Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Chantal
I have died and gone to heaven.
That’s the only explanation for why I’m currently submerged up to my chin in gloriously steaming hot water, washing away the day’s filth. I’m soaking in Lochlan’s bathtub, finally relaxed enough to sort of feel like my old self again.
The man kidnapped me. He’s tormented and basically assaulted me. But I’ll keep it real and give him this: I’m grateful he’s allowed me the opportunity to use his bathroom.
While it’s still nowhere near as fancy as what I’m used to, it feels like five-star accommodations after what I’ve been dealing with.
The tub is relatively clean and even charming in its clawfoot design, and the rest of the bathroom features dark marble and brass fixtures that I can tell were expensive when originally installed.
It vaguely occurs to me that this is probably his grandpa’s old chambers. The same Finn Callahan I had seen featured in so many of those newspaper clippings up in the attic.
Honestly? It doesn’t matter whose bathroom this is—it feels sooo fucking amazing after the last nine or ten days I’ve had.
I release a little airy sigh and then sink even lower into the water. I might actually emerge from this bath squeaky clean with smooth and glowing skin. Once a given considering my meticulous skincare routine, it feels foreign to me now.
This bath is so good, I think I might stay until my fingers prune. I’ve been soaking for at least fifteen minutes, and I have zero intention of getting out anytime soon.
A knock at the door makes me tense until Sorcha’s timid voice speaks from the other side.
“Miss? I have something for you. Mr. Lochlan approved it.”
Mr. Lochlan approved it.
Four words that should probably concern me—since when does my psychotic captor approve bath gifts?—but I’m way too relaxed to care about potential mind games right now.
“Come in,” I call out. I shift in the tub to make sure the bubbles are strategically covering my goodies.
Sorcha slips through the door with a small basket in her hands, eyes fixed firmly on the floor as if she wants to preserve my modesty. She sets the basket on the edge of the tub, and I peer inside to find an assortment of soaps and bath oils that almost make me kick my feet in excitement.
Still nothing fancy. It’s not the high-end stuff I’m used to like La Mer or Augustinus Bader, but it’s actually real scented soap.
I’ll finally be able to smell like lavender and vanilla instead of industrial cleaning supplies.
“Mr. Lochlan said you could have these,” Sorcha murmurs. “For your bath.”
“I’d ask what the catch is, but right now I don’t even care.” I pick up a bottle of bubble bath and start liberally pouring it into the tub. “I’m sure tomorrow he’ll have me scrub the entire west wing with a toothbrush. Maybe reorganize his sock drawer by color and thread count.”
Sorcha’s lips twitch, tempted to smile. “He said no catch, miss. Just that you earned it.”
Earned it.
Interesting choice of words considering he’s given me nothing but trauma and manual labor from the moment he captured me.
“Tell Mr. Lochlan I said thank you,” I say. “I plan to use all of these. Every single one. Tonight.”
Sorcha nods and scurries out, snicking the door shut behind her.
I sink back into the water, emptying the rest of the bubble bath and then picking up one of the bath oils.
A nagging little voice inside my head reminds me again that I should be suspicious.
Lochlan doesn’t do nice things without a reason, and even his half-assed apology about his drunken attack felt like it was dragged out of him with pliers.
But the other part of me—the one that’s been wearing the same crusty jumpsuit for days, sleeping on scratchy, hole-ridden sheets, and eating food that wouldn’t pass muster at a prison cafeteria—just wants to enjoy this moment for what it is.
A reprieve from my miserable captivity.
So that’s what I do.
I pour the rest of the bath items into the water, breathing in the familiar scents that remind me of the spa days.
Luxuries I used to take for granted.
Back when my biggest problem was whether to get the hot stone massage or the deep tissue.
Simone, my cousin Monique, and I would spend entire Sundays at the Four Seasons spa, gossiping about celebrity tabloid fodder or my latest silver fox situationship as we drank cucumber water and ate smoked salmon with fromage blanc.
God, I miss that. I miss my life.
I was Chantal Banks, gallery owner and certified bad bitch with designer shoes on my feet and a wealthy man on my arm.
Now I’m Chantal Banks, kidnapping victim and manual laborer. I’m the girl who kisses her captor and gets turned on by it. Even after he attacked me, my pussy still clenches when I think about our kiss in his grandpa’s office.
…even worse, what he would feel like inside me.
What’s wrong with me? Shouldn’t I find him repulsive? Shouldn’t I shudder at the thought of him touching me?
