Page 19 of Kept

I shake my head and fan fresh air towards my face at the memory of the cramped, dark space. I would have done anything to get out of that fucking trunk. Nothing good happens in tight spaces.

I reach towards the nightstand for my phone before remembering that I don’t have a phone anymore. I don’t see a clock, but the bright sun outside my windows tells me it’s already well past my normal wake up time. Once I swing out of the plush bed, my feet sink into the soft, thick carpeting. I pad in my bare feet over to the door and try the handle. Locked.

Of course it is.

I avail myself of the facilities again and then start to pace around the room. On my third lap, I decide this is ridiculous. The bedroom has large windows with an amazing view of the Hudson River. I pull back the curtains and settle into the patch of sunlight warming the carpet. I stretch out my arms and legs before working on a series of twists that relax the muscles in my back. The yoga routine is familiar and comfortable, a relaxing muscle memory activity. I’m trying to get the best out of dancer pose when the stupid hulk-sized t-shirt flops around in my face again. This is dumb.

I pull the shirt off and toss it on the bed, the fabric releasing a burst of spicy, woodsy cologne as it goes. I slept in just the shirt, his shirt apparently, so now I’m sitting naked in a puddle of sunlight like a cat on a warm winter day. In other circumstances, it might be considered pleasant. I resume my stretches and yoga and am working through a downward facing dog pose when I hear a deep, masculine voice behind me.

“I didn’t know nude yoga was a thing, but I certainly approve.”

I shriek, falling into a startled tangle of limbs. Standing, I face him but cover my breasts with my crossed arms. “What the fuck are you doing here? Get out!”

“It’s my house,” he purrs, stepping closer.

“Give me that shirt,” I order, pointing at the bed.

“Not a fucking chance, kitten.” He creeps closer.

I step back. I can feel his eyes running up and down my body, leaving a trail of wildfire in their path. I take another step back, until my ass bumps against a small set of drawers.

His eyes—deep brown and flecked with gold in the morning light—don’t leave mine. I keep one arm across my breasts while the other blindly flaps around behind me, reaching for anything that could be a weapon. My fingers wrap around a thick leather book.

“Get out!”

“No.”

“I mean it!”

He gives me a sinister smile. “Me too.”

So I throw the book at him. Literally.

He dodges it expertly and we both turn to see what exactly it was that I threw.

“Did you just chuck a Bible at me?” Vincent looks at me with a quirked eyebrow.

I look from his now amused face, to the book, and back. Not sounding as brave as I’d like to, I crack an awkward smile. “Begone, Satan!” I try to yell it, but it comes out sounding like more of an odd question instead.

“My brother is going to be very mad you threw his Bible on the ground, kitten.” He casually picks it up and puts it on a nightstand.

“Now,” he says, unbuckling his belt and slowly, dramatically pulling it from every loop, “where did we leave off last night?” He fixes those beautiful, dark, terrifying eyes on me.

I do the only sane thing. I run.

I dart past him, out the open bedroom door, and dash past the sofa we sat on last night.

His arms wrap around my waist, squeezing air from my lungs on a yelp.

He chuckles. “Skittish little kitten, aren’t you?”

He throws me over his shoulder and stalks deeper into the house. Past the bedroom I slept in, up a short flight of stairs, and then I’m flying through the air, landing in a heap in the middle of a bed covered with soft, thick blankets.

That smell like him.

Oh my god.

“What the?—”

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