I take it you were hoping you could ask for help escaping.”
Not exactly, but close. “I just didn’t realize you cooked so well.”
“You’ll find I do many things well,” he says, teasing.
“What other secret talents do you have?” I serve myself a healthy portion of everything. No point being hungry now. I’ve not only eaten, but it was food he cooked himself. “Besides that of killing people.”
Chuckling, he says, “You just can’t help yourself.”
“Sorry. I meant, do you play instruments?”
“Piano. Violin.” He ticks off on his fingers.
“Nice.”
“Guitar. Ukulele,” he continues. “Cello. Banjo. Flute. Oboe.”
“You don’t have to brag.”
“I dabbled in the harp, but someone told me I reminded her of a cherub, so I quit.”
“Her?” The question is out before I can stop myself, and to my horror I add, “A girlfriend?”
He’s quick to lock onto that. A thick brow arched, he asks, “Jealous?”
“No.”
“Too bad. I wouldn’t mind it if you were.”
“Why the hell—” I bite my tongue. Make him love you, Sofe. Fucking flirt back! Slapping a sweet smile on my face, I say, “Maybe I am a little.”
“Hmm.”
“Perhaps you could teach me to play something. I’ve always wanted to learn piano.” Big fat lie. Pop’s desperately tried to get me to learn, but gave up when I’d hide from the teacher.
“I could do that. There’s a piano in the second-floor parlor.”
“Or, you could also play for me.” I reach over and place a hand on his sleeve, making sure my eye contact is solid as I peek up at him through my lashes.
“What should I play?”
I drop my other hand to the bit of cleavage exposed by my blouse and his gaze follows the movement. “Anything you’d like.”
He laughs at me and my smile turns into a snarl. “Stop that.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, you have to admit it’s funny.”
“You want me to seduce you. How am I supposed to do that when you laugh at me?”
“Stop being funny, and I will.”
“It’s not what I was going for.” I plop back into my seat. I want to cry, scream, claw his eyes out. If it wasn’t because Luca’s life is on the line, I’d give up. I’d say, the hell with it!
As if he can read me like a book, he says, “Don’t give up, Little Bird. You’ll figure it out.”
I lance a piece of bacon and stare at it, imaging the fork sliding into Gideon’s eye.
“Don’t stab me with it. You’ll regret it,” he says casually. “Eye for an eye. Pretty as yours are, I’ll do it.”
I lift my gaze to him and watch him suspiciously. “How can you tell what I’m thinking?”
“It’s one of those many talents I was speaking of. I can read people. That’s how I’ve become so successful.”
“And here I thought it was your evil charm.”
He grins with too much amusement for my liking. “Perhaps if you tapped into yours, you’d get somewhere with me.”
“I’m not evil.”
“Perhaps. But you’re definitely not good either.”
I’m stunned, my mouth parted in preparation for some retort I can’t think of. I shake my head in denial of what he’s just said.
Gideon pauses with his egg halfway to his grinning mouth. “Ah, you don’t like hearing what you know is true.”
I finally snap out of it. “I’m a good person!”
“You’ve done good things. So have I. Doesn’t make us good people.”
“What good thing have you done?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’ll tell you one good deed I’ve done, if you tell me one you have. But it has to be a good deed, not just that you didn’t kill someone. I bet you can’t top mine.”
“What are we betting this time?”
“A kiss. No biting. No blood. Just a kiss.”
I purse my lips as I consider his offer. “Fine.”
“Okay. I’ll go first. When I was twenty-five years old, I witnessed a burning building. The firemen hadn’t arrived yet, and an old woman was begging everyone that managed to evacuate to help her find her dog. I was the only person willing to risk my life. I wrapped my Armani around my head and ran in calling out to it. When I finally found it, it turned out to be a taxidermy Chihuahua. I brought it to her anyway, and she hugged it like it was the only thing she had left in the world and I just saved it.”
“Bullshit. Oh my God!” I throw my arms up. “You couldn’t make something up that sounded remotely true?”
“It’s true and I can prove it.” He pulls out his cell phone and types something into his web search. An old article in a New York paper titled Hartling Building Destroyed in Fire comes up.
He then points to a specific sentence a few paragraphs in. “That was me.”
According to sources, a passerby saved the taxidermy animal from the roaring fire, but disappeared into the night before he could be thanked. His owner, Mrs. Cynthia Getty, would like to thank him personally and offer a reward. If you are him, or know of the young man’s whereabouts, please contact us at…
“It’s real?” I hand him his phone back, my mind reeling. “Is it?!”
