“Oh no, I can’t impose. You’ve already done so much. I can get a cab.”
He sauntered across to where she stood in the living room and, taking her by surprise, he gently traced a finger over the bridge of her nose as if connecting the few freckles she had there. Those pale blue eyes drifted to her lips. Lingered. Tension crept into the stark lines of his striking face as if he were fighting some inner battle. Fingers clenching, he dropped his hand. “Ten minutes, Darci.”
She stared for several long minutes at the empty doorway he’d disappeared through, her emotions all over the place. How could a simple touch unravel her so easily? Then Blaéz’s words hit her.Ten minutes?Damn it. She unglued her fingers from her phone, dropped it in her bag, and hurried to the dressing room for her shoes.
She could hear the shower running as she hunted around for it.
Cherrywood cupboards and shelves lined the walls on both sides, and adjacent, a floor-length mirror that reflected the entire room was mounted onto a wood-paneled wall. Darci found her pumps near the bureau and slipped them on. Setting her tote on the wooden chest, she searched through it for her travel-size moisturizer and quickly went through her facial care routine.
As she tried to put some kind of order to her damp, curling hair, the bathroom door opened.
Blaéz walked out. A towel draped precariously low on his hips. She gaped, speechless because what else could a girl do? Droplets of water rolled down his lightly tanned body. The man was a powerhouse of muscles. His sheer sensuality slithered around her and tightened like a silken trap.
He ran his fingers through his short dark strands as he crossed to his closet near her. The tattoo on his biceps caught her attention. He was the epitome of big, bad, and dangerous, so it actually surprised her to see that he sported just that single piece of ink.
The jet-black artwork appeared almost ethereal in design; a myriad of detailing and symbols made up the blade. “That’s an unusual tattoo.”
He glanced at her. “It’s a sword.”
She snorted. “I can see that.”
His lips quirked as he pulled out a pair of jeans, then the towel dropped. Her breath caught at the side view of a perfect male backside.
Jesus!Was he trying to kill her?
She pivoted, grabbed a hair clamp from her tote and gripped her hair.
Wait, were there scars on his back? Her heart pounding hard, she dared a look at him through the mirror, but he’d already pulled on a t-shirt. Perhaps she’d imagined those puckered, crisscrossing slashes? With everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours—her attack, the smoke woman, and a dire lack of sleep—she wasn’t surprised at her overworked imagination. Still, the images left a raw, clawing sensation in her stomach.
Blaéz straightened from pulling on his boots. He met her gaze in the mirror. “Ready?”
Caught staring at him, warmth surged into her cheeks. She nodded.
“Breakfast?”
“It’s too early. I’ll get something at work.” She picked up her tote and followed him out of the room, every bit of her aware of him.
“We’ll stop off at the police station first,” he said as they headed toward the stairs, “and you can file charges against those men.”
“Oh…” She pressed a hand to her suddenly churning tummy.
“There’s no need to fear, I’ll be with you.”
He would, she knew. That calmed her a little. “Thank you.”
Moments later, they stepped outside into warm, early morning sunshine. Darci faltered to a stop on the marbled portico and gawked at the view surrounding her.
Miles and miles of rolling park-like grounds spread out on either side of her. A circular driveway headed back into the tall trees in the distance. As the morning sun climbed up from behind them, it reflected off the castle. Thick, climbing green ivy diminished the starkness of the gray walls.
She’d known this was a castle, but still, nothing prepared her for the sheer breathtaking beauty of it, like she’d fallen into a fairytale. She walked down the few steps then looked up to the top of the building at the imposing towers, crenelated battlement, and terraces in all their glorious splendor.
“This place is incredible. Where exactly are we?”
“On our island estate just off Manhasset Bay—on Long Island Sound.”
Her gaze snapped to him. They owned an island? It shouldn’t fit this lethal man, but yet, it somehow did. Her gaze drifted back to the front of the circular driveway, and her eyes widened at the sleek black predator parked there. Much like the man himself.
A Bugatti Veyron. Why did she think he’d drive one of those badass SUVs?
