Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
S arah
It feels ridiculous to be sitting on a rooftop patio with the man that kidnapped me. Yet, here I am.
“Wine?” he asks, indicating the bottle of Chateau Lafite sitting on the wrought iron table.
“Absofuckinglutely,” I tell him, because if kidnapping isn’t an excuse to have a couple glasses of absurdly expensive red wine, I don’t know what is.
He smiles. It’s annoyingly attractive. He fills both glasses and tips his towards me. “ Salute.”
I try the wine and feel my eyes start to roll back in my head. “Oh my god, this is good.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” he tells me as he begins to unpack food from an insulated bag. “I went with Mastro’s. But just in case you’re not a fan of steak, there is a rather large salad here as well.”
“I didn’t know they did takeout,” I tell him, sipping more of the wine.
He gives me a sly grin. “They don’t.”
“Then how—oh, right.” I give a little air toast with my rapidly vanishing glass of wine. “Is that what would be considered a ‘fringe benefit’?”
“Absolutely.”
He finishes setting up the food spread. I help myself to a large portion of salad and a small helping of NY strip steak. He gives me a quizzical look.
“What?” I ask.
“Interesting choices,” he says, pointing to my plate.
“Well, since you’ve recently been to my apartment and I’m sure have done some sort of research into me by now, you know I’m a professional ballerina. I eat food, I like food, I really like wine, but I don’t eat crap food.”
“Fair enough. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
I sigh. “It’s fine. There is just this stigma that all dancers are anorexic. It’s not true. You can’t dance and you can’t recover without nutrition. But I also have a partner that needs to toss me around through the air, so yeah, there’s a fair amount of moderation that goes into that.”
He nods and refills my almost empty glass from the bottle. The food gives the wine a run for its money.
“This is the best steak I’ve ever had,” I admit.
“I think they are by far the best in the city,” he agrees, topping off his own glass. The food, and honestly the wine, are doing wonders for my overall mood.
“Do you enjoy it? Dancing?”
“I love it.”
“You must have started very young to be as accomplished as you are now,” he observes.
“Yes. Though it helps that my mother was a ballet teacher. But I moved to a boarding school for dancers a little bit after my twelfth birthday.”
“Must have been hard on your family. And you for that matter.”
“Not really. My parents were dead by then.”
He pauses. “I’m sorry. An accident?
I shake my head. “I’d rather not discuss it.”
He nods. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know. It’s fine. But let’s just… not.” We both eat for a bit in silence. Despite the rather awkward conversation, the silence is oddly comfortable.
His phone rings. He looks at the caller ID and rolls his eyes. “Fucking hell. Please excuse me.”
He steps away from the table and wanders to the other side of the roof. I watch him pace back and forth with the phone at his ear. His face looks irritated, but his posture is relaxed, and his voice is quiet. He’s more casual than I’ve seen him before, just a black shirt stretched over his shoulders and biceps and a pair of dark jeans. He turns to make another lap, and I realize I’ve been staring at the man’s ass. I feel the blush warm my face, and I’m pretty sure he noticed, even from that distance, by the smug grin on his face.
Christ on a cupcake.
I top off my wine and walk to the other side of the garden.
It’s gorgeous here, despite the autumn chill in the air. Some of the planters have gone dormant, but others are still in peak form. There is a wrought iron canopy covered in climbing vines, with small white lights intertwined. Music drifts from hidden speakers. The entire roof is surrounded by a fence of tall, thick glass. I watch the city lights begin to click on. The ships moving along the Hudson are glowing, the lights’ reflections rippling on the surface of the water. The rush hour traffic has finally died down. If I squint, I can see the top of the building I danced in last night.
I sense his approach.
“You’ve got a killer view,” I admit.
“Yeah. This is one of my favorite places in the house. What were you thinking about just now?”
I point off in the distance. “Last night I was dancing there. Now, I’m here. It feels like a lifetime ago.” Between the heaters and the wine, I’m feeling warm and relaxed. I turn around, lean my back against the glass, and look at him. “Why am I here?”
He steps closer.
I tilt my face to look up at him, to meet his gaze.
“You saw something you shouldn’t have.” He says it so damn matter-of-factly.
“No, I didn’t,” I whisper.
“No lies, kitten.” Then his eyes flash. His voice an octave lower, he whispers, “But honestly, I really hope you’re bad at following rules.” His gaze is molten, and I can feel my heart pounding.
“I won’t say anything,” I promise.
He sips his wine, keeping those intense eyes locked on me. “You’re not the only problem in that regard.”
Shit.
“He didn’t see anything,” I reply, trying to seem collected and calm.
He shifts closer. I can smell the soap from his shower still on his skin. I can smell the spicy, woodsy scent that permeated his bedroom. I can feel the heat coming from his body. He leans down and whispers next to my ear, “Caught you.”
I shiver. “What?”
“Now I know what it looks like when you lie.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He makes a little tsk tsk noise. “That’s two lies you’ve told me.”
There is something ominous about the way he says it. That’s two. Like there is some sort of score card. My body feels like it’s electrified, with a current crackling over my skin and striking over and over on my clit. And my ass.
“How—what?—-”
He cuts me off before I can stutter out a sentence. “Security cameras in the alley,” he explains. He gently grabs my hand and brings my glass up to my lips. His touch is burning, like his own thermostat is set just a bit higher than the rest of us mortals. “That was clever, by the way, sticking him behind the dumpster. We never saw him.”
I’m oddly pleased by the compliment. I’m not entirely sure a man has ever called me clever before.
“Robert won’t tell anyone either,” I tell him.
“And you’re sure of this because…” he prompts. His eyes are focused on my lips, like he’s going to read the truth off of them. Like he wants to catch me in a lie.
I really hope you’re bad at following the rules.
Fuck, now all I can think about is the thinly veiled promise behind his words. After the spanking last night, I know it’s not a threat. This man doesn’t do threats.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. “He was born here. He knows who you are.”
Vincent seems to consider that for a minute, never taking his eyes off of my lips as they move. “And I have something that he values.”
Confused, I search his face. “What?”
“You.” He knocks the wine glass from my hand, and I’m barely aware of it shattering on the tiled floor. He closes the rest of the distance and fists one hand in my hair while pinning the rest of my body against the glass with his own. He crushes his lips to mine.