12. Eve
12
EVE
I never make it onto the balcony. The small taste of freedom offered up by those open doors is good enough for me, and my eyelids flutter shut as soon as he exits the room.
I’m exhausted by his fucking, as well as from the maelstrom of my own thoughts. Most of all, I’m shattered by what he’s unleashed in me today. I feel like an intruder in my own life again, especially now that I’ve uncovered this deviant fragment of my soul.
With all this swirling around my brain, I tip headfirst into a dreamless sleep—my first since my abduction four days ago.
I wake, hours later, to the sounds of movement in my room. It’s dusk and the room is bathed in the soothing hues of gold and rose. Even so, uneasiness cloaks my skin. It’s not him… Dante. I know that, for sure. The noises are too subtle, which is one thing I could never accuse him of .
I roll onto my side, taking great care to keep my breathing even, and my movements natural. That girl is in my room—Valentina. The one who brings me my food. Her back is turned and she’s busy arranging dresses onto hangers and transferring them to the closet.
I narrow my eyelids to tiny slits and carry on my spying undetected. She glances in my direction. I watch her pretty face crumple into a scowl, and she mutters something under her breath as she turns back to her work.
Once the task is done, she heads for the door, but then she stops and seems to think better of it. Shooting me another furtive look, she makes her way back over to the bureau and carefully slides the top drawer open. She’s looking for something, but the way she keeps poring over the contents suggests to me that she doesn’t have a clue what it is.
I watch her repeat this same action with each of the lower drawers before she turns and creeps over to my nightstand. Up close, I can see tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. Her mouth is fixed into a tight, white line of fear. Whatever she’s doing right now, she’s doing it without Dante’s knowledge or permission.
“Can I help you?” I say loudly.
She jumps back, her hand flying to her throat. Her face colors, the blush spreading high and clear across her olive skin. “Se?orita! You’re awake!”
“And you speak English,” I say accusingly. I haven’t forgiven her for ignoring me those first two days. Even less so now.
“We were under strict instructions not to talk to you.”
“But you could’ve at least— ”
“Se?or Dante requested that I unpack your new clothes. They arrived a few hours ago. I was trying not to wake you.”
“Have I clothes in that bureau, too?” I say, directing her eyeline to the furniture in the corner.
She shakes her head reluctantly. “Just the closet.”
I open my mouth to ask the obvious question, and then I stop. I don’t trust her, but I don’t want her knowing that yet. Instead, I force a smile to my lips. “Thank you. That was kind.”
Her shoulders slump in relief. “It’s not a problem, se?orita. I’m sorry again that I woke you. There’s champagne waiting for you on the balcony.” She looks at me speculatively, almost with a challenge in her expression. “Will that be all?”
“I guess so.” My jaw is beginning to ache under the strain of all this false positivity.
I listen to her footsteps receding down the hallway, and then I’m out of bed and walking over to the bureau. Pulling the top drawer open, I sift through the sparse contents. What the hell was she looking for? There doesn’t seem to be anything in here of interest—just an old magazine and some instruction manuals in Spanish. No personal effects, just like in his bedroom…
“Looking for anything in particular?”
My head jerks up and my hand flies to my throat, mimicking the actions of Valentina.
Dante’s back. He’s leaning against the doorframe again. He’s changed his outfit and is now wearing jeans and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks more like a deity than a devil tonight.
“Nope,” I lie, shutting the drawer with a bang.
He smirks before glancing at an incoming message on his cell. “Did you have a good nap? I came by earlier, but you were still asleep.”
“Who’s the girl?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“Which girl?”
“The one who was in my room earlier…hanging up stuff. Brown hair.”
“Valentina,” he says, preoccupied with tapping out a reply.
“I know her name, but who is she? Does she work for you?”
Dante glances up. “Yes, why?”
“She’s nothing more to you than that?”
The corners of his mouth start twitching. “No, mi alma , she’s nothing more to me than that.”
“She’s not one of your whores?”
He puts his phone back in his pocket and crosses his arms. “Are you going to insist on wearing my T-shirt to dinner?”
“I asked you a—”
“Change,” he orders.
His message is loud and clear. The subject is done as far as he’s concerned. This man doesn’t explain himself to anyone.
“Fine.” I storm over to the closet and fling the door open. The rails are over-flowing with the silks and satins of thousands of dollars’ worth of designer luxury.
“Do you like them?”
“They’re all white,” I say stupidly.
“Fitting for an angel, don’t you think?”
How can I be an angel if I succumb to a devil and his darkness so easily? Surely, I should be putting up more of a fight than this.
