Chapter 39
Sabine
“You watched me last night.”I cock a brow, sliding my napkin on my lap.
I’m referring to Astor watching me masturbate. Yes, it’s a bold conversation starter, but it’s my last night here. I’m bringing the big guns and focusing only on the man in front of me.
Not the death certificate, not who is putting creepy stuff in my room, not what happened to Astor’s daughter, and not who (or what) cut my hair, and certainly not if I’m going crazy. Honestly, at this point, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that there is a ghost here, and he/she/it/they hates me.
So, right, it’s going to be all about Astor.
We are in the dining room, sitting across from each other, under the glow of a magnificent crystal chandelier. The table is set with pristine porcelain dinnerware, linen napkins with gold rings, and crystal stemware. A lush green salad is centered in front of me, along with freshly baked bread and butter. A trio of candles burn in the center of the table, next to a decanter of red wine, half of which has been poured into our glasses.
It’s an elegant display of opulence, just like the man sitting across from me, and so unlike me. I’m wearing the only clothes I have, baggy jeans and a white sweater, while Astor looks divine in a fitted navy suit. Casual—for a billionaire—and insanely sexy.
“Do you blame me for watching?” he asks, his hot gaze boring into mine in the way only he is capable of—like he is staring right into my soul.
I’m certain that Astor and I could be in a crowd with a hundred people, and he could still make me feel like the only woman in the room.
Before I can respond, he says hotly, “And by the way, close the door next time.”
I blink, a rush of embarrassment coloring my cheeks.
Astor raises a brow. “Cillian is also staying in the house. You know this.”
Oh.
Oh.
Does Astor care if another man sees me naked? Is that possessiveness I sense in his tone?
He stabs into his salad. “I’d also like you to stop wearing my wife’s clothes.”
“What?”
“You’ve been wearing her sweaters since you arrived.”
I look down at the white cashmere sweater, then back at him. “No. Prishna gave them to me to wear. I had no idea they were your wife’s. She said you picked them out.”
“That’s incorrect.” He shoves a green leaf into his mouth and chews casually.
It annoys me how easily Astor can shift in demeanor. From crass demands and accusations one minute, to enjoying a salad and sipping hundred-dollar wine like he hasn’t a care in the world in the next.
“Is it incorrect?” I ask, my eyes narrowed.
“Yes. I would never allow you to wear my wife’s clothes.”
I scoff. “I had no idea I was wearing her clothes in the first place. So, you’re saying Prishna lied when she told me you picked them out?”
“I’d never call any of my employees liars. I’m simply telling you to stop wearing my wife’s clothes.”
I want to throw a fork at him. How can someone be so maddening and so addictive at the same time?
“Do you seriously think I would want to wear the clothes of the deceased wife of the man who kidnapped me?”
His head tilts to the side. “You hate your stay here that much?”
My mouth opens but hangs there for a second.
He and I both know I haven’t asked to be released since my failed escape. He knows I have no friends, no family, no pets, no plants to go home to. It’s just like he said, No one would care if you left.
He also knows of the undeniable sexual connection we have. A single minute with Astor Stone makes me feel more alive than all the years of my life combined. Why in the world would I want to leave that?
A grin plays on his lips. He’s testing me. He knows exactly what he does to me—and he knows I hate that he knows.
“What do you miss?” he asks thoughtfully. “Of your life before me, what do you miss?”
“My mother.” The response is instant. This wasn’t the answer he was expecting—or I was expecting, for that matter. But it is the honest truth.
“Tell me about her.”
“Well, she’s dead.”
“How?”
“Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. When did this happen?”
“During a home invasion.”
His fork freezes in midair. He blinks.
“I know.” I nod. “It’s as tragic as it sounds, trust me. Are you sure you want to hear about it?”
“Yes.”
“I was eight. Two masked men broke into our apartment in the middle of the night. My dad was at work—he worked the night shift at a local chicken plant. He passed away years ago from cancer. Anyway, I heard a commotion and ran out of my bedroom. One of the men had a gun to my mother’s head, asking where her purse was. The other was ransacking the apartment. They got everything valuable, which wasn’t much—just our electronics—and then they left. The second the door closed, my mother dropped to the floor.”
