Chapter 19
19
CELIA
L uca steered me towards the stairs, and I glanced around, catching glimpses through doorways of other rooms—a formal living room, what looked like an office behind walnut-stained French doors—and trying to catalog the layout of the house.
Unfortunately, he might be a villain, but he was not a moron. His voice was close to my ear when he murmured, “I don’t think I want you to see the house yet.”
I didn’t have time to react before he scooped me up, one arm sliding across my thighs and the other behind my back. Then the world was a blur as he lifted me up. I fell against his hard, powerful chest. Before I could stop myself, I lay my hand on his chest to steady myself. He smelled delicious, and his muscles rippled against my body. My cheeks heated.
I caught his smug smile before he settled one big hand over my eyes.
“Come on.” I didn’t bother to struggle. I could already tell it would be pointless. The hard muscle against my body reminded me how much stronger he was, as if I wasn’t already clear on that point after trying to fight him off earlier. “Do you really think you have to try this hard to keep me off balance?”
“Yes. I think you’re too clever for my own good.”
I didn’t know what to make of the compliment. I certainly didn’t know what to make of the fact that I felt a glow in my chest. I’d spent my entire life being treated as if I were stupid and near worthless by the men in my life.
Not that I needed compliments from my kidnapper.
He carried me up the stairs. The hand covering my eyes slid up to my head, tucking me under his chin as he turned me carefully, carrying me into a room. He closed the door behind him with one foot.
Then he set me down on my feet, steadying me with his hands on my hips until I had my balance.
I wondered what kind of locks were on the door. But for now, I focused on the room in front of me.
It was an enormous bedroom. There was a fireplace on the wall across from the bed, surrounded by built-in bookshelves. White roses and candles adorned the mantle, and there were more roses on a gilt vanity, with a tufted white ottoman in front of it. If I had ever redesigned my room from the lavender and dollhouse design of my childhood room, this was what I’d choose.
“Have you been expecting me for a while?” There was something unnerving about how perfect this room was.
“This way.” His hand settled into the small of my back, as if we were on a fucking date. He urged me forward to the bathroom, which was enormous.
The tub was already filling. It would have overflowed if he had started it before he fetched me from the mausoleum.
I turned back to face Luca, wondering if the same person who started the tub lay beside me last night. Could it be Dante?
I needed to think about it. And I had to be careful what I said to Luca. For some reason, it was bizarrely easy for me to talk to him, probably because he always looked as if he were enjoying it when I spoke. He gave me all his attention, and he looked at me like everything I said was intriguing. It was alluring.
So, I shelved the mystery of my night time visitor for now. Luca wasn’t someone that I could trust.
“Strip for me, Celia.”
My hands went to the front of his jacket, pulling the lapels more tightly closed. It was the opposite of what he asked for. “Why?”
“Because I told you to.” His hands lashed out, suddenly grabbing me and yanking me against his body. The hard heat of his cock pressed through his trousers, against the curve of my ass.
His hands were firm, and somehow gentle, as he pulled the jacket off down my shoulders. There was barely any space between his body and mine, so he pulled away just slightly so he could work the jacket down my body. But his hand loosely gripped my throat to keep me from going anywhere. It was enough of a threat. I didn’t try to pull away. And yet, somehow his hand splayed at the base of my throat sent a surge of desire through me as well as fear.
“As much as I like seeing you wear my clothes,” he told me. “You can’t wear my blood like war paint all day.”
“Then you need to get out.”
He let out a laugh that I felt through my body. “And you need to learn to ask nicely. But we’ll work on that another day.”
When he slid his hand up my thigh, my body shuddered against his. I hated how obvious I must be to him. It seemed so clear that he turned me on every time he touched me.
His fingers toyed with the place where my panties meet my thigh, then gently stroked up over my hip. His hand slid over my mound as he pulled my panties down with it, and my hips moved to follow his hand, just slightly, just the littlest bit before I got it under control. But I could feel his close attention…and his smug pleasure, even though I couldn’t see him smile.
He rolled my panties down my thighs. His hands moved up to cup my breasts through my bra, kneading them and massaging them. My nipples sprang to attention before he slid his hands into the cups and pushed them down. My strapless bra turned inside out, and somehow I felt more naked and defiled than perhaps I would if I were completely naked.
He took a step back and released the clasp on the back of my bra. I stepped out of my underwear, feeling self-conscious. It was embarrassing to have him seeing my naked back, and I could feel the heat of his gaze on my skin like a touch.
“Turn around,” he commanded.
I turned my face over my shoulder instead. There was raw desire written across his face.
“Why?” I asked.
“I don’t want to ever forget what you look like, covered in my blood and still desperate for me to fuck you.”
His words somehow shocked me, even after everything else he had said and done. I shook my head. He let out another laugh. This one was cold and hard.
“Think about how much you want to test me, Celia.”
He began to roll his shirt sleeves up, revealing tanned, corded forearms covered in tattoos. The sight made me think of how he’d prepared before he spanked me before, and I felt a shiver that was dread and excitement intermingled.
I should be more terrified. Maybe I would be later, when I could think straight. Or maybe I’d spent so much time terrified that I couldn’t feel it like a normal person anymore. A normal person wouldn’t be naked in front of Luca and feel so much desire.
His gaze, amused and far too knowing, flickered up to mine. He didn’t say anything, just held out his hand. I wasn’t going to fight him on everything, so I gave in.
He helped me into the tub. As I threw my leg over the lip of the enormous clawfoot tub, I thought for a second of how easy it would be to push me under the water and drown me. It would be easy for him to hold me there.
