Chapter 12
Elowen
Bruno bats my book away, fixing me with a sulking look. I chuckle and set the book aside, giving my complete attention to this big puppy.
“What is it?” I coo, holding his face. “My baby Bruno wants to play?”
I massage his jowls, and his face relaxes into a doggy grin. I kiss his head and climb out of bed. This new bed is so comfortable, since yesterday I’ve only left it when absolutely necessary.
I move to his toy basket, pull out a ball, and toss it in the air.
“Let’s go!”
I run with the ball, Bruno right behind me. I stop in the corridor and throw it. Bruno races after it, the ball hits the opposite wall and bounces back toward me, and he catches it mid-air with a high leap.
I clap for him, whistling. “Well done, boy!”
He drops the ball at my feet. I pick it up and toss it between my hands. His eyes track it intently.
Grinning, I hurl the ball in the opposite direction and take off running alongside him. The ball hits the wall and rebounds, and I snatch it before he can turn, holding it aloft. Bruno jumps up, climbing me to reach it.
I laugh. “No, baby. Not gonna happen.”
I throw the ball again. Bruno springs back to the floor and races after it. I follow—just as a door to one of the rooms opens.
Before I can stop myself, I collide with the wall of muscle that just walked out of that room.
He catches me by the waist before I can stumble back from the impact. I grab the collar of his T-shirt for balance.
Damn, this man looks so hot in a brown t-shirt. Yes, that’s what my brain registers instead of thinking about how awkwardly I’m suspended, bent backward over his arm.
I push myself up. My breasts press against his chest, and I feel the contact deep in my body—the contrast of my softness against his rock-hard muscles.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of cedarwood and that potent, masculine musk. If he were any other man, I would have definitely complimented him for how good he smells.
I slowly move away, finding my balance.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, looking into his deep eyes.
He looks different. His hair is carelessly tousled, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. He’s wearing a round-neck, full-sleeve brown T-shirt with black workout trousers.
I glance past him, it’s the gym.
My eyes roam over his torso again, taking in the definition of muscles his shirt usually hides. And he’s wearing gloves—even in the gym. Does he never take them off?
Bruno nudges my leg, drawing my attention away from the hot man and to him. I bend down, take the ball from his mouth, and pat his head.
I straighten up and look at my captor.
“You don’t play with him?”
“I don’t play silly games.”
I raise a brow. “Don’t tell me you play shooting games with him.”
He ignores my joke and looks at Bruno.
“Come.”
Then he turns back into the gym. Bruno and I follow him inside.
The gym is huge. One half is filled with weights and machines; the other is an open expanse covered in thick black mats and features a raised platform. Rings hang from the ceiling, and thick ropes lie coiled against the wall.
I have no idea what any of it is for, I’ve never had any interest in watching people pant and sweat. And as for my own workout, I’m lazy enough to consider climbing the stairs a proper workout.
Bruno’s gait changes as he follows the man. He isn’t behaving like a cute puppy now, it’s more the stride of a predator. Bruno, in serious work mode.
My captor picks up a harness and looks at Bruno.
“Sit.”
Bruno sits instantly. The man crouches down, fitting the harness around Bruno’s chest, giving me a nice view of his broad back. I openly ogle his hot body while he keeps his focus on Bruno.
He adds small weights to the sides of the harness. Bruno sits there solemnly, his tail wagging only now and then, and when it does, the sweep is broad, unlike the quick little wags he gives when I play with him.
“Stay,” he commands before rising and stepping back.
He then points toward the ramp. “Up.”
Bruno runs and scales it easily, as if he’s carrying no weight at all. He jumps down cleanly, landing on the mat without a sound.
“Again.”
This time, the man throws a thick rope across the floor. Bruno clears it effortlessly. He nods once. I don’t think Bruno expects praise from him.
He picks up a thick leather tug and straps it to his forearm, then plants his feet wide, knees bent slightly—and no, I do not look at his ass. Nor do I salivate over it.
“Take.” He bites out the command.
Bruno charges and leaps, his teeth clamping onto the leather. My captor doesn’t pull back. Bruno growls low, his muscles straining under the harness.
“Out.”
For a second, I think it’s meant for me, but then Bruno drops to all fours, and I realize it’s for him.
He gestures, and Bruno attacks his other arm. I close my eyes, flinching at the sheer intensity of their actions. Unable to watch more, I look away and decide to explore the gym equipment.
I wander among the machines, Bruno’s growls echoing behind me. But I don’t turn to watch my little puppy behaving like a wild animal.
Finding nothing of interest, I stop near the dumbbells. I pick up the smallest one to test my strength. I manage to lift it. I set it down and reach for a slightly heavier pair. I lift them up, and my shoulders nearly wrench from their sockets under the strain.