“The better question is, can you top that?”
“I—” I dig through my brain. Contrary to what he’s said, I am a good person. I know I am. Surely I have tons of good deeds to choose from. “Well, there was the time I?—”
I helped my mother with chores when I was a kid. But those don’t count. “I worked hard in school. I was obedient to my parents.”
“That was expected of you. If you didn’t meet their expectations, you weren’t rewarded with whatever it is they gave you. An allowance? Shopping? What good deed have you done for completely unselfish reasons?” He sits back and crosses his arms like me. “Take your time.”
My throat tightens with shame, more and more with every second that passes and I can’t think of a single thing. Nothing selfless, nothing without expectation. I’ve certainly never saved a stuffed dog from a fire.
“There’s…” I shake my head, still desperately searching the recesses of my oldest memories for something, anything, that will validate who I believe myself to be.
His smug grin widens. “Just as I thought. You can’t bring up a single selfless thing you’ve done, but I bet you can think of at least one bad thing.”
Yes, I can. And not just one, but many. All forgiven in the name of childish antics. But some were truly heinous, and I took pleasure in them. Like the time I put gum in Luca’s hair because he called me annoying. Or the time I replaced the sugar with salt, knowing how much Pops liked his coffee sweet. But he’d grounded me the day before because I got a tally for talking in class. Worse yet, my most recent act of rebellion to punish Luca for trying to keep me safe.
“You found it,” he says, his tone as infuriatingly amused as ever.
“Found what?”
“The Devil inside.”
I glare at him. “Mine’s smaller than yours.”
“You have me there.” He chuckles. “I have a big one.”
He tilts his head as he studies me, his smile fading slowly. There’s something in his expression that I don’t like. It’s as if he pities me for just now learning the kind of person I am.
“Don’t feel bad for me,” I say defensively, shutting him out of my head.
“I don’t pity anyone, much less you.” Then just like that, whatever empathy there was, vanishes from his gaze. Now there’s something dark and heated in its place. He pushes away from the table and motions me to him. “You owe me a kiss.”
My heart instantly slams into my chest as I automatically lift my eyes to his lips. I haven’t allowed myself to think about the kiss he gave me the first day I arrived. Refused to recall the heat and taste of his mouth, or what it did to me.
But it all comes rushing back now and it makes me heady.
“Kiss?” I whisper dumbly.
“You lost, Little Bird. You owe me what’s due.”
Somehow, I manage to stand on shaky legs. I blink as he extends his hand to me, and it’s like an out of body experience seeing my own hand reach out. He tugs me toward him, maneuvering me onto his lap.
“Wait,” I say when he leans into me. He stops, watching me carefully. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Everything is growing hazy. “Gideon, I—” Then his mouth is on mine, cutting off any further protest.
I’m fucking lost. This man that is clearly using me as some means of revenge is kissing me. But the real horror isn’t what he’s doing. It’s that I’m kissing him back. My arms wrap around his neck and I hold him tighter, taking from him everything I need. Oxygen. Life. Desire.
As he explores my mouth, I open more for him. When his tongue slides over mine and tastes me, I taste him back. And when he crushes me harder into him, I groan.
It’s that needy sound, a cry for more, that brings me back to reality. I have a moment of clarity in which I realize how dangerous he truly is to me. From the second our eyes met, he knew. I am attracted to him. More than that, though I can’t find a word that accurately describes it. Extremely, insanely, alarmingly attracted. So much so, that I was willing to ignore the warning signs that with anyone else would have been so obvious.
The trap was easily set. He lured me like the beautiful predator he is. And me, the willingly stupid prey, I went for it.
Now look at me.
I push off him with every bit of strength I have and nearly fall of the chair. I’m panting, horrified at my helpless reaction to him.
“You said just a kiss,” I say, accusing him of something, though I’m not sure what.
“That’s all it was.” His eyes are glassy, confused.
It wasn’t. It was so much more than that. It was an assault of my senses, a fucking invasion. He broke in and robbed me of something, a critical part of my will, and it terrifies me.
“I’m done eating,” I say. “May I go?”
“If that’s what you want.”
I do. Like an army that’s just received a massive blow to their front line, I retreat to assess the damage. It’s unclear just how deeply he infiltrated my defenses, but there’s one thing I know for sure.
I’ve been left vulnerable.