Chapter 4
THEA
Iwait until the house goes completely quiet.
I sit on the edge of the bed, still in my black dress, watching the sliver of light under my door until it goes dark. I listen for the sounds of the house settling—footsteps in the distance, doors closing, the low murmur of voices fading to nothing.
Then I wait another half hour, just to be sure.
When I’m ready, I take a deep breath and stand up.
I step out of the heels and make my way to the closet. I open the doors slowly, half-expecting Gabriel to be waiting inside, ready to grab me and throw me in the dungeon, which I’m sure this house has.
The lights in the closet turn on automatically as I open the doors. I gasp when I see what’s inside.
Clothes, just like Oscar had said. But there are so many—jeans, slacks, dresses, tops. I step inside, catching designer label after designer label. And they’re all in my size.
How is that possible?
I push the thought out of my mind. Doesn’t matter.
Among the racks of gorgeous shoes, I spot some sneakers.
They’re next to a pair of sleek Louboutins.
I’m half tempted to take them as a consolation prize for this insane night.
But I keep my greed in check, slipping on a pair of socks and sneakers before heading back into the bedroom.
First, I check the window. It doesn’t open. I try a few more times, pressing at the frame until my palms ache, but it won’t budge.
I crack open the bedroom door and peer into the hallway. It’s empty and dark, except for the faint glow of sconces along the walls, casting everything in amber shadow.
I slip out, my shoes silent on the hardwood floor, and move as quickly and as quietly as I can.
My heart is hammering so hard that I’m sure someone will hear it, but I force myself to keep going, past closed doors and paintings of stern-looking people dressed in old-fashioned clothes, all the way to the top of the stairs.
A plan begins to take shape in my mind. I’ll figure out a way to scale the gate, and then I’ll yell until someone comes to help.
As soon as I get home, I’ll start tracking down Sylvie. As long as it takes, I’ll find her.
Once I’m at the top of the stairs, I pause and take a breath. The long night, the stress… it’s all starting to catch up with me. I feel weak and dizzy, but I press on.
The foyer below is cavernous and silent. All I need to do is get down the stairs, go out the front doors, and run.
I take the stairs slowly, gingerly testing each one, praying none of them creak. My pulse sounds too loud in my ears.
Soon, I’m twenty feet away from the front doors.
Ten.
Five.
“Going somewhere?”
I freeze.
Gabriel Moretti steps out of the shadows near the sitting room, still dressed in his shirt and trousers, tie gone, collar open. He looks completely unsurprised, like he’s been waiting.
“I—” my voice catches in my throat. I force it steady. “I need to leave. Now.”
“No,” he says simply, “you don’t.”
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can.” He starts walking toward me, slowly and deliberately, his dress shoes clicking on the marble and echoing through the vast space. There’s no hurry to his movement, no concern that I’ll break into a run and get free. It’s like I’m right where he wants me.
“I told you not to try this, Thea.”
I ball my hands into tight fists. “I don’t belong to you.” I step back, bumping into the door. The giant knob digs into my spine. “You don’t get to own me. That’s not how it works.”
He continues moving toward me.
“I paid a million dollars for you,” he says, still advancing slowly. “That’s exactly how it works.”
He’s getting closer.
I turn, fumbling for the huge antique knob behind me. It’s heavy as hell, but I manage to turn it, twisting it all the way around.
But it doesn’t click.
It’s locked.
“Let me out,” I demand, hating the tremor in my voice. “Please.”
He stops a foot away. He towers over me, his dark eyes unreadable in the amber light.
“No.”
Fury surges through me. I shove at his chest with both hands. “You can’t do this!”
He catches my wrists before I can pull back, his grip firm but not painful, and pins them against the door on either side of my head.
“I can,” he says quietly, “and I will, because if you walk out of that door, Thea, if you manage to escape, you’ll be back in their clutches by tomorrow morning—or worse.”
“Whose clutches? What are you talking about?”
His face is inches from mine now. I can feel his heat.
“Did those men at the auction look like they were playing around? The Russian wanted you. He was not pleased to be outbid. If they find you—and they will—you’ll be right back on that stage tomorrow night, and I might not be able to save you again. ”
My breath hitches. I want to argue, to fight, but the certainty in his voice makes my words die in my throat.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
His mouth curves into a half-amused grin.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough.”
“Do you?” He leans in closer, his voice dropping. “You know I bought you, but you don’t know why, do you?”
“Because you’re a disgusting pig,” I practically spit, “like all the rest of them.”
Something flickers in his eyes.
He holds my gaze. Why the hell does my body have to be such a goddamn traitor?
“Maybe,” he says, “but you’re mine now, and the sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
I try to wrench my wrists free, but he doesn’t let go. He just holds me there, his body a wall of heat, muscle, and unyielding control, and I hate how his gaze keeps dropping to my mouth.
“Let me go,” I say again, but it comes out breathless.
“No.”
He kisses me, and my body stiffens. I let out a muffled cry against his lips, struggling.
Then his tongue finds mine, and I stop fighting.
