Chapter 28
Xavier
“Ireally am sorry.” Artemis’s intensity increases with each time he apologizes. Which, given we’re in the car on the way to what I assume is the place he took me last time, is a lot. It isn’t a long drive, but he seems determined to make me believe him. And I do.
We’re both soaked to our skin, but he keeps reaching across the center console to touch me. He sweeps his fingers across the back of mine, but I trap his hand between both my palms instead. He heaves out a shaky breath.
“I know you are, and I forgive you.” Other than the stinging disappointment that it felt final, I was mostly fine with being used and kicked out. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t bruise,” I add softly, because if we’re doing honesty now, I may as well jump in the deep end.
I know he’s got demons. What they are, I’m not sure, but I figured if I kept being my annoyingly charming self, I’d disarm him eventually, and he’d give in.
He floors it through a yellow light, like he’s being chased, or running from something… someone. But part of me hopes he’s running toward it instead.
“Are you in a hurry?” My voice betrays my amusement in the darkness as he swerves around a corner and basically abandons the car outside the now-familiar looking house. Fairy lights have been wound around the wooden posts and the wraparound porch. It’s gorgeous.
Artemis nods as he throws his door open, his teeth chattering so loudly it can be heard on the heavy night air. He slams his door and pulls mine open with such force the damn thing groans under protest. “I need to get you inside before you freeze.”
Shit. Those chattering teeth were mine.
A wall of heat meets us as soon as he pulls the door open, making me look at him. He gives me a sheepish, half-smile as he ushers me in from the street. “I turned the heating on from my phone.”
I have seen many faces of Artemis de la Pena, but I think bashful might be my favorite.
As soon as we’re inside the door, he’s stripping my wet clothes from me. His trembling hands fumbling over the buttons. The way he grunts in frustration at the wet fabric sticking to my wet skin makes me laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?”
I tip my head at him. “You look so angry at my clothes that they’re stopping you from getting me naked.”
His eyes darken, swirling to something molten, something dangerous, something so fucking enticing it steals my breath.
“I need you warm.” He hums. “Though I’d like you naked too. To be clear.” His gaze drags down my body like heat itself, contradicting every noble intention of getting me warm and dry. Yeah, coy Artemis is my favorite Artemis.
“I don’t want you thinking I dragged you here again just for…” His eyes leave mine, and a shiver slithers through my cold bones at the absence of their heat.
“As long as I’m the only man you kidnap, fuck over the arm of the sofa, and kick back out onto the street.” I shrug. “I’m not that mad about it.”
A flicker of genuine hurt flashes through his expression before he schools it away, and it lands like a boulder in my gut. He chews on his bottom lip like he’s keeping something inside as he holds me steady while I step out of my sodden clothes.
He hands me a massive, fluffy towel from a pile suspiciously placed near the door. I tilt my head in question as I wrap it around my body and shimmy my wet boxers out from under it while he’s getting himself undressed.
“I had set them out before I left to get you. And I lit the fire. I figured it was a fire and cocoa kind of night.”
Well, fuck me pink and call me… well… anything you want to be honest. Is the one and only Artemis de la Pena… wooing me?
Woo on, my dude. Woo fucking on. If this is him wooing, I’m about ten seconds from swooning, like a character on an episode of Bridgerton. Where’s my fucking fan?
Because the idea of sitting by a roaring fire, cradling hot chocolate, and being wrapped in warm, fluffy blankets, might be the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And it hasn’t even happened yet.
I nod eagerly, letting my childish excitement hang out for him to see. “Is this a date, Artemis?”
He hums again as he collects all of our wet clothes. “I like to think of it as a bougie kidnapping.” His voice dips on ‘kidnapping’ like he knows exactly what it does to my blood pressure.
His lips quirk as he passes me. “Considering I didn’t ask your consent, it can’t really be a date, right? I abducted you in my car and took you somewhere no one will find you.”
I fan myself with my hand. “So hot.”
He jerks his chin to the room he fucked me in. “Go get comfy, I’ll put all this in the dryer.”
“I can get drinks?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it all covered.
” He’s not wrong. When I walk into the living room, the furniture has been moved around a little from last time.
There’s a picnic blanket set up on the floor in front of the huge TV screen I don’t remember being there last time.
My chest does a stupid little lurch, the kind I usually blame on bad sushi or emotional repression.
I stand, mostly dumbstruck, holding the towel against me as I take in the scene. This man… this… fucking… Ice Prince. What can I say? He’s got game.
My stomach rumbles at the sight of a wicker picnic basket. I had dinner, but that was long before the bar. I could definitely eat. I can always eat. Apparently, my dignity is also hungry, because it leaves my body in that moment.
When he returns, he’s wearing dry clothes, sweats and a hoody, and offers me the same. I scramble to get dressed, offer him my damp towel, and tip my chin to the display on the floor. “As kidnappings go, this one isn’t so bad.”
Shadows cast by the fire dance on his face as his lips pull into a smile. “I can order something in if you’d prefer.” The note of uncertainty in his voice almost kills me right there. He waves his phone. “There are some good places nearby.”
I grab his phone and throw it onto the couch. “Don’t you dare. This is perfect.”
He purses his lips. “I didn’t know what you like enough to know what to bring, so I guessed. The basket might be full of food you hate or are allergic to.” There’s an undercurrent of alarm in his voice and the way he stares at me. “Fuck. I’m so bad at this.”
He rakes his hand through his long, wet hair, and grips the back of his neck. “Ares helped me.” The self-conscious crack in his voice hits harder than the orgasms he’s wrung out of me.