Yet my lips still tingle remembering the hunger in his kiss. The roughness in his touch. The sheer passion that had emanated off him in waves as if he seriously couldn’t even control himself.
The warm water seeps into my bones and loosens muscles that have been wound tight since I got here. My eyelids grow heavy as my mind wanders into fantasy.
As I wonder what would’ve happened if we…
Before I know it, I’m drifting off.
Just a quick nap. Five minutes, tops. That can’t hurt, right?
I jolt awake to the swish of the bathroom door swinging open.
My eyes go wide as I scramble to sit up and send water sloshing over the sides of the tub, splashing across the tiled floor.
Adrenaline surges through me and makes my heart pound twice as fast. I’m already reaching for a towel to cover myself when I register who’s standing in the doorway.
Lochlan.
He’s frozen mid-step, hand still on the door handle, fixing me with a stare that’s uncharacteristically shocked. You’d think he’s the one who’s been walked in on instead of the other way around.
“What the hell?!” I screech, crossing my arms over my large titties. Unfortunately the bubbles have mostly dissolved during my nap. “Ever heard of knocking?!”
“It’s been two hours,” he growls. “I assumed you’d be done by now.”
“Well… well I’m not! Get out!”
Ugh. Of course he doesn’t listen.
He stays where he is, dark emerald gaze raking over me—what he can see above the waterline anyway—and the muscle in his jaw visibly hardens.
A flicker of the same hunger he’s shown other times passes in and out and immediately sends a hot shiver down my spine.
“What’s the matter?” he asks finally. The left side of his mouth tilts up in a slanted grin. “You shy all of a sudden? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
I cup my breasts as best I can despite the fact they’re larger than my hands. More heat simmers through me, first from the inside like fire in my belly. Then on the outside as a flush that spreads to my cheeks.
He knows I haven’t forgotten—neither of us have.
At his command, I stripped for him that night. He bathed me so intimately, like a lover, all while he told me his cruel plan to traffic me to Russians.
The loofah had felt so good as he dragged it over my curves. He contrasted it with his crude words and made me so confused and speechless.
But that was then.
Courage grows as I hold his gaze and realize I’m at a crossroads. I could carry on being outraged and offended, or I can take back control and have some agency.
My pulse beats wildly as I make up my mind.
I let my arms drop from my chest, no longer shielding myself. “You’re right. You have seen me before, haven’t you?”
And then I stand up in the middle of the tub.
Water cascades down my body as I rise without an ounce of shame to be found. I’m standing before him completely naked, large titties and wide hips and thick waist and plump pussy all on display.
He instantly responds.
Without a word—but they say ninety percent of communication is nonverbal.
Lochlan proves that stat to be true.
His nostrils flare and hands flex at his sides. The same muscle in his masseter tightens, a sign he’s biting down hard on his jaw.
His chest rises, the breath he draws ragged, and I swear his eyes flick just a little bit lower—trying to take a look without overtly doing so and revealing his hand.
But it’s already too late.
The growing bulge in his pants almost makes me smirk.
I carefully step out of the tub, still without an ounce of modesty, and stride over to the towel rack. I take my time reaching for one and then lightly toweling off before wrapping it around my body.
The entire time Lochlan remains where he is in the doorway, more rooted to the spot than a statue. You’d think he’d forgotten how to move.
Lips quirking slightly, I stroll over as if coming off a long, luxurious day at the spa. It’s only as I reach him in the doorway that I pause long enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
“Thanks for the bath,” I say sweetly, peering up at him through my lashes. “It was exactly what I needed.”
Then I slip past him and out the door, for once leaving him more lost than he’s left me.
It’s the first time since I got here that I feel like I’m the one who won.
I replay the moment between me and Lochlan hours into the night.
I’m lying in my scratchy, springy bed, gaze stuck on the dark water-stained ceiling, and sleep refuses to come because my mind’s way too busy.
Every time I close my eyes I see the expression on his face as I seductively thanked him and then brushed past him.
Mr. Psychopath didn’t look so intimidating then.
He’d actually looked like he’d been hit by a truck.
A naked, curvy, wet, freshly bathed truck.
I press my thighs together and try to ignore the sense of thrill still buzzing through me.
There was something weirdly empowering about strutting around naked in front of a shocked and speechless yet sooo obviously pissed Lochlan.
I’m a bigger girl whose never been shy about loving the skin that I’m in.