He’s practically naked, his white briefs stretched over his crotch so tight that I don’t have to imagine what’s under there. He’s broad shouldered, hard muscles shifting as I watch, tan all over with a golden olive glow, and his black hair shines with an almost blue sheen in the sunshine. And he’s covered in scars, the story of his life so far.
He’ssofucking hot I could die…and I still might.
I find my voice. “I wasn’t kidding about helping you. If you tell me everything you know about what happened that day, I can—”
He holds up a hand. “That’s not how this will work. You will answer questions,topolino, not ask them. But first things first. After you have eaten your fill, I want you to explain to me thisCute Crimswebsite.”
ExplainCute Crims?I turn that over in my mind for a minute. There’s not much to explain. It’s right there in the name of the website. But I just nod, because Alessandro doesn’t seem like he’s in the mood for backchat.
“I—I’m done,” I say, putting the last corner of my third croissant down on the plate.
He looks me over. “You’d better clean yourself up before we begin,” he sighs, and stands. “Up,” he commands, when I stay right where I am.
I pull myself up with my hands on the table. “Please don’t make me go back down there,” I whisper.
He leans in, touching his ear. “What’s that, little mouse?”
“I don’t want to go back underground.” I say it loud enough that I’m pretty sure Wilson, who is waiting inside, can hear me, too.
“What you want or don’t want has little relevance,” Alessandro says. “But as it happens, you won’t be going back down there…yet.” He gives an up-nod and the butler bustles out to take his orders. “I will be taking my guest up to my rooms. We are not to be disturbed.”
I’m happy enough to not be going back down to the cells that I forget to be nervous until we get inside the house again. Halfway up the staircase, as I stare at Alessandro’s cotton-covered ass, watch the powerful muscles moving under his skin as he leads me, I realize what he just said.
His rooms. I’m about to see Alessandro Castellani’s bedroom.
“Did you squeak something, little mouse?” he asks, casting a glance over his shoulder.
I shake my head so fast I get dizzy. But deep in the house, I hear a clock striking nine, and it gets me thinking. Mom is going to besomad at me if she finds out about any of this.
When we hit the landing, I pause. Alessandro beckons me to follow, but I don’t follow.
“What is it?” he asks, with an edge of impatience.
“People might be worried about me.”
He comes to me, takes my arm, and marches me onward. “Peopleshouldbe worried about you.”
* * *
I assumed we were heading to his bedroom, but the first area is like another home altogether—a living room, maybe, only there’s a pool table to the side, a wet bar, a giant wall-mounted TV… I stare around, but Alessandro pulls me through. “You can gawk later. Right now, you need a wash. You stink of the cells.”
I give myself a surreptitious sniff as he drags me through a bedroom—the fleeting impression I have is of rich colors and fabrics—and find that he’s right. His jacket still has the faintest scent of his cologne, but under that…
Yeah, I need a shower.
I’m in the bathroom before I know it, a huge, luxurious space that reminds me of a high-end spa I went to once. Gold-veined marble, granite flooring, gleaming brass fittings…
I feel even dirtier standing there in the middle of all this opulence. The cupboard I hid in last night was a mess, and then I spent all night in that horrible place under the Manor—
I can’t help giving another shiver, and thinking of Julian, still stuck down there. Though he didn’t seem to mind it like I did.
“Well?” Alessandro’s impatience makes me jump.
“What?”
“Are you going to undress and wash, or are you going to stand there shaking in your shoes?”
I stare mutely at him. Does he—does he expect me to strip in front of him? Wash in front of him? Go to thebathroomin front of him? Because I really,reallyneed to go. I’ve been holding it in since last night, because I couldn’t bear to use the metal toilet set into the corner of the cell.
