CHAPTER 13
Catherine
I sensed him, the same tickling of current that electrified the air the moment he stepped into a room.
He was a dangerous presence, even more so while sitting in the dark. With the blinds partially open, the shimmer of the full moon provided a shadowed silhouette. He was stretched out in the plush chair, his long legs spread wide open, one arm casually draped over the armrest.
He was watching me sleep.
Waiting.
Hungering.
I could smell it on him as I did an entirely different scent than before. Something fresher, a mere hint of citrus mixed with a ruddiness of an exotic wood. He said nothing, the light rise and fall of his chest possibly indicating he’d fallen asleep while waiting for me to awaken. But I knew better.
The predator rarely slept, perhaps keeping a protective watch or maybe a further determination I wouldn’t escape. As if the guards posted outside the bedroom door and pacing the lawn below my window weren’t enough to keep me from disobeying him.
Hours had passed, the early twilight fading into an overwhelming blackness. As promised, he’d had bags of clothes brought to my room, food and drink to keep me nourished. The fruits and cheeses remained untouched, the water consumed, and the clothes strewn across the room in a fit of fury.
How dare he keep me prisoner. I’d paced the floor for hours, demonizing him in every way possible. I’d made mental lists of the charges I could bring against him, almost idolizing the notoriety I’d receive when putting him behind bars. I’d savored the thought of the years he’d spend in prison with no chance for parole.
Or redemption.
I’d also fallen prey to the feeling of emptiness exposing the ugly desire that refused to disappear. Without trying, he’d managed to awaken something deep and painfully twisted within me, sparking mental and emotional debate while longing for his touch.
And his rough kisses.
Every inch of me was sore, especially between my legs. Nothing about him was gentle, but that only increased the craving that had kept me from focusing. At some point, I’d need to bargain my way out of this mess. But I doubted he would let me go before the weekend was up.
Maybe I wasn’t fighting hard enough because I just didn’t want him to.
I’d questioned what kind of woman craved a dominant criminal instead of any of the nice but boring law-abiding men I worked with. I’d had one or two ask me out for coffee or a drink. I’d politely refused after realizing their entire lives were all about impressing someone.
The boss.
A family member.
Maybe an old girlfriend.
They rarely did anything spontaneous and almost never had an opinion that didn’t speak the office party lines. Maybe that’s why until a few hours before, I hadn’t gotten laid in over two years. I’d told myself it was so I could sink every available hour into my career so that in a few years, I could purchase a nice little house in the suburbs. I’d been lying to myself.
Yet the quiet fib had grown old over the last few months.
Now he was here, taking up space in a beautiful room that seemed nothing like him. The luxury was evident in everything from the furniture to the soft bedding, yet nothing seemed as if he’d made the selections.
Even in his silence, his presence was overwhelming. Perhaps if I remained quiet, he’d find himself growing bored and would leave me alone.
After Alexander had left and the few hours of pacing, I’d finally convinced myself I could shut down my feelings for him.
But here he was wearing a provocative scent, owning the chair and the room without uttering a single word. Just as he’d done with everything else, including me. The convictions I’d grabbed, locking behind plates of armor were suddenly in threat of being tossed aside as another wave of lust formed explosive heat between my legs.
He pulled his hand to his face and I realized his long fingers were wrapped around a drink. Why did I have a feeling I was right that he never slept, maybe rarely ate, and could consume alcohol for hours without being affected? This felt like a game and one he was willing to wait for to continue playing.
I refused to play by his rules.
As I turned over, doing everything I could to avoid another confrontation, the stiff cotton of the shirt I was wearing brushed against my aching backside. Every time I moved, I was reminded of the harsh spanking, which was a clear indication of what he had in store for me.
Punishment whenever necessary.
