14. Chloe
Chapter 14
Chloe
W hen Alexander claimed he would be my shadow for the foreseeable future, he wasn’t kidding. Short of following me into the bathroom, he’s been stuck to me like glue.
It’s a strange mix of annoying and, oddly enough, comforting. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked after me. I’m usually the one playing the caregiver.
It’s been four long days since my short-lived escape, and I’ve yet to get any concrete evidence that my father is okay. I only have Alexander’s word, which I’m unsure I can trust.
He forced me to stay in bed the entire first day after my return— his bed —and I’m not sure if it was the medication the doctor gave me, the fact that he watched over me as I slept, or a combination of both, but I managed to get some well-earned rest. I’ve been sleep-deprived for years, so by day two, I felt refreshed, like I’d caught up on everything I’d been missing.
I’ve never spent the night with a man before, so waking up wrapped in his arms each morning takes some getting used to. And that giant, hard dick of his that’s usually digging into my lower back makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling. I still hate him for everything he’s done.
Today, I was forced to follow him to work again … under duress, of course. I’ve now become the voyeur, forced to sit and watch as he goes about his day, each passing moment a bitter reminder of just how little control I have over my own life.
When he ends his second video call, he leans back in his chair and scrubs his hand over his handsome face.
Ugh.
I hate that I think that. I’m constantly reminding myself that his looks are a facade. What lies underneath is far from appealing.
“If you’re going to force me to follow you around all day, can you at least give me something to do?” I snap. “Sitting here is boring, and I’d rather be looking at something—anything—other than you.”
That smug grin of his is back. It’s like the sick bastard gets off on my insults.
“Nobody’s making you look at me, Chloe,” he replies, his tone dripping with amusement. “There are four perfectly good walls in this room. You’re welcome to study them if my face isn’t doing it for you.”
My nostrils flare as I leap to my feet and begin to pace back and forth.
He leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head as he observes me.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What’s it look like? I’m pacing.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to end up with deep-vein thrombosis if I keep sitting all day.” He barks out a laugh, and I narrow my eyes for the umpteenth time. I swear, I will end up with wrinkles just from being around this man. “There’s nothing funny about blood clots,” I growl, irritation creeping into my voice.
“I completely agree,” he says, placing his flattened palms on the desk and pushing himself to a standing position.
I stop moving when he reaches for his suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair and slides his arms into it. “Where are we going now?”
“You seem hangry, so I think an early lunch is in order.”
“Did you just say hangry?”
“Yes, Carmella informed me that a woman can become rather irate when hungry.”
This time, I smile. God, I love that woman. She’s the only thing keeping me grounded in this hellish mess I’m stuck in.
“I’m going to get fat if I keep eating at this rate,” I say, leaning back in my chair and rubbing my hand over my bloated stomach. “I’m surprised you’re so …” I let my words trail off because the last thing I want to do is compliment this man.
“Chiselled, ripped, sculpted?”
I roll my eyes, and he grins. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Just calling it as I see it, Tesoro .”
We both thank Carmella when she collects our plates. “Dinner was delicious,” I tell her. “My mother used to make a mean bucatini all’Amatriciana that tasted very similar. It was one of my favourite dishes growing up.”
“What part of Italy was your mother from?” she asks.
“Trapani.”
“Ah, such a beautiful place.”
“It is. We used to holiday there every year when I was younger.”
“You haven’t been back as an adult.”
I blow out a puff of air. “No.”
“Mr Mancini pays for me to go to Italy every Christmas to visit my family.” My eyes dart to him as he clears his throat and bows his head. Is he uncomfortable with me knowing that? “You probably wouldn’t recognise the place now. It’s changed so much over the years.”
“I’m sure it has,” I reply, forcing a smile. I have no desire to return to Italy. I used to adore seeing my mother’s extended family during our visits, but now it feels like I’d be betraying my father if I went back.
My gaze flickers to Alexander when he suddenly stands. “Chloe and I are going to walk around the estate grounds.”
My eyebrows jump in surprise. That’s news to me. Once we are home for the night, we usually stay in.
“We are?” I ask.
“We can’t have you getting fat now, can we?”
Ugh.
“Mr Mancini,” Carmella says over a gasp. “That’s a terrible thing to say to a lady.”
I’ve noticed that these two share a pretty solid bond. She’s like a mother figure to him, unafraid to speak her mind when necessary. His men would never dare to be that bold with him.
Well, maybe Antonio would. I’ve seen how he likes to push Alexander’s buttons, almost like he enjoys getting under his skin. It’s amusing to watch. Antonio seems less like an employee and more like a friend—or maybe even a confidant.
“Her words, Carmella, not mine,” he says with a shrug. “In my opinion, she could afford to put on a few pounds.” His gaze shifts back to me as he slides his chair under the table. “Run upstairs and grab a coat. It’s chilly out.”
“Do you do this often?” I ask as we head toward the back of his estate. This might be how he burns off all the excess carbs he eats, though that wouldn’t explain his defined abs.
“Never. I stay in shape by using my gym.”
“You have a gym here?” I ask, wrapping my arms around myself. I’m glad he told me to grab a coat. It’s unusually cold tonight.
