Chapter Twenty-Eight
Erin
I blink back into consciousness. My mind is sluggish and my body weighs a thousand pounds. I feel sore everywhere. I slowly sit up, looking around.
Where am I?
I am sitting on a bed, in a room I don’t recognize. Alone. Light is pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and I instantly recognize this view over the bay.
I am still in The Bastion. But way, way higher up. Maybe twenty stories.
What is this place ?
I wrap myself in the gray silk sheet that covers me and get out of bed to edge to the nearest door.
It opens into an adjoining bathroom. I pad to the sink and open the tap to wash my face and drink.
The cool water clears my mind and I look around for a way out.
Of course the windows are not an option since, one, they don’t open, and two, the drop would kill me even if I managed to slip out.
I turn around and catch a glimpse of my reflection. I pause.
The reflection staring back at me looks…
so different. My lips are red and swollen, my hair is a tangle of curls, my throat and chest are peppered with hickeys.
I let the sheet slip from my hands and gasp.
Bruises and love-bites everywhere . My breath hitches in my throat when my memory comes crashing back.
Matteo had held me, kissing the tear stains from my face.
Then, just as exhaustion and adrenaline crash dragged me toward oblivion, he turned me on my back and kissed me.
Deep, hungry, possessive. And I let him.
My mind was frazzled and my body too worn to offer any resistance.
He took and I gave, because there was nothing else I could do.
He had been relentless, pulling me back from sleep every time, draining me with wave after wave of shattering pleasure. Somewhere in the blur of the night, I thought I dreamt of floating. But it wasn’t a dream. He carried me here, and I never even realized.
I see a bathrobe hanging on a hook. I take it and slip it on, feeling less vulnerable.
Then I step out of the bathroom…and freeze.
Matteo is in the bedroom, standing with his back to me, gazing out of the window.
When he hears my sharp intake of breath he turns around. He is wearing slacks, no shirt. His tattoos appear dark and menacing in the light of day as he stalks closer. I am rooted to the spot, paralyzed.
He is standing in front of me now, face unreadable.
Then ever so slowly, he lifts his hand to my face to cup my jaw, gently tilting my head back until I have no choice but to look him in the eyes.
His pupils are blown, the black depths giving him a sinister appearance.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip and I feel a tingling in my spine.
I should fight, I should run. But all I can do is watch him as his eyes cloud over with lust and his grip on my jaw intensifies.
Then he trails his fingers down to my neck, toward the bathrobe.
He pushes the fabric to the side, exposing my shoulder and his breath shudders when he sees the many bruises marring my skin.
He leans down and brushes his lips over my shoulder, up to the spot behind my ear and he inhales deeply.
A groan escapes his lips as he nuzzles the spot there.
Then his voice breaks the moment, low and rough.
“Get dressed, little ghost. You need to eat.”
I step back, finding my voice at last. “Dressed? H-how? My dress…it’s…” I gulp.
“Clothes are in the walk-in closet”—he nods toward a door next to the bathroom—“then we can talk.”
And with that he is gone, leaving my mind reeling.
He seems to have regained his sanity. This is my chance to talk him into letting me leave, I tell myself.
I hurry back to the bathroom and hop into the shower.
The thing is as big as the bedroom in my old apartment, equipped with an overhead shower, massage jets and functionalities I didn’t even know existed.
At the far end sits a massive bathtub in front of the window, and even though it looks inviting, I don’t intend to stay here long enough to ever use it.
After the shower, I envelop myself in a soft towel and gingerly step out into the bedroom.
The door leading to the walk-in closet glides open without a sound, and I freeze on the threshold—the closet is the size of a small apartment, with rails, shelves and floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining both walls.
The center of the room is taken up by drawer islands topped with glass panels through which I can see neatly arranged cufflinks, ties, and expensive watches.
Comfortable-looking benches are strategically placed, like this is some luxury boutique instead of someone’s home.
I move to the left wall, running my fingers over rows of immaculate white shirts and tailored black suits.
Not a single splash of color. I can’t help the unbelieving snort that escapes me.
Of course he only owns white shirts and dark suits.
I’m about to reach for a shirt, a white one obviously, when something catches in my peripheral vision.
I turn and squawk in shock. The wall facing me is lined with women’s clothes.
Not just a few items, no. The whole freaking wall is full of them, shelves and rails filled with everything a woman could dream of, never mind need, because there is no way one person could wear all this in one lifetime.
Then it hits me like a cold shower.
Jade .
Of course her clothes are here. Nausea roils in my gut. What have we done? What has he done? He has someone and still he… Oh my, God.
My shame gives place to gut-wrenching fury. How dare he ?
I yank one of his shirts from a hanger and slip it on. It covers me like a dress. Perfect .
I have no underwear but there is no way I’ll put on Jade’s clothes. I won’t do anything to slight her further. What happened last night was bad enough.
I pad out of the closet and find the bedroom door ajar.
I step out into a hallway, my bare feet silent on the white hardwood floor.
It leads to a luxurious living room but I am too incensed to care.
I sense him before I see him. Matteo is in the open-plan kitchen rummaging around like he knows what he is doing.
Then my eyes catch the front door and I bolt there to try the handle. It’s locked. There is no lock, but a palm scanner like for his office. I put my palm on it with a surge of hope. But it blinks red. I try again. Same result.
This jerk !
I turn around and charge toward him, my fury boiling over.
“What is your freaking problem?” I shriek.
He calmly turns around from the countertop to face me, his eyes dragging down my body and back up and I am suddenly aware of how vulnerable I am. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.
I can see his jaw work as he is glowering right back at me.
“Why didn’t you wear any of the women’s clothes?” he deflects.
“Why would I wear another woman’s clothes? You sick psychopath, let me out of here!”
His brows furrow. “What do you m—”
“Let me out,” I snap.
His frown intensifies. “No.”
The finality of his tone makes me retreat a step. “Excuse me?”
“You will be living here from now on.”
My brain short-circuits. I look at him, mouth agape. He didn’t just say… “You are insane,” I whisper.
He steps closer, crowding me against the island. Then his arms cage me in and he leans down so that our eyes are level.
“Because you drive me insane, little ghost.”
My heart stutters in my chest.