Chapter Eight
Steele
“Tracker is in place,” the doctor said. I pulled my shirt off and then picked up my phone from the bedside table. I booted up the app, and sure enough, there was a tiny dot right in the center of my home. I grinned, glad I had connections in so many industries. Technology like this couldn’t be bought— only stolen. I was glad I knew so many criminals who owed me favors.
I tossed the phone on the bed and then appraised the doctor. “How is Quincy?”
The doctor nodded. “He’s fine. I’d give him tonight off to recover, though.”
I glanced at my timepiece. It was nine o’clock. I debated whether or not I wanted to head to a restaurant or cook for myself. Given the fact that I had a temperamental hostage down the hall, it might be safer to eat at home until I could anticipate her actions a bit better. I dismissed the doctor and hopped into the shower off of my suite of rooms. The rising steam instantly reminded me of seeing Topher’s daughter in the same position, her eyes on mine as she watched me drink her in. Her mocha-colored eyes were dark with sensuality—an unspoken promise of what a night with her would be like. She was curvier than I’d realized, and her hips led to a round ass and luscious legs. I’d been with plenty of beautiful women, and I loved all types of body shapes, but I’d never seen curves like that before.
I felt myself harden as my mind wandered, and I cursed again under my breath. This line of thinking was not acceptable.
But…in the back of my mind I wondered if this was part of the solution to my Topher problem. If I couldn’t lure him to me, perhaps I could use his daughter…parade her around on my arm, let the whole world see that I could take anything I wanted. She was a much better prize than Topher. Intelligent eyes and silky skin…
Breathing heavily, I leaned against the tile in my shower as I quickly jerked off to the thought of those long legs and what they would look like wrapped around my back. Intense pleasure rolled over me in waves as my body shook with release. Bollocks, what was happening to me? I hadn’t jerked off since I was a teenager, preferring the real thing to my own hand.
I turned off the water and tried to catch my breath before grabbing a towel and drying off. Slipping on a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, I decided to head down to the kitchen and grab something to eat.
As I passed by my hostage’s room, I instantly thought back to how hungry she had been down in the basement and the way she attacked the apple I gave her. Sighing, I rapped my knuckles against the door and turned the lock.
A few seconds later the door opened, and she stood there, looking oddly feminine in my pants and one of my t-shirts. Her partially wet hair drifted down her back and ended with soft curls. I could smell the soap I used daily all over her body.
“What?” she asked irritably.
I was momentarily stunned by her temper. I found my footing quickly, though.
“I assume you’re hungry?”
The rage in her features dropped instantly.
“Yes. Apparently, no one here thinks that people need to eat to survive,” she spat out, the drop in her anger only lasting a few seconds. “You owe me a first-class meal, asshole.”
Without another word, she swept out of the guest room and headed towards the double staircase. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and looked back at me. “I’m assuming the kitchen is downstairs?” She didn’t wait for an answer before taking the steps two at a time.
She finally stopped at the bottom of the staircase, obviously unsure of which way to go. I headed down the hallway to the kitchen and she followed me, her eyes trained on every single aspect of my home. I could see her glancing at the windows, counting rooms and doors and possible escape routes. It was cute, her thinking that she could ever get away. She was determined, though. I was actually eager to see how far she’d go and what she would try to do to garner her freedom.
I led her into the kitchen. She looked out the window, the city laid out in front of her. The sun had set, but the bright lights twinkled and the city seemed to glow under the moonlight.
There was a small table in the corner, and I gestured to it.
“Sit,” I commanded.
She moved towards the table, eyes furrowed and teeth clenched. “I’m not a trained dog.”
“Well, whether you’re a dog or not, I’m your owner so you will obey.”
The look on her face was one of pure torture. I could almost feel the heat of her anger, feel the burn of her loathing. Her entire body tensed, as if she was thinking about disobeying me, but then hunger won out as she sat stiffly.
Americans. They were so weak when it came to food.
Smirking to myself, I turned to the fridge and looked around the inside. There were a few eggs sitting on a shelf, as well as some butter and cheese. I pulled everything out and turned towards the stove. Her eyes darted around, and I knew she was still trying to figure out how to escape.
I lit the burners, watching the flames ignite while thinking about my precarious situation. How long would it take Topher to make a move? How long was I going to be stuck with her?
“How long are you going to keep me here?” Her voice intruded my thoughts like an unwelcome solicitor.
I ignored her, cracking eggs and beating them in a glass bowl.
“Hey, ass-munch, I’m talking to you!”
This time I set the food aside. “Ass-munch?”
Her full lips turned into a scowl as she looked back out of the window. I heated the butter and poured the eggs into a pan. I worked in silence, trying to ignore the discomfort I felt at having someone else in my private space. Quincy had been with me for ages, so I hardly minded him, but having a woman here, sitting in my kitchen, was unnerving. Even when I enjoyed women, they never stuck around, and I sure as hell didn’t invite them to linger. It was strangely intimate.
I plated the eggs and placed them in front of her, along with some cutlery. She shoved the eggs in her mouth, ravenous.
I grabbed my plate and leaned against the countertop, suddenly finding my appetite lost. Instead, I watched her eat, her eyes trained on the plate as she shoveled in the meal. Her hair was a bit messy, but it shined off of the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. It was strange to see her in my shirt, one of the ones I wore when I worked out. It was too big on her, concealing the shape of her body. It was a travesty to hide those curves.
“Stop staring at me, you freak.” She picked her head up from her now empty plate.
I didn’t reply, but took the plate away and then grabbed a wine glass, placing it in front of her before turning back towards the wine chiller. I snatched an expensive bottle of white wine, and filled her glass while she looked on.
“Nothing for yourself?”
I grabbed a bottle of scotch from the pantry and took a long swig from the bottle to emphasize my point, before setting it on the table next to her glass and pulling out a chair for myself.
“So, you get scotch, and all I get is crappy white wine and silence?”
“For your information, that bottle costs eight hundred pounds. And I’m not required to make small pleasantries with my hostage.” I sat down, the chair creaking slightly under my weight. I was bigger than most men, lean but muscular. The delicate chairs in the kitchen weren’t meant for me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever sat in this room before. I folded my fingertips together and looked at her, unblinking. It was entertaining to watch her squirm a bit under my intensity.
She pushed aside the wine and reached for the bottle of scotch, placing her lips over the mouth of it before tipping it back.
“No wine, then?”
“If I’m going to be stuck here with no one but you for company, I’m going to need to be wasted.”
Despite myself, I smiled. She had such a smart mouth. We drank in silence, sharing the bottle.
She was the first to break the silence. “So, what’s your name, Mr. D.S.?”
I looked at her, flustered with her knowledge of my initials. She must have seen my confusion, because she grinned, her white teeth sparkling.
“It’s monogrammed on your towels.”
I leaned back in my chair, resting my hands behind my head. She gulped, and I knew she was watching my chest muscles ripple, and I knew, just like I knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, that she liked what she saw. “Steele.”
“Steal? Literally? So you steal me and that’s your name? Do you make a habit of stealing women?”
“No, not steal. S-T-E-E-L-E.”
“What’s the D stand for?”
“None of your damn business,” I said, standing and grabbing the untouched wine glass and taking it to the sink. I snatched the bottle from the table and corked it for later, my eyes scanning the horizon out the window.
I almost laughed aloud when I felt the cold blade against my neck.