Page 690 of One More Kiss

Chapter8

A blanketof sinister clouds eclipses the moon, plunging the plantation into oppressive gloom. The backdrop of pitch black shows zero sign of civilization beyond the hacienda. From behind a manicured hedge flanking the winding pathway, a drenched Alsatian circles us on the stones until Tomás mutters a sharp command and it skulks off.

There’s no shelter from the downpour, not even the enormous trees offer a reprieve. They just sway back and forth like demons of the underworld, tainted by darkness. The closer we get to the substantial two-tiered mansion with pastel white walls and pillars, the more my heart races. Rain splattered windows glow from within. It’s not welcoming or majestic, more like incandescent eyes beckoning lost souls into the flames of purgatory. And tonight, that lost soul is me.

A figure lingers under a bow of twisted vines dappled with delicate windswept blooms. A cap shields watchful eyes from the storm and nods respectfully on our approach, only for the soldier to slink into the shadows when Tomás passes him.

Tomás stalks toward the house, veering left rather than moving to the front of the property. Wind whips my hair, the strands sticking to my lashes. I’m angrily trotting behind him, with no other choice than to show obedience. If that’s what he wants to call it. I had weighed my options and picked him over Elias. Had Tomás truly wanted me dead, I’d already be torn to pieces by now.

Instead, I’m managing a wobbly pace in muddy sandals, heading towards a simple wooden door discreetly positioned beyond a screen of overgrown bushes. I follow him indoors, dripping wet and shivering. My chest heaves with every pant, our hurried pace taking its toll on me. He waves his hand into the night air as if signaling to someone and then closes the door with a gentle click, his muscles tight and mouth even tighter.

“I’ll lock up, sir.” A rough-looking guy sporting a plaited goatee and wearing a Hawaiian shirt saunters along the hallway, his steely eyes trained to the doorway as he speaks in a hushed rumble. “The surveillance cameras will be up and running again in a minute.”

Tomás nods, his dusky eyes pinning me to the slate gray slabs of an austere hallway, which I assume by its bland appearance is the staff entrance. I refuse to fall into