11. Lachlan
LACHLAN
The morning comes too early, dragging me out of a restless half-sleep that's done nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing down my bones.
I'm in the kitchen making coffee when Adriana appears in the doorway, her dark hair pulled back from her face, wearing her usual clothing.
There's plenty of variety in what I bought for her, but she's stuck to jeans and a too-big T-shirt every day. I don't understand why.
She looks tired, with shadows under her eyes that tell me she didn't sleep any better than I did. She looks hesitant, like she wants to ask me for something but isn't sure she can.
Finally, she takes a breath and seems to gather her courage. "I need clothes," she says without preamble, her voice carefully neutral. It almost sounds like she's rehearsed this, which confuses me. "Not just what you bought me. I need... I need things that are mine. That I picked out for myself."
Her complexion has gone paler, like she thinks I'm going to lash out at her for it, and her hands are clenched at her sides, her jaw is tight with tension. It stokes the embers of the anger I carry around with me all the time now, ever since I found out she was being kept prisoner in that house.
She's afraid to ask me for this, and I don't fully understand why. On the surface level, I know it must be because of Gio, but why exactly, I don't know. And I hate that she's looking at me like that.
"I need to go shopping," she says, and my stomach sinks. I'm going to have to deny something she wants, and I know that's going to make things worse, not better.
"I can have someone bring you things to choose from here," I say carefully.
I see her face fall the moment I start to speak.
"It's dangerous right now, Adriana. I can't risk what might happen if you leave, even with considerable security.
You know your brother better than I do; do you really think that's a good idea? "
Her lips press together, and I can tell she doesn't want to admit that I might be right. "This really is a prison," she snaps. "You could send as many guys as you want with me, Lachlan, but that's not enough, is it? You have to keep me locked in here."
"I can only spare so many. With—" I let out a breath, not wanting to tell her yet what's happening with Gio. Not until I have a better idea of the scope of it. "Adriana, please. I need you to trust me."
She gives me a look that says I've lost any hope of that. I feel my mood plummet, and I run my hand through my hair. I don't fail to see the way her eyes dart to the flex of my arm when I do it, but her expression remains bitter.
"I'll have a personal shopper bring a selection here this afternoon. You can try things on, keep what you want. You don't need to worry about money. Pick out anything you want. If you don't like enough of what she brings, send her out to get more. I'll pay for all of it; that's not a worry."
She bites her lip, and I can see her struggling between the politeness she was raised with, the need to thank me, and her anger that I'm not letting her out of the penthouse. Her anger seems to win out. I see her jaw clench.
"Fine," she says flatly, and turns on her heel and leaves.
It seems like her storming out of rooms I'm in is becoming a pattern.
I make a call, pulling strings and throwing money around until I have a personal shopper from one of the high-end boutiques downtown agreeing to bring a selection of clothes to the penthouse this afternoon.
Then I try to focus on work and the logistics of preparing for a war with the Santoro family while also trying to run my new empire.
But my mind keeps drifting back to Adriana, frustration and frustrated desire battling a constant war within my chest.
The personal shopper arrives at two in the afternoon, a sleek woman in her forties with an armful of garment bags and a professional smile.
I show her to Adriana's room, knock once to let Adriana know she's here, and then I retreat to my office.
I try not to think about what Adriana is doing in there, what she's trying on, how she looks stripping out of her clothes again and again, all that smooth flesh that I've been dying to see for ten years on display.
I last maybe twenty minutes before I find myself walking past her room, telling myself I'm just checking to make sure everything is going smoothly and that the shopper has everything she needs, that Adriana isn't uncomfortable.
The door is slightly ajar, and I slow my steps as I approach, not quite stopping but not quite walking past either.
I tell myself I don't mean to look. But she's standing in front of the full-length mirror, her back to the door, and she's in the process of pulling a dress over her head.
The fabric slides up her body to reveal the curve of her waist, the line of her spine, the black lace of her bra and panties stark against her pale skin.
The sight hits me, stealing the breath from my lungs and making my heart stutter in my chest, and I know I should look away.
I should keep walking. Standing here watching her undress without her knowledge makes me exactly the kind of man she thinks I am.
But I can't move. I'm painfully hard, my cock that I relieved just hours ago in the shower throbbing desperately from the sight of the delicate line of her spine and the length of her legs and…
I can't do anything except stare at her, at the body I've been dreaming about for ten years, this woman who's been living in my head and my fantasies. This desperate, aching need has existed for so long that seeing her like this feels almost unreal.
She reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, and that's when she sees me in the mirror.
Her eyes meet mine in the reflection, and I watch as shock flashes across her face, followed immediately by anger and something that might be fear.
She spins around, one arm crossing over her chest to hold the bra in place, and her voice is sharp when she speaks.
"Get out."
I should apologize and back away immediately, give her the privacy she deserves.
Instead, I find myself frozen in place for one more heartbeat, my eyes locked on hers.
I can see the flush spreading across her cheeks and the way her breathing has quickened.
Despite her anger and her fear, there's something else there too that looks like the same desperate, unwanted desire that's been eating me alive.
Then I force myself to step back from the doorway. She crosses the space and slams the door shut with enough force that the sound echoes through the hallway, the lock clicking into place. It feels like a rejection.
I stand there for a moment, my heart and my cock both pounding. I retreat, going back to my office, but my erection won't subside. I can't stop thinking about her, about peeling that lace away from her breasts—
Closing my eyes, I let out a shaky breath as I free my length, wrapping my hand around it.
I stroke hard and fast, my breathing coming out in quick gasps as I drive myself toward a quick, harsh orgasm, desperate for relief.
All I see behind my eyes is that vision of her in the mirror, all the way until I'm spurting into a handful of tissues beneath my desk, biting back my shameful groans.
Guilt crashes in immediately following my release. I need to apologize to her when she's finished. I have to remember that she's not ready for this, that I need to give her time. Trying to accelerate anything between us will only push her further away.
But God, I want her. It's a hunger that nothing else can satisfy, a need that's been building for ten years and is now threatening to consume me entirely.
I force myself to pull up the reports I was reading earlier and focus on anything other than the image of Adriana half-naked in her room.
The afternoon drags on, and eventually I hear the personal shopper leaving, her heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she makes her way to the elevator.
I wait another hour, giving Adriana time to calm down from whatever she's feeling about me seeing her like that.
Then I find myself walking back toward her room, intending to apologize for invading her privacy and make sure she found clothes she likes.
I knock on her door, but there's no answer.
I knock again, louder this time, and when there's still no response, I swing the door open to reveal an empty room.
For a moment, panic flares in my chest—she's gone, she's run, she's taken Matteo and somehow gotten past my security—but then I hear water running in the bathroom, and I realize she's just taking a shower.
She's still here, and I'm being paranoid—completely fucking insane, actually.
I should leave. Walk away and wait for her to come find me when she's ready.
But my eyes land on the bed and the clothes laid out across the comforter in neat rows.
I find myself moving into the room without consciously deciding to, drawn by curiosity and the need to understand what she likes, what she chose.
There are simple, elegant dresses in a few different styles, most of them in jewel tones that will look stunning against her olive skin and dark hair.
There are jeans and all types of tops, but I notice there's nothing revealing.
Everything looks like it will largely cover her—dresses that come to the knee or below, T-shirts that look a size too big, jeans and no shorts despite the heat, no skirts.
The only things that look even vaguely revealing are the silky shorts sets that she chose for pajamas, and my body tightens instantly at the thought of her wearing them.
And then I see, next to all of it, a riot of lace and silk and cotton—bras and panties that she chose, layered near the pillows.
Just like that, I'm rock hard again.