Less than six months ago, I was traveling the world with Willow, learning, exploring and now I am here.
"Miss Lauder," the driver gets my attention, and I know I have to move.
While I don’t fully understand the business my future husband is involved in, or how it works, I do know that he is dangerous. I know he has hands in every pot and people in all the places, even the ones you least expect. It's likely my driver is just as deadly, and I am not stupid enough to test his patience just to see what could happen.
I do have some survival instincts after all, and this isn't a battle I'd win.
My heels touch down on the smooth pavement and as I climb from the car, a wind so cold it feels like it touches my bones, sweeps through the estate.
Even the weather is warning me to turn around, high tail it out of here and hide.
I flinch with the sound of the car door slamming. I expect the driver to leave but he doesn't, instead he steps up next to me and guides me forward, a hand at my back but not touching, almost like he knows I’m flighty and is preparing to grab me in case I decide to run.
I glance at the shiny black Louis Vuitton’s on my feet and stifle a laugh. There’s no way I'm running in these shoes, and the gravel on the drive will just tear up my skin. The grass, however, could work, but then I’d have to figure out how to scale that ten-foot wall surrounding the estate. It’s tempting, but logically Iknow there is no escape.
My mind is still conjuring escape plans as my feet hit the top step of the porch and the front door swings open immediately, drawing my focus. An older woman with silver hair threaded throughout the dark strands steps out, as if she was waiting behind it this whole time, ready for the right moment to announce her presence. She's dressed entirely in black, age lines her face but I wouldn't put her much past her fifties, even if her expression, the downturn of her lips and the sneer, makes her appear much older.
"Mr. Farrow is waiting in the drawing room," she says, her voice as cold as her expression, "Follow me."
I step over the threshold, the warmth of the house immediately chasing away the cold. It is entirely unexpected inside as much as the outside was, homely is the only way to describe it. I am not sure why I anticipated an almost sterile environment; I had an image in my head of all white walls with little personality, not this.
The foyer is decked with greenery, the walls an off-white color and a stag horn chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Art is mounted on the walls, paintings of forests and snowcapped mountains, and a lake that draws my attention more than the others. I find my feet pulling toward it, the hues of greys and whites and blues almost hypnotizing. It’s a huge lake painted in winter, with snowy shores and huge, towering pines that border it like sentinel guards. The sky is light grey, and the artist has even managed to paint little pockets of snow between the trees. If I couldn't see the delicate strokes of paint, I'd believe it was a photograph.
"Miss Lauder," I startle at the stern way she calls my name, "This way, if you'll please."
"Right," I nod, flicking my eyes some more around the space. Ahead of me is a huge staircase that leads to a level that then splits off left and right, but I can't see further than that. There’s a closed door to the left that we don’t go in and more rooms down a dark hall next to the stairs.
I follow her down a separate corridor with more closed doors before we come out into a huge kitchen. Oak wood counters wrap around the space with every appliance you could ever need, a huge double fridge dominates one wall and in the center is an oak wood island, red velvet stools placed around it. A vase full of flowers sits in the center and the space is lit by spotlights placed in the ceiling. There is a set of French doors that looks to lead out onto a patio and as much as I want to go there, I can't as the woman steers me downanothercorridor toward a door that is ajar at the end.
This house is huge, I can imagine how easy it would be to get lost in it. It smells of burning logs and cinnamon, a cozy scent that wraps around me and tries to put me at ease. I have enough wits about me not to fall for it.
The woman taps her knuckles on the door even though it’s open and his deep voice calls from the other side.
"Come in," he says, his tone a rumble that zaps down my spine. It has a similar feel to that first sip of whiskey, it burns a little but warms you as you take it down, leaving behind a tingle that makes you cravemore. My skin prickles as I take a step forward, my hand barely touching the door as I push it open.
The first thing I see is the fire crackling in the hearth, the flames strong and warm as they lick the bricks on the inside. My eyes follow the line up, seeing a mantel made of oak, a gleaming gold statue of a stag resting in the center and hanging in the middle of the flute is a huge painting of a woman, she has no features, and her back is facing me, her head turned to look over her shoulder. The background is black where she is bright, like a light in the shadows, her white dress hugging the curves the artist has painstakingly painted. Her hair is pulled up but wisps float around her face.
I focus on that instead of the desk to the right where I know he is sitting.
There's a set of leather couches and chairs on the left side of the room, surrounding a dark wooden table. In the corner sits a grand piano, the gleaming black making my fingers itch to press on the ivory keys. I haven't played for a while but it’s a skill one doesn’t forget.
With nothing more to look at, I finally draw my eyes to the man that makes the room feel much too small.
Malakai remains seated in his huge high back chair, the thing resembling more a throne than a desk chair, behind his obnoxiously large desk. A laptop is in front of him, the lid pulled down but not closed. There's a stack of papers, a leather bound notebook with an embossed symbol on the front I can’t make out from here, and a tray with crystal glasses and adecanter of whiskey. But that’s it. Despite the absolute size of the desk, there's barely anything on it.
A feline grin tugs up the sides of his mouth and his eyes lick down the length of me.
I'm hit with just how stunning the man is, but his beauty comes with a price. He's a predator, a monster and as the door clicks closed, locking me in the room with him, I suddenly feel like I've become his prey.
"Olivia," he purrs my name, finally standing from behind the desk. I remain still, barely breathing, my feet rooted to the spot as he stalks toward me. His finger curls beneath my chin and he tilts my face up to keep his eyes on mine. He has over a foot on me in height, and if he hadn't tipped my chin up, my eyes would have been level with his chest.
I can't breathe with him so close, his scent invades my senses, a mix of citrus and spice and despite the sheer size of him, his hand on my chin is gentle, the rough callouses on his fingers scratching my skin.
He leans in, close enough I feel his breath fan across my lips.
That grin stretches higher, something dangerous flashing in his eyes as he whispers in a voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire. "Welcome home."
Chapter Two