“No, it’s not, it’s weird, and it doesn’t change anything. You can’t buy my affections.” I reach out and touch the material of the nearest dress—a short, halter-neck shift. It’s sexy and sophisticated. I’ve never owned a wardrobe like this. I’ve never even dared to hope that one day I might.
“I never assumed it would.” He snakes a forearm around my waist and yanks me back against that thick wall of muscle.
I close my eyes and let the warmth of him penetrate my defenses again. I’m furious with myself for wanting him and for being so easily sidetracked.
“I know you like them,” he murmurs into my hair.
“No, I don’t,” I whisper, throwing my head back against his chest.
He groans long and deep as his hand disappears under my T-shirt, his fingers climbing a trail up past my hip to roughly palm my breast. “Don’t lie to me.”
“If I wear one of your dresses, will you fuck me like you did on that beach?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
With another groan, he seizes the tip of my shoulder and spins me around. “Let’s get one thing clear. Those clothes are a gift, so be a good girl and remember your manners.” He drops his fingers to the hem of the T-shirt again, and he whips it over my head before I have a chance to protest. Next, he’s fisting his hand around my hair, and bringing his mouth dangerously close to my own. “And as for your last request? Why, my angel, I’ll fuck you any way I choose.”
He picks out the white halter-neck for me to wear. He must have guessed how much I like it. As predicted, it fits me perfectly, and I have to suppress the urge to preen in front of the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. I’ve lost weight since I’ve been his captive, and I didn’t have much to spare in the first place. My breasts are still heavy, but my cheekbones are more defined.
It’s the gleam in my eyes that startles me the most. It tells me that not all the change has happened on the outside.
An old English quotation springs to mind as we descend the stairs together, his fingers resting against the base of my spine. He is my best of times and my worst. He’s my enemy who keeps me captive and features in all my revengeful fantasies. But he’s also a lover who presses at something so base in me. Someone who shines a light on my true desires.
My family is never far from my thoughts, but I’ve realized something today. For the past five years I’ve been living for them, not for me. I’ve been trying to project the image of a perfect daughter to make amends for my brother’s mistakes.
His methods may be more than questionable, but Dante is ripping the hood from my eyes. There’s no future for us, but there is a here and now, and I need to pursue this if I want to learn more about this darker side of me. I have to go deeper if I want to discover more about my brother’s killers.
“This way,” he says, guiding me out into a small courtyard. A table for two has been set underneath a wooden pergola, adorned with trailing jade creeper and the most exquisite white flowers.
“It’s gorgeous.” I grind to a halt in surprise.
“I have impeccable taste.” He pulls out a chair for me and I take my seat, admiring the ornate silver candelabra. This whole set-up is almost sinister in its idealization, but that’s him all over—a beautiful fa?ade with an undercurrent of menace. “What are we having?”
“Whatever I decide we’re having,” he says, running a finger slowly down my cheek.
He sits down opposite and shoots me a loaded look.
I hate how submissive I am around him. Today, he’s decided how we make love, what I should wear and what I eat. The independent woman in me is shaking her fist at him and screaming in protest.
“Wine?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Ah yes,” he says, looking at me speculatively. “Any particular reason why not?”
“I don’t like the taste.” It’s a lie. I don’t like the loss of control. I don’t want my senses stupefied any more than they already are around him.
“Water, then?”
“Please.”
He smirks and pours me a glass and then sets about de-corking an expensive-looking bottle of red for himself. “That’s the first time you’ve used that word with me… In a non-petitionary sense, of course.”
“I believe it’s customary to beg and plead for your life when a dangerous criminal is holding a gun to your head.”
“Criminal is a relative term,” he says lightly.
“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”
“No fighting,” he says. “To you, my angel.” He raises his glass in toast before bringing it to his lips. I don’t raise my glass of water to join him. Instead, I fiddle with the stem, running my fingers up and down the delicate column. There is no sentimentalizing us. He’s a bad man who is holding me hostage. Our worlds don’t belong in sync. They don’t even belong in the same universe.
“You’re overthinking this too much,” he says, reading my mind.
“It’s a little difficult when two days ago you had me under lock and key.”
My words strike an unpleasant chord. He grits his jaw and I watch the powerful muscles flexing beneath his olive skin. He hasn’t shaved tonight, and that shadow of dark stubble is lending even more of a wicked edge to him.
“I regret my treatment of you.”
My head jerks up in shock.
The corners of his mouth are curving. He’s perilously close to a smile. “Don’t look so surprised. You had the good grace to show me your manners just now. It’s only right I do the same.”
Right? This man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Everything about him and his life is wrong.
“Social etiquette is important to you, is it?”
“In the right context.” He takes another draft of wine. “What do you do for a living?”
“Receptionist.”
There’s a pause. “Do you enjoy it?”
“It’s okay.”