I groan, trying to lower them—when two gloved hands wrap around mine from behind, lifting the dumbbells easily and placing them back on the rack. I’m left breathless. He removes his hands from over mine; I let go and turn.
He’s standing close. His hair is plastered to his forehead, sweat streaming down his face. Waves of heat radiate from him. And of course I’m finding him hot as hell, his heat practically sears my skin from standing this close.
I lick my suddenly dry lips. His eyes follow the movement. My already racing heart drums even harder.
Bruno saves me from a potential heart attack by wedging himself between us. His face goes straight for my crotch. He’s been doing this a lot since yesterday.
But this time, Bruno gets a smack on the head. He looks up at my captor. I look at him too—he’s glaring at Bruno.
I rub Bruno’s smacked head.
“You shouldn’t hit him for that.”
“He needs to learn manners.”
I frown up at him. “He doesn’t need to learn anything. He’s a perfect dog, and I don’t want you to hit him again.”
He raises a brow. “And you think you can give me orders?”
I press my lips together. “I’m not giving you orders. I just don’t like mean guys who bully animals.”
“You don’t need to like me.”
I plant my hands on my hips, thoroughly pissed now.
“So you’re saying you’ll bully Bruno?”
“I’ll smack him again if he behaves like an ill-mannered dog.”
“Then I’ll take him with me. And I won’t give him back until you promise to treat him better.”
His scoffs. “That’s an absurd daydream, Princess.”
I point my finger at him. “Just wait and watch. I’ll make it come true.”
“How?” he asks, amused.
I lower my hand and lift my chin. “My dad will find me soon, and he’ll take me out of here. And I’m taking Bruno with me.”
He smirks. My eyes zero in on his cheek—on that faint dimple—then pull back to take in his whole face, smirk and dimple together. I tuck the image away in my memory and continue the argument.
“You think I’m joking. You don’t know my father well enough if you think that.” I smirk back.
“I know your father very well.”
“You don’t.” I smile, amused.
He doesn’t even know who my father really is, let alone know him well.
He lifts his chin, arrogance radiating from him.
“It doesn’t matter, trust me. No one is coming here to rescue you.”
Confidence rolls off him in waves, shaking my own. But I don’t let him see it.
“I don’t trust you. And I won’t stop believing that my dad will get me out of here.”
“Keep deceiving yourself.”
“If my dad won’t come here, will you keep me here forever?” I ask after a beat.
He doesn’t answer. He just keeps staring at me.
I chuckle. “I know the idea must be tempting. Where else would you find someone as sweet as me to kidnap and hold captive?”
He doesn’t laugh at my joke. He doesn’t even smile. If anything, his face hardens. Does he not appreciate humor regarding his kidnapping hobby?
I clear my throat, looking away from his intense gaze to Bruno, who sits between us.
“Let’s go, Bruno.”
I turn on my heel toward the door.
When I’ve taken a few steps, I hear a low murmur: “It is.”
I spin around to look at him, but he’s not looking my way. The tension in his jaw hasn’t shifted. I must be hearing things.
Bruno and I walk out of the gym and make our way toward our den. The entryway to my captor’s wing comes first. I glance inside, and my eyes land on the staircase at the back. I’d noticed it before and planned to explore what’s upstairs, but I forgot about it.
I look at Bruno and grin. “Let’s see what’s up there.”
We climb the stairs, take one turn, and emerge into a doorless opening. What greets us is unbelievable—heaven.
My mouth falls open as I take it all in.
There’s a rose garden inside an artificial greenhouse, the flowers blooming in circular beds, so many that the air is thick with their scent. And at the center of it all sits a piano.
My soul leaves my body, does a little dance, and returns. A grand piano—here—and I had no idea.
I rush toward it along the narrow path, careful not to trample the flowers. Bruno follows. The black piano sits in the center of a round white stone dais, a wooden bench before it. I circle it, drinking it in from every angle, my fingers trailing over its surface with reverence.
I stop before it. I just hope it’s not locked.
I lift the front top lid, it gives. I squeal in excitement.
I uncover it, then move to the side and lift the top lid, propping it open with the rod at a lower angle.
I rush back to the front and draw the cover off the keys.
Happiness fills me, pure as a child finding her favorite toy. Which is accurate, the piano is the love of my life, and finding it here means discovering love in a place I never expected. Not even a little.
I sit on the bench and touch the keys. Press them lightly. The softest notes fill my ears and my heart.
I can’t wait to play, but I’ll ask my captor’s permission first. I’d be furious if someone touched my piano without asking. The same might hold true for him, and I have no interest in angering that tyrant.
So I press a kiss to the lovely piano’s lid, whisper “See you soon,” take one last look at the blooming red roses, and leave.