CHAPTER TWO #3
The bodyguards led them to a black SUV, and just that quick, Chris found himself seated in the back with Arman at his side.
The guards were seated up front, and no words were spoken, just glances, nods, and action.
It was smooth, too smooth. Things were happening too fast. He should talk to Jason, but all he could do was sit there and soak in the heady scent of leather and tobacco.
Arman's scent was clean, bold, and earthy, pulling him in and making him tremble.
Arman’s arm remained around his shoulders, and the contact was becoming something he craved.
He’d maintained touch since the moment Chris had reached out and gripped his forearm.
Arman had held him close throughout the evening and made him look like the most precious of such an obviously powerful and wealthy man.
He’d backed off Elliott with a glance, and that kind of affect was rare.
Elliott considered himself a mover and shaker, but all he did under the dark glare of Arman was to move and shake.
He didn't have the nerve to even speak, thank God.
If Elliott had tried to engage them, Chris was certain he would have fallen apart.
"He is of no consequence, sweetheart; he never was. You have always belonged to me since the first breath you were destined to be mine.” The tone was deep and steady, and Chris recognized every word as sincere.
Was this a game they were playing, and why was it that he got the impression that Arman was reading his mind?
Perhaps he was a sensitive person or someone able to pick up vibes and impressions.
His thoughts raced for an explanation for even half of what he was feeling and seeing, but his mind was too slow.
His feelings were outpacing his thoughts a hundred to one.
The elevator was private and required a keycard that was used by the guard who was accompanying them.
The floors kept passing, and Chris recognized the fact that Arman’s hotel room was one of the penthouses.
This was made a fact when they stopped at the 98th floor.
The floors after 94 at the Regis Hotel were all privately owned penthouses.
Arman was much more prominent than he ever imagined, and a fresh spike of panic surged through him.
"What have I gotten myself into?" He mumbled softly to himself as Arman took his hand and led him out to the entry and then into a sprawling living area with floor-to-ceiling windows on every wall. It was magnificent.
Arman turned and looked down at him, raising his hands to cup the sides of Chris' face. He stared at him, and his eyes were gentle and warm. He was seeing something he liked, something that pleased him. Chris held his gaze and felt a rush of familiarity wash over him.
"You will understand soon enough." He said and then paused, taking a deep breath, unhurried but expectant.
"I think you might know what you've gotten yourself into already.
Tell me, Chris . . . who am I?" His thumbs trailed slowly along his jaw, and the rhythm, along with the look in his eyes, was hypnotic.
“You helped me, which I greatly appreciated, and then I left with you, which was something I would not normally have done. I sense that something is going on here beyond my basic understanding. I keep getting glimpses of things, a clarity that flashes in my mind and continually grows larger.” He stopped and broke the contact by dropping his gaze to the floor before looking up and staring at Arman’s collar.
“Was I drugged? Is this a hallucination or delusion?
I think I know you, but I can't know you.
There is no possible way that I know you. Have you been in the papers?"
Arman smiled and then released him and turned, walking away.
He poured a drink for himself and one for Chris and brought it over, handing it to him.
"Drink this, it will help." He started talking in vague terms of the spiritual and supernatural while getting him seated and comfortable on a tan leather loveseat.
Arman sat next to him, his eyes never leaving him, always weighing and measuring, looking so deeply that Chris was sure he could see his very thoughts.
Chris listened and drank the whiskey, taking slow sips.
His mind was doing strange things, and his body was acting even stranger than his mind.
Arman was drawing him in like a magnet, the force impossible to resist. At that moment in the ballroom, he had touched him in a panic, and he knew instantly that he was lost, and he didn't care.
The touch, the attention, the night, and the way his fears disappeared made everything right and perfect.
Arman’s hand moved to Chris' knee, and the warmth spread throughout his body. His effect was unreal; everything he looked at or touched became sensitive and receptive.
"The Trento Coven owns this penthouse along with other properties in the Chicago area. We will be doing more work here in Chicago going forward, but my home is in Belleville, and I also maintain a residence in New York and Indianapolis.” Chris felt compelled to comment, so he explained his own meager living conditions.
"I have a small studio apartment on Milton. I live alone, no roommates, so that's a plus."
“Do you like it here in Chicago?”
"It's the only place I've ever lived, but yeah, I like it. No family locally, I have a brother in Milwaukee, and my mother lives in Miami. We don't get together much. We all went our separate ways after my father died.” Chris didn’t know why he was telling this man his inner thoughts, but he just couldn’t stop his mouth from flapping.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He said with sincerity.
“It’s okay.” Chris smiled remorsefully. "Dad was the one who held us together. He loved us all, and we all loved him, but we really didn't like each other that much." He laughed, and Arman's arm went around his shoulders and pulled him to his side.
“My father has many children, and he didn’t like any of us.
We never get together either." He spoke clearly and deeply and gave Chris a half smile and an endearing glance that melted him instantly.
Chris stared into those eyes for what seemed like an eternity, falling faster and faster and needing whatever it was he was offering.
Everything was so confusing, and yet this right here was crystal clear.