The image of what that would look like, me thrashing around under the water, his wide biceps barely straining as he held me under, came to me in a flash. If he wanted me dead, he certainly didn’t have to do anything elaborate. He’d had so many opportunities.
I let him help me into the tub. The water sloshed around my legs, warm and inviting. I sank down into the tub, feeling the cool porcelain along my back.
To my surprise, he knelt beside the tub and set a towel on the edge for a pillow. I let my head rest against the soft, thick towel, suddenly feeling how exhausted I was after my night of poor sleep. My tight muscles began to unclench.
I could see my legs floating in front of me, covered in dirt and grime and grass stains. My feet were filthy.
He picked up a washcloth and dipped it into the water to wet it, the fabric trailing against my skin through the water. Then he ran it over my leg, until he reached my foot and cupped my heel in his hands so that he could lift my leg from the water. His touch was firm and comforting as he began to wash away all the filth he had created, chasing me through the cemetery and locking me in that mausoleum.
“I don’t suppose that if I told you I can bathe myself, it would matter?”
“If you can do something for yourself, does that mean no one can do it for you?” He began to wash the other leg, and his fingers against the back of my calf were unexpectedly sensual.
“I didn’t ask you to bathe me.”
“I didn’t ask you to beat me with a shovel, but here we are.”
I bit my lower lip, thinking of plenty of comebacks but reluctant to play with him when I was so very vulnerable, naked and half submerged.
His lips quirked up in a faint smile, as if he had noticed my silence. But he didn’t comment. Instead, his hand slid up my thigh, washing me and teasing me all at once.
We had important things to talk about. But honestly, I needed time to think and untangle them before I asked him anything about my father.
I didn’t think he intended to let me go. There wasn’t any rush.
Unless my father found me first.
“How do you know my father won’t find us here?” My heart pounded in my chest at the very thought. Perhaps the fact that I was locked behind closed doors would save me.
“I’ve been very careful. I have another address, and it looks like I live there.”
“How did you come to live in such a unique house?”
“I’m not interested in making small talk with you.” He dropped the washcloth, only to get a clean one. He ran it under the running water, and then he began to gently wipe the dirt and blood off my face. I started to reach for it, but my fingertips just brushed over his wrist before I realized it was pointless to try to take the cloth from him. Instead, I rested my hands on the side of the tub. The movement made my breasts rise from the water, and his gaze slipped down to them, his eyes flaring with need.
“It’s fascinating to me that most of the time, you don’t fight me.” He had obviously noticed the way my hands ended up on the edge of the tub.
“I’ve noticed it usually doesn’t work out for me.”
He scoffed. “So you’re taking your time and coming up with a better plan.”
“Maybe you’re giving me too much credit.” I had never been the one with the plan, after all. Moriah had led our little operation. Kara, Natalie, and I had been her obedient followers.
“I hope not.” His tender touch left my face as he began to wash the lines of my throat, my shoulders, then my breasts. My fingers tightened on the edges of the tub. His touch felt so good. I let my eyes drift shut, losing myself in the warmth of the tub and in his touch.
He added, “If I’ve underestimated you, we’re both dead.”
My eyes flew open.
His tone had been so matter of fact. His face didn’t betray that he had said anything particularly interesting. He had just moved on to washing my torso, and my stomach contracted under his touch.
“We need to talk about that,” I said.
“We do. But I think I need a full twenty-four hours to pass between you trying to murder me and discussing a path forward as allies.”
I had good reason to try to murder you . I still do . I didn’t say those words out loud, of course.
But he looked at me as if I had.
He let go of the washcloth, letting it float in the water, brushing against my skin. His fingers trailed down my arm, only to stop at a bruise that encircled my wrist. “Where did this come from?”
His voice was casual, but it still started a wilder drum beat from my heart. I’d received casual questions like that before.
“Relax. You’re not the one I want to hurt,” he told me. His voice was deadly serious, and then relaxed slightly, became lighter. “Not in the same manner, anyway.”
His hand rose to cup my face. His gaze was all-consuming when he looked at me like this, forcing me to look at him. “You know you are going to give me the name.”
“I wouldn’t bother to try to hide it from you.” The only reason I give a shit if he killed my brother was because I had always dreamt of doing it myself. But I was adaptable. “It’s from Royal.”
“I see.” His voice was cold and calm and terrifying.
And I liked it right now.
“Why? Does it offend your delicate sensibilities?” There was the faintest archness in my tone. I was flirting with my kidnapper. There was something deeply damaged in my psyche.
“Yes. I want to be the only one who leaves marks on your skin.” His fingers traced over the bruise, his touch slightly painful and slightly sensual all at the same time. “And I want you to want me to.”
That was the real question I needed to understand. Why did he want me so much? But that was a dangerous question to ask.
He rose to his feet and pulled a towel off a heated rack. He shook out the soft fluffy towel and held it toward me. When I rose and let him wrap me in it, he pulled me against his body, his arm sliding around my waist.
In a different world, where he wasn’t Luca and I wasn’t his hostage, it would have been cozy.
“If you’re thinking about running away,” he murmured into my ear, “remember that your father isn’t sure for now if you ran away or were kidnapped, but if he finds you without a very good story, he’ll think you ran away. You have as much to lose as I do if you’re ‘rescued.’”
“Why would he think I wasn’t kidnapped?”
“Well, he knows you were plotting something.”
Panic swept over me.
He let out a laugh, as if he felt the change in my body and pulled away. “I’m going out. Be good, if you can.”