Chapter 14 | Kate
FOURTEEN | KATE
“Stop touching it. It’s not coming off.”
My fingers fall from the gift Preston gave me, hanging heavy on my neck like an anchor. Another thing keeping me fastened here. I may not be imprisoned in a cell with chains, but it feels the same.
Even if it's an elegant one wrapped around my throat.
I side-eye him from where we stand in the grand foyer of the estate. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his sweats, those dark eyes void of emotion. They have been for the last hour as he gives me a lazy tour of my home for the next month.
A large chandelier with delicate crystals hangs overhead, its light reflecting off the gold embellishments that drip from every corner of the room. The grand entrance, fitting a spiral staircase, is tall enough to fit one of those massive Christmas trees I always admire during the holidays.
For such a dark man, his space is bright, with cream-colored walls and tan-marbled flooring.
Too bad it doesn’t inject warmth into anything else besides the facade that screams wealth.
This place has a kind of emptiness that stretches.
It feels lifeless, though we’ve passed a few people here and there cleaning rooms. They’ve all given Preston some acknowledgement, then their heads drop, and they get back to work.
He gestures to the right. “Down this hallway is the gym. The door at the end of the corridor is where you’ll find the indoor pool and spa.
” His glare sears into the side of my head, and my eyes are drawn to his.
“Top floor is off limits. That’s where my office and room are.
As well as other rooms, I highly suggest you stay away from. ”
My sarcasm is unmistakable. “Great. Glad I can be as far away from you as possible.”
He cocks his head. “Is that why your ass was grinding against my dick this morning?”
Preston’s raw, unfiltered words have heat fluttering straight to my clit. The red flags flying around this man are as bright as the crimson that drenched his hands yesterday. But my pussy doesn’t seem to care. She has a mind of her own.
Guess she’s not satisfied with just my fingers anymore.
Hungry little bitch.
It doesn’t help that my captor is by far the most handsome man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
The soft, golden light from the chandelier overhead cast shadows across his tanned skin, highlighting his muscles.
They occasionally ripple in a way that stirs a bloom of desire in my belly.
And the tendons in those hands…dear Lord.
My pussy may be tired of my fingers, but his—
His eyes narrow. “You look flushed. Do you need a drink or something?”
I catch myself ogling his frame, again, and shake myself out of it. “If I say yes, are you going to get me a dog bowl to drink out of?”
Shadows spark behind those bourbon irises, his hands shifting in his sweatpants pockets. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darling. I like it when pretty things crawl for me.”
My attention lingers on the way he called me pretty.
I straighten my spine and lift my chin. If I keep acting like he intimidates me, he’ll keep getting a reaction out of me, which I assume he finds amusing. Darkness follows this man. I can’t let my guard down or fall for his erotic words.
His steadfast gaze feels like he’s using the shadows that follow him to sink into my soul and pick through the fragile pieces. It's as if he’s looking for something specific in the rubble.
I tuck my arms against my stomach, shifting to relieve the dull thrumming between my legs. “You’re sick.”
A corner of his mouth quirks. “Are you saying that to me or your cunt? Because, from where I’m standing, it looks like you're rubbing your thighs together. Maybe we’re both sick, darling.”
Oh. My. God.
I purse my lips. “Are you done giving me this little tour? I want to take a shower.” And get myself off so I can think rationally and not be tempted by my traitorous body. It doesn’t seem to register that this man is dangerous.
He doesn’t have hands that care.
He has hands that kill.
I wonder what his body count is, and I don’t mean sex. Well, maybe I’m a little intrigued by that number too.
No. Nope. Don’t go there, Kate.
“As I said, I’ll be gone tomorrow. If you need anything, you can ring Gretta. There’s a button on the wall in your room.”
I inject some enthusiasm into my tone, so he registers how happy I am that he’s leaving. “Where are you going?”
He regards me skeptically for a moment before responding. “Virginia.”
“What’s in Virginia?”
His head slants, flashing me with those thick cords in his neck. “Why do you want to know?”
I nod. “You’re right, I don’t care. I want to get on with this so I can get it over with.” Pointing toward the corridor where my room is, I ask, “Can I head back to my room now?”
He gestures ahead of me, and I start walking up the stairs to the second floor, completely aware of his constant presence. When I get to my door, I throw it open and walk in. So does he. He somehow sucks all the oxygen out of the air.
I turn around on my heels, grabbing the collar in my fingers. “You following me kind of defeats the purpose of this, Captain. Are you going to stalk me while I’m in the shower, too?”
He leans on the doorframe, knitting his arms over his chest. “Is that an offer?”
I disregard that. “You can’t expect me to live in these clothes for the next month.”
“Gretta will handle it. And as for the medical unit, Imogen will give you scrubs.”
“For being your hostage, you’re sure allowing me to have nice things. Does that mean you’re starting to trust me more?”
He doesn’t say anything; instead, he electrifies the space between us with something uncomfortable, making my skin crawl. Why is he glaring at me as if I’m plotting something? Preston has been looking at me with this spiteful expression since I asked why he is going to Virginia.
I’m not scheming anything.
If there’s a chance I can escape out of here with my life and not end up with his blade plunged in my stomach like that man, I’ll suffer through this next month.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it's that I can survive. Thriving, on the other hand, has eluded me for the last several years.
This won't be any different.
I can handle this, even if there’s a stabbing pain behind my ribs that tells me I’m being reckless, believing in hope.
Hope hurts. But there’s a chance I’ll hurt either way.