17. Bella with Darius on Sunday Afternoon #3
He steps back and pauses. “That’s for another time, Bella … I asked you here so we could talk, so you could see my home, so I could answer questions. I have a drink ready in the next room.”
I feel disappointed. I want to kiss him again now, over and over, but he’s right. We should take this slow and ease into this mystery of ours.
My gaze drifts over him again despite myself as we walk to the next room The dark shirt open slightly at the throat. The strong lines of his body. The large, ornate ring on slender, strong fingers. The controlled stillness he carries like a weapon. Beautiful and elegant and utterly lethal somehow.
And desperately I want him to hold me.
His gaze locks onto mine and he probably reads my expression. The room feels smaller suddenly. More intimate. More dangerous.
I should step back.
Instead I reach up slowly and touch his face. His eyes close briefly at the contact like it affects him more than he expected.
And oh—
that does something devastating to me.
“You know what’s strange?” I whisper.
“What?” he whispers back.
“I’m not as scared as I should be. Alone with a man I barely know, in his home, yet feeling the way I do.”
Outside, thunder rolls over the island.
He steps back and walks to the table where wine awaits.
I stay where I am for the moment and turn slowly in the room, taking it in. Antiques. Not decorative ones. Real ones. Pieces that belong in museums.
“That table,” I notice, stepping closer. “Late 18th century French. Original, not a reproduction.”
“Yes. Good eye.”
I glance at him. “You just … have this sitting here?”
“It belongs here. My father acquired it.”
I move further in, drawn despite myself. A chandelier sparkles above us. A painting catches my eye. Baroque. Original. Priceless.
“This is—”
“Yes,” he says again.
“You’re either incredibly wealthy or incredibly reckless.”
“Or both.”
I huff a quiet laugh. Then stop. There’s a mirror on the far wall. Tall. Gilded. Old. French and rare.
“Did you collect all of this?” I ask, gesturing around.
“I acquire what endures. Or my family did. Over time. I appreciate beauty.”
The way he looks at me causes me to blush.
“That’s a very specific hobby, collecting antiques.”
“It’s not a hobby.”
“You’ve lived here most of your life? Did you ever leave, or live elsewhere?”
“Why would I? It’s my family’s estate. I grew up here.”
He takes my hand and now leads me to the corner with a view.
“Sit, please,” he says, gesturing toward a low table.
There are two glasses already waiting. Dark red wine. He pours and hands one to me.
“Cheers, and welcome officially,” he says, lifting his glass to mine.
It smells rich and deep. Expensive. Probably French.
I take a small sip and then say, “I can’t get over that we have seen each other in our dreams, Darius.” Am I in a little shock? Probably.
“I agree. But I feel somewhat … relieved. I’ve waited so long.”
Emotions flood me again. I’m not sure what to think. What happens now? I decide to grab hold of myself for the moment and change the subject.
“You brought me here this evening. To answer questions. To talk.”
He watches me.
“You don’t fit here exactly,” he says finally. “On the island. Yet.”
“I noticed. But it’s only been three days.”
“And yet you don’t seem to want to flee. With all the mysteries and problems starting on your very first day.”
“Yes. I’m a doctor. I have patients. And I want to help people. It’s my goal.”
“That is not the only reason you stay,” he says in that voice.
I try to hold my heart rate in check. “You seem very confident about what my motivations are.”
“I’m observant.”
“So am I.”
Then he rises and steps around the table, closer to me. Close enough to feel his pull, his body emanating power. My pulse ticks up again.
“You’ve been watching me since I arrived,” I say.
“Yes.”
“That’s not unsettling at all,” I huff.
He laughs a little. “It’s not meant to be.”
He reaches out and takes my wrist. Not forcefully but not gently either. My breath catches. His voice drops just enough that it changes the space between us. I feel it. In my chest. In my breath. In the way I suddenly can’t quite think straight.
“Your heart rate increases in my presence,” he says.
“It’s called proximity,” I reply. “People do that.”
“No,” he says, softer now. “They don’t.”
His thumb shifts slightly against my pulse. Heat sparks up my arm. The feel of his finger on my arm is … exquisite.
“This is inappropriate,” I murmur though I don’t want him to stop. In truth, it feels very appropriate.
“And yet you do not pull away, Bella.”
I don’t. I should. I don’t.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say.
“It means something.”
“Darius, I—”
A sharp knock cuts through the room.
We both freeze.
The moment fractures. It’s gone. I wanted to kiss him again. Or let him kiss me. He releases my wrist.
“Enter,” he says.
A man steps in—one of the staff, apparently, composed but tense.
“Sir,” he says. “There’s been another incident.”
My stomach drops. Incident?
“Where?” I ask, already on my feet.
“The edge of The Wilds.”
Darius’s gaze snaps to mine.
“I wanted to talk of this. I brought you here to talk quietly,” he says. “I’m sorry. But we must go quickly, to help this victim.”
“Let’s go,” I reply.