I can’t help laughing, he looks so… off balance.
And for the poised and composed Artemis de la Pena it might actually be a first. I take his hand and lead him to the floor.
“It’s perfect, Arte. I love it. Whatever’s in the basket, I love it.
” Before we sit, I brush my lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw—it’s tiny, like I short-circuited something delicate.
He nods, his surprisingly passionate eyes meeting mine.
He opens the basket and the small cooler next to it.
He hands me two beers to open while he assembles the rest of our sna—no, it’s not a snack, it’s an entire meal.
Meats, cheese, crackers, fruit, chocolate covered strawberries, I mean, it’s nothing if not decadent.
“You made me an uppity charcuterie board, Heartbreaker.” I grin at him as I lean over to steal a grape.
“I told you: Kidnapping. But make it fancy.” He tips his beer at me, and I clink mine against it.
After a few minutes of eating and drinking, his shoulders loosen, the tension eases from his jaw, his face relaxes, and he leans back, extending his legs toward the fireplace. He’s looking less like a corporate automaton, and more like a man I want to get to know.
“Can I ask you something?”
He nods, popping a date into his mouth. “Anything.”
I hum, curling some Parma ham around a slice of brie.
His low chuckle makes my skin vibrate. “Didn’t have one ready?”
“Wasn’t sure how open you’d be to a conversation.”
His face falls. “Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I don’t have things to say. Or that I don’t enjoy listening.”
I nod. “Just wasn’t sure you’d want to share them with me.” I hook my thumb at my chest.
Guess the rain washed away our defenses, because now it’s my vulnerability that’s on display. He throws a grape at my head. “I don’t kidnap people I don’t want to spend time with, Xavier.”
The way he says my name makes me warm inside, every single time. I nudge his bare foot with my own. Fuck, is there anything sexier than gray sweatpants and bare feet?
Yes. Artemis de la Pena in gray sweats with bare feet.
I want to turn the heat up in the house even more so he takes his shirt off. Because I think that might be the hottest thing in the world. A half-naked Artemis de la Pena in gray sweats with bare feet is worth melting for. Right?
He puts his knuckle under my chin and closes my mouth. “You’re drooling.”
I capture his hand and kiss the inside of his palm, not missing how he stares at me like I’m some magical wonder in the low light of the flickering fire.
“Can you blame me? You’re a droolworthy date, Beautiful. I mean, kidnapper.” I kiss the inside of his wrist, not missing how his breathing changes. The man looks like a prayer I haven’t said out loud yet. “You bought a new TV.”
“That’s not a question.” His lips wrap around a piece of brie. Does he know how sensual he is? How he makes eating cheese kind of sinful?
“Tell me something about yourself.”
He shakes his head. “That’s pretty vague.” His voice is all business, but his eyes betray a sliver of playfulness I’ve never seen in him before.
“Okay, Stud Muffin.” I throw back a mouthful of beer to buy some time. “Do you have any kinks? Anything I should be concerned about in the bedroom?”
Is it hot in here? A flash of heat snakes up my neck. That’s not where I wanted to start, but it’s out there now, I should probably just roll with it.
He smirks. “Diving straight in the deep end, huh?” He offers me a bite of brie and Parma ham on a cracker with a smear of some kind of onion jam stuff that tastes amazing.
“You pounded my prostate until I came over the couch like a prepubescent teenager, Artemis. I think we’re beyond favorite colors and foods, don’t you agree Sugar Tits?”
He sighs, like he’s losing patience. “Why do you insist on all the nicknames?”
I point at his handsome face. “I like what it does to your face.” I take a bite of cheese.
It’s really good fucking cheese. “Your eyes darken like you’re considering killing me, but your lips twitch like you’re amused.
Sometimes you get this look on your face like you’re evaluating if you like the nickname or not.
” I return the favor and feed him some salami, enjoying the warmth around my fingers as he sucks them into his mouth.
“You really want to talk kinks?” He offers me a white chocolate covered strawberry. What is it about the humble strawberry that is the ultimate decadence? If someone dipped a segment of orange into chocolate it just wouldn’t have the same impact.
I nod. “I don’t think I have any.” I pause, wrapping my lips around the end of the juicy strawberry and taking a bite before quirking a brow. “At least none that I know about.” Unless choking on my own feelings counts as a kink.
He offers me another beer and cracks one for himself like he has all the time in the world, like he’s got nowhere better to be, like he might be choosing me. The idea curls around my chest and gives me a tight squeeze.
“I have kinks. I’m a member of Protocol.”
I nod, taking a sip. “I know that much.” I read it in an article online.
The fire crackles, cutting the silence that simmers between us as we both crunch our way through a couple more crackers and cheese.
“I like being in control.” The admission slides over my skin like warm oil, slow and inevitable.
I gasp, my hand flying to my chest and brows shooting up. “You do? I had no idea. This is brand new information.” I snicker before dissolving into laughter. He throws a cashew nut at me that I catch in my mouth.
“I like the chase, Martinez.” He doesn’t break eye contact as he speaks.
“Well, considering I did the chasing in this.” I point a finger between us. “Whatever this is, I find that hard to believe.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “No, Duende, I mean a literal chase. Like in a forest. Like predator versus prey.”
So much hits me all in one go, the way his eyes pierce mine, the fact the Ice Prince has a little primal kink going on, and the biggest thing of all, Artemis just gave me a nickname.
Artemis de la Pena gave me a fucking nickname.
I’m. A. Goner. If he ever says it in bed, I might spontaneously combust.