I down the rest of my wine.
“And I’ve been dead inside ever since.” I lift my glass in Astor’s direction. “Cheers.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why have you been dead inside ever since?”
“Because I did nothing to help her. I just stood there like an idiot. I didn’t even try to stop them. I didn’t try to help her.”
As I’m speaking, Astor rises from the table, retrieves the decanter of wine, and tops off my glass. Then he returns to his seat and gestures for me to continue.
“Anyway, I didn’t protect the only thing in my life that I really loved and that loved me back. I just stood there, a useless little girl who didn’t stand up and be brave when I needed to be.”
“You were eight.”
“I was weak.”
“Stop that.”
“Fuck you.”
He dips his chin in approval of my backtalk, or my gall, perhaps? Or is it pride I see? In the short time we’ve known each other, it has become apparent that Astor is attracted to strong, bold women. This works well for me.
I pick up my fork and dig into my salad. While he does the same, I find myself staring at him in awe.
Every second I spend with Astor, I become more curious about the enigma that he is. His mood is like an ever-swinging pendulum, and I am unable to hold on for the ride. On one end is someone with complete disregard for others and extreme mood swings, and on the other, a thoughtful gentleman with the ability to melt the panties off a woman.
“You’re an incredibly complex person, do you know that?” I sip my wine.
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you also know that you have some serious issues?”
The corner of his lip quirks. He swallows his bite. “Do I?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Please.” He waves a hand in the air. “Indulge me, Miss Hart.”
“I’d love to. One, you’re a selfish egomaniac with severe control issues.”
He snorts in the middle of sipping his wine, breaks into a coughing fit, then wipes his chin and sets the wineglass on the table.
I fight a grin, then continue.
“You kidnapped me with no regard for my life or the consequences of it, for no other purpose than to make me a pawn in a game between two billionaires. From what I’ve seen, you treat everyone around you like they are on this earth for no other reason than to serve you, and you demand to be in control of every situation you’re in, again, with no regard for the others around you.”
“You’re incorrect, Miss Hart. If I had no regard for you, you’d be dead.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so, Mister Stone. I’m calling your bluff on that one. You’d like me to think that, but it’s not the case. And this is the perfect segue into my next point. You’ve got a vicious temper.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then fix it.”
“Keep going.” He folds his hands on his lap, his attention suddenly laser-focused on my lips.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Communicate with me.”
“Of the two of us, you’re the one with communication issues.”
“I am also aware of this.”
“You’re also a very apathetic person, do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you okay with it?”
“I kill people for a living, and I make a lot of money doing it. I’d rather have money than emotions.”
I stab a fork in the air. “I knew your private investigation firm wasn’t just solving mysteries.”
“You’re smart.”
“So, money makes up for living a corrupt, soulless life?”
“Most of the time, yes. Are you done?”
“For now, yes.”
“Good.” He leans back. “May I counter your assessment?”
Well, this is intriguing.
I nod.
“Thank you. One, I treat everyone like staff because I have lost every person whom I’ve ever loved. Therefore, I choose to no longer attach myself to any other human being and not indulge in such weak emotions.
“Two, I demand control because no one can do my job better than I can. Period.
“Three, I have a temper because it serves as a release.
“Lastly, I kidnapped you because I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Because I had a visceral, violent reaction when Carlos spoke to you the way he did. Because the moment you smiled at me, my entire world tilted, and suddenly nothing mattered more than tasting your lips. Are you going to eat your salad, Miss Hart?”
I am stunned speechless.
“Sabine, dear, are you going to eat your salad?”
“Uh—I ... I don’t really like salad.”
Astor nods, rises from the table, and clears the dishes.
“You’re so confusing,” I whisper as he stacks the plates.
“I know.”
I rise to help with the dishes.
“Sit.”
I do. “No staff tonight?”
“No. I wanted to be alone with you tonight.”
As my captor walks out of the room, I exhale and place my hand over my heart, now in a puddle at the bottom of my feet.