I climb out of the pool slowly, exaggerating the sway of my hips as I walk to the lounge chair. I imagine this is how one of the girls in my romance novels would move. Slow and sexy. The sun-warmed stone burns my feet, but I don't rush my movements. I take my time spreading out my towel, arranging myself perfectly, my heart hammering in my chest as I plot my next move.
‘Don’t be a little Bitch, Liana.’
Then, with deliberate movements, I reach behind my back and untie my bikini top. My heart hammers harder as I pull it away. I've never done anything like this before…never been naked outside and never deliberately exposed myself to a man's gaze. But there's power in it, I realize, as I lie back on the lounger. Power in choosing when and how to be seen. And I want him to see me.
I slide my sunglasses on and close my eyes, but I'm hyperaware of the window above, of Frankie still standing there. Is he shocked? Angry? Does he like what he sees? I can't see his expression from here, but I imagine his jaw clenching and his eyes darkening as he watches me. It’s thrilling.
The thought sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the water drying on my skin. What would it be like, I wonder, if he came down here? If those tattooed hands touched me and traced the water droplets down my stomach…lower? Would he be gentle or would he pin me down and take what he wants with the same intensity he does everything else?
My body responds to the fantasy, nipples tightening despite the heat. I've never ever been kissed by a boy before, let alone a man. I imagine the encounter would have been fumbling and awkward had I been allowed to see boys back home. Ones who probably would have been more scared ofmy family name than interested in me. Nothing like what I imagine with Frankie.
I've read enough romance novels to picture it perfectly. His weight pressing me into the mattress and his mouth hot on my neck, my stomach…my thighs. Would he take his time and teach me what my body wants? Or would he be rough, demanding and overwhelming?
The thought makes me bite my lip and squeeze my thighs together, a pulse of need surprising me with its intensity. I shouldn't want this. I shouldn't want him. He's my jailer, my warden and the man keeping me prisoner until I'm handed off to someone else. And yet…I can’t stop myself from wanting it as my hands subconsciously run down my stomach.
When I finally open my eyes and lift my sunglasses, squinting against the sun, the window is empty. He’s gone. Disappointment crashes through me, followed quickly by embarrassment. What was I thinking? He probably walked away the moment I took my top off, disgusted by my childish attempt at…what? Seduction? Rebellion?
I sit up quickly, covering myself with my arms, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with nakedness.
‘Stupid, stupid girl. You shouldn’t be playing games you don't understand.’
I reach for my top, curiosity taking over my embarrassment. Where did he go? What is he doing in that forbidden wing that's so important he spends all day locked away there? Before I can second-guess myself, I'm tying my bikini back in place, wrapping a sarong around my waist, and heading inside. My bare feet make no sound on the cool marble floors as I navigate through the house with my heart in my throat. Pita is nowhere in sight and the corridor I was warned not to go down stretches before me. This is my chance…maybe my only chance to see what he's doing, or hiding. I need to understand something, anything, about the strange situation I've found myself in.
I take a deep breath and step into forbidden territory, the thrill of defiance making my pulse skip. Whatever consequences come, they can't be worse than this limbo I'm trapped in…can they?
Chapter Nine
Liana
The forbidden wing is bigger than I imagined. Huge, really. It’s like a whole other house I didn’t know existed. I sneak through, the shadows making me jump at just the slightest sound. My heart is pounding so loud I’m half-convinced it’ll give me away. If I get caught, I'll surely be in trouble. Water drips from my hair, but I barely notice it as I sneak through, my curiosity dragging me along whether I like it or not. I turn a corner and freeze. I swear I hear a sound behind the next door. Then another comes. A curse, low and rough.
“Pinche.”
It’s Frankie’s voice except it’s not the Frankie I know. This one’s raw, almost guttural and it sends a low flutter through my stomach. I press myself against the wall, straining to hear more. He must be pissed or maybe yelling at someone on the phone? Maybe he called Rio to tattle on me? Another few seconds pass and then I catch the edge of his breathing. Itsounds heavy and unsteady. Maybe he’s working out? This isn’t where the gym is though…
He curses again and suddenly it hits me. Heat slams into me hard and I find myself bracing against the door. Lust. That’s what’s in his voice. Is he touching himself? My body reacts before my brain can process it and a slow, liquid ache settles between my legs. My mind whirls with visions of him naked and hard. His large tattooed hand wrapped around his cock as he strokes himself to the sight of me topless at the pool. At least I can only hope that’s what he’s imagining. I know I should leave. I should turn around and pretend I never heard a thing. But I can’t. I’m rooted to the spot, desperately wishing his hands were on me instead. What is wrong with me?
I lean in, cheek pressed to the cold wood of the door, my pulse hammering. The door gives a little and I freeze. It’s open just enough for me to catch a glimpse through the crack.
‘Jesus.’
It’s better than I ever imagined. Frankie sits in a leather chair with his legs spread, facing the window…the same window that looks out over the pool. His jeans are open, cock out, thick and hard in his tattooed fist as he pumps himself slowly. He looks like a God, completely shirtless, his ink swirling across every muscle. Every inch of him is a map of violence and beauty. The tattoos crawl up his chest and up to his throat where a white flower blooms under his neck. I want to touch it but everything about this man suddenly terrifies me. I can’t move. I can’t even breathe as I devour every inch of his body, saving it for later when I’m alone in my bed.
His head tips back and his jaw clenches as his hand moves faster over himself. The muscles in his arm flex causing his veins to stand out. It’s so hot, I might actually be drooling. The flower on his neck seems to pulse with everyragged breath. It’s obscene and beautiful. It’s scary and thrilling and I can’t look away.
I’m so lost in it that I don’t notice when his rhythm stutters. When his eyes snap open and he sees me. By the time I realize, he’s already moving towards me. Three strides and he’s at the door, shoving himself back into his jeans. I barely have time to flinch before his hand is on my throat, gripping me. He’s not choking me, just holding me there as he stares down at me. His eyes are black with fury.
“What the fuck are you doing in this wing?” He growls. “I told you it was off limits.”
I should be terrified. Instead, I’m burning up from the inside out. And I can smell him…sweat, cedar, gunpowder and something darker. It makes my head spin and I can barely think straight enough to form a full sentence.
“I saw you,” I say, managing to keep my voice steadier than I expect. “Watching me at the pool.”
His jaw tightens but he doesn’t deny it. So he was watching me. For how long? My eyes drop to the bulge in his jeans. He’s still hard and the thought makes me shiver. Something reckless takes over as I reach for him and my palm presses against his bulge. His eyes go wide, then narrow, and a feral sound rips out of him. His grip tightens on my neck causing my other hand to fly up and grip his fingers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he grits out.
“Finishing what you started,” I whisper. I barely recognize myself right now. Who is this girl who suddenly has grown balls of steel? He shoves my hand away quickly like it burns him.