He tips his head back and laughs. It’s a rich, delicious sound that echoes throughout the courtyard. “I don’t believe small talk is your strength, my angel, and neither is a casual repartee about our respective occupations. I suggest we stick to other topics.”
“Like the weather?”
“Oh, I think we can do better than that.” I catch him glancing at my breasts and the air between us sparks with illicit promise.
“Where did you learn to talk like that?” I ask him, curiously. “You sound more American than I do.”
“School.”
“Which school?”
He sits back in his chair and runs his teeth slowly along his lower lip. I feel an instant reaction in my core as I imagine those lips on every part of me. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Why? Do you think it might implicate you?”
He smirks. “Most likely. You’re a tenacious lady.”
My lust evaporates as a jolt of uneasiness zips through me. This man has the money and the means to find out everything about me. His mocking tone suggests he already knows about my job as a reporter. Shit. I stare down at the tablecloth, my head in riotous panic.
“I was educated in your country, Eve,” he concedes with a sigh.
“ America? ”
“Yes, the home of the Mustang convertible and beautiful, inquisitive women.”
My cheeks flood with color at his surprise compliment. A million questions line up like silver bullets on the tip of my tongue as Valentina appears and places a plate of seared scallops down in front of me. I knew he was educated from the moment we met. I wish I had access to the Internet… I could track down his surname in a matter of hours .
I glance up to find him watching me closely. It’s as if he can smell the thrill of the chase on my skin.
“That’ll be all, Valentina,” he says curtly, dismissing her with a wave. She flinches and disappears immediately. She’s nervous as hell around him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“That was a little abrupt,” I say, arching my eyebrows at him. “I thought you were shit-hot on manners?”
“Don’t cuss,” he says, picking up his fork. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Fuck, shit, fuck. Anyway, I can’t eat this, I’m allergic to seafood.” I sit back in my chair and fold my arms. I’m not, but I’m feeling defiant again.
“You’re missing out. They’re delicious.” I watch his fork disappear into his sinful mouth.
Ugh. The scallops smell divine as well, all dripping in hot sage and butter. I’m so hungry I want to pick up the plate and inhale it.
“I really can’t tempt you?” he says, hovering another forkful under my nose.
Bastard.
“Sure, go ahead, if you want my death on your conscience, or lack of it.”
He smirks and doesn’t say a word. That’s when I remember he has access to my medical records. I have no allergies, and he already knows it.
“Is that girl Valentina part of your harem?”
The smirk dies on his lips. “My what? ”
“She’s part of your sex slave gang, isn’t she? Like I am. That’s why you kidnapped me.”
He drops his fork with a crash. “You are nothing like them.”
“But you have sex with her?”
“What the fuck gave you that idea?”
“You beat her as well, don’t you?”
His mildly amused expression is gone in a flash, replaced by something much more sinister. He throws down his napkin and rises to his feet. “This was a mistake. Go. Get out of my sight, Eve Miller, before I lose my temper.”
I should do as he says, but I’ve been spoiling for this fight ever since he captured me.
“Is she jealous of me? Am I the new favorite? She doesn’t trust me, does she? Is that why she was snooping around my room earlier?”
“She was unpacking your clothes, Eve. Clothes that I fucking bought you!”
“I never asked you for a damn thing! Except a one-way ticket back to America, but that’s never going to happen, is it?” I suck in a deep, unsteady breath. “I meant when she was rooting through your stuff, or whatever you keep in those drawers.”
He goes very still. “What did you say?”
Instinct is screaming at me to backtrack, but I can’t form the words quick enough. The atmosphere has shifted to something ugly and menacing, and not even the idyllic scenery can offset it.
My pulse beats wild and uneven as he leans across the table, grinding his clenched fists into the tablecloth. “Tell me exactly what you saw, Eve Miller, and I might let you live out the night.”
Everything goes very quiet. I can’t move or speak from fear.
“TELL ME!”
“I-It’s nothing… I must have imagined it. I’m sorry… Please. Sit down, let’s eat.” With a trembling hand, I spear a scallop and force it into my mouth. After this afternoon I’d almost forgotten about the intimidating killer lurking behind the mask, the one whose dark eyes are devoid of emotion.
This isn’t his game face I realize with a shudder. Once again, I’m seeing Dante for who and what he really is. No amount of education, wealth, and skillful manipulation can conceal the monster lurking inside.
“Bullshit!” he roars, slamming his fist down onto the table. “Start talking, or else.”
I swallow my mouthful with difficulty. My throat seems to have closed up. “I think she was looking for something, but she didn’t seem to know what.”
He straightens up and through a veil of tears I see him punching a number into his cell phone. “Get over to the main house,” I hear him order. “We have a situation.”