“I do.”
I’ve only seen a handful of rooms since I’ve been here. I’m yet to get a full tour of his expansive home, and honestly, I doubt I ever will.
“How often do you use it?”
“Every day.”
“I haven’t seen you use it. You’re still beside me in bed when I wake.”
He clears his throat, his jaw tightening slightly. “That’s because I’ve been tied up the past few mornings, keeping guard over a certain pain in my arse.”
That makes me smile. I like that my presence here is putting him out. It’s retribution … a form of karma.
We reach the boundary of the property and turn to move along the back wall. “That’s the tree I climbed … the one that got me over the wall,” I say as we pass it.
He stops abruptly as his eyes slowly move from me to the towering tree before us. I catch the subtle tic in his jaw when he tilts his head slightly to assess its soaring height.
“I’ll be getting that cut down tomorrow.”
I gasp. “You wouldn’t dare. ”
“Watch me,” he says, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers as he starts to walk again.
I quickly catch up to him. “It’s a beautiful tree. It didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I beg to differ. It aided and abetted your escape.”
Instead of waking up to his ginormous, erect penis digging into my back this morning, I have the tip of his finger lightly poking my shoulder. “Chloe,” he grumbles in that gravelly morning voice I don’t hate. “Wake up.”
“Go away,” I murmur, slapping his hand.
“I said get up.”
“And I said no!”
“Don’t push me, bella . I’m not in the mood for your sass this morning.”
“Poor baby,” I say, turning my face into the pillow to hide my smile. Annoying him is quickly becoming the highlight of my day.
“One,” he growls, and my smile grows. “Two.”
“Oh, you can count … would you like a gold star?”
“Three.”
I yelp when I’m suddenly hoisted into the air and thrown over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” I screech, my voice rising in panic.
“It appears someone needs help waking up, and I have just the thing.”
He strides into the bathroom, and when he leans in to turn the shower tap on full blast, I start thrashing my body around. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Watch me,” he retorts, his voice low with amusement, as he sets me down on my feet under the ice-cold spray.
He quickly steps back, slamming the glass door shut behind him with a finality that leaves me both soaked and fuming.
“You lowdown, dirty snake,” I shriek as I reach for the door handle and tug on it, but he’s still holding it from the other side. “Let me out of here or so help me …”
He’s full-on laughing now, which only makes me angrier. The sound of his amusement grates on my nerves, making my frustration boil over even more.
“Oh, sweet bella , your threats don’t scare me.”
He lets go of the handle and takes a step back, a smug look spreading across his face. He’s so pleased with himself that he doesn’t notice me grab the shower nozzle from its holder.
By the time he realises what I’m doing, it’s too late. I’ve opened the door and aimed it at him, dousing him with the same ice-cold water already soaked through my pyjamas.
“Fuck,” he yells, pouncing on me as he tries to wrestle it from my hands.
“Not funny now, is it, arsehole,” I say over a laugh.
We’re both panting when he finally manages to pry the nozzle from my hands. It slips from my grip and dangles loose, spraying water across the side of the glass enclosure. I’m just relieved it’s no longer aimed at me.
I gulp in some much-needed air, trying to steady my breathing. He takes another step forward, pushing me back into the tiles. His forefinger and thumb firmly grip my chin, and he tilts my head back until our eyes meet.
“Are you proud of yourself?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
“Very,” I reply, straightening my spine, refusing to back down.
His face is so close to mine that I can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over my skin every time he exhales.
We stand there, frozen in place, eyes locked, neither of us willing to look away. He’s so damn handsome it almost feels like a crime. His hair is damp, the strands dark and heavy across his forehead. There’s a single droplet of water clinging to the curve of the dimple in his chin. It takes all my willpower not to lean in and catch it with my tongue, but I manage to keep the impulse in check—barely.
“Chloe,” he breathes, his voice low, his face drawing nearer.
“Yes?” I whisper, though the flutter in my stomach already knows what’s coming.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he murmurs, and his lips are on mine before my mind can fully process the words.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been kissed, but it’s been a long time since I’ve let anyone put their lips on me—years, in fact. And damn, can this man kiss. He devours my mouth like a parched man in the desert, his hunger undeniable, pulling me deeper into the kiss as if he can’t get enough.
I can feel his erection growing against my stomach, and that’s enough to snap me out of my haze.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this, but this man is my kidnapper, so I need to halt things before it goes any further.
Am I suffering from a case of Stockholm syndrome?
“Stop,” I say, my voice strained as I place my flattened hands on his chest and push him back, trying to regain control of my thoughts and my damn body.
He draws his face back, arching one of his brows. “You don’t want this?” he asks.
“No. I hate you, remember.”
“Your body tells me differently, bella .” He glances down at my nipples that are trying to break through the thin fabric of my pyjamas as he speaks.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. You just doused me in ice-cold water; what do you expect? My nipples are so hard right now I could take out one of your eyes with these if I wanted to.”
He throws his head back and starts laughing again, and I despise that I like this easygoing side of him.
I use this moment to slip around him and exit the bathroom, heading straight out of his room and back into mine. I haven’t been in here since the escape, but I need distance and stat.