My posture loosens, and I find myself melting into his touch, his kiss. My muffled cry turns into a moan when he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his solid body. I breathe in deeply when the kiss breaks, his stubble grazing against my cheek, his big hands holding me in place by my hips.
I should tell him to stop. I should pull back, break free from his grip, slap him hard across the face. Tell him to never touch me like that again.
But I don’t.
Because I don’t want to.
The kiss continues. He reaches under the hem of my dress, his touch rising up my thigh and making me break out in goosebumps.
His fingers find the edge of my panties.
I should stop him. I should stop him.
I could scream for Oscar or whoever else might hear me in this massive house, but instead, I arch into his touch.
It’s totally involuntary, a betrayal of every rational thought left in my head, but my body doesn’t care about rationality, not when his hand slides beneath the lace, not when his fingers trace my lips with devastating slowness.
“Fuck,” he breathes, the raw hunger in his voice sending a shock of heat straight to my core. “You’re so wet for me.”
“I’m not—” The lie in progress dies with a gasp as he circles my clit with his thumb, my knees buckling.
He catches me with his other arm and pulls me against him, his breath hot at my ear.
“Don’t lie to me, Thea,” he murmurs. “Your body’s telling me everything I need to know.”
He pulls me away from the door and walks me backward, until my shoulders hit the wall. Then his hand slides lower, teasing my entrance, causing me to make a needy, desperate sound.
“Please—”
“Please what?” His fingers dip inside, just barely, and I bite down on my lip to keep from begging. “Tell me what you want.”
I can’t. I won’t. But when he pulls his hand away, the loss is so intense that I whimper.
He smiles against my throat. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he’s moving again, guiding me down the hallway and up the stairs. By the time we reach my room, I’m trembling, my breathing ragged.
He kicks the door shut behind us and backs me toward the bed.
“Gabriel—” His name falls from my lips before I can stop it. Something dark and satisfied flashes in his eyes.
“Say it again.”
“I—”
“Say. It. Again.”
“Gabriel.” It comes out like a plea.
He pushes me down on the bed, and I fall back against the pillows, my thighs parting instinctively as he follows me down. His hand slides up my leg, pushing my dress up to my waist.
“Christ,” he mutters, his hand squeezing my thigh, “do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
I shake my head, not sure how to feel about what he’s saying.
He cocks his head to the side, as if sensing my hesitation.
“You don’t believe me.” He leans down, his mouth brushing the curve of my hip. I jolt, the feeling almost too intense to bear. “You should. Every man at that auction wanted you, but you’re mine.”
His fingers hook into my panties and drag them down my legs. I lift my hips to help him, the realization of what’s about to happen making my face burn.
“That’s it,” he says, tossing my panties aside. “Good girl.”
The praise hits me like a drug. I shouldn’t want it. I shouldn’t crave the approval in his voice. But when his hand settles between my thighs again, when his fingers find me slick and aching, I stop caring about shoulds.
Gabriel works me slowly at first. One finger, then two, curling inside with perfect precision, hitting my G-spot with such precision that it makes me wonder how the hell he knows my body so well. His touch makes my back arch off the bed, his thumb finding my clit as I fist the sheets and cry out.
“Look at you,” he says, “so fucking perfect.”
“Gabriel—please—”
I hate that I’m begging, but I can’t help it.
“I’ve got you.” He picks up the pressure, the rhythm, and I’m coming apart under his hands. “Let go, Thea. I want to feel you.”
His free hand moves to my stomach, pressing down, the added pressure making me gasp, my eyes going wide. He stills for a moment, his palm warm and possessive over the softness I’ve always hated.
Instinctively, my hand moves to my stomach to cover it up. As soon as he realizes what I’m doing, however, he moves my hand and sets it at my side.
“I don’t want small,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “I want this. I want every inch you try to hide.”
My hips roll into his hand, seeking more, and he groans.
“That’s it. Take what you need.”
I do. I ride his fingers shamelessly, chasing the building heat, and he watches me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. His thumb circles my clit in tight, perfect strokes, and when he leans down to kiss me, I shatter.
The orgasm slams into me, white-hot and all-consuming. I cry out against his mouth, my body clenching around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure courses through me. He works me through it; his eyes locked onto mine.
“Good girl. So good for me. Look at how beautiful you are when you come.”
When I finally go limp, boneless and gasping, he withdraws his hand slowly. I watch, dazed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and tastes me.
“Fuck,” he says.
I should say something, do something, but I’m floating, my body humming with aftershocks, my brain too fogged to form coherent thoughts.
He smooths my dress down, covering me with a surprising gentleness, then brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“You try to leave again,” he says quietly, “and the consequences won’t be this pleasant, understand?”
I nod, still hazy, the last traces of the orgasm flickering inside.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” He stands. “Get some sleep, Thea. You start work in the morning.”
Then he’s gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me alone in the dark.
I’m shaking.
Sated.
And furious with myself because I wanted it. Every damn second of it.
And the worst part?
I’d do it again.
But I’m not staying. I’m not his. I’ll play nice, let him think that I’ve given in, that I’m his good, little obedient maid. I’ll find another way out. All I need is a single moment and an opportunity.
I have to.
Even if my body is already aching for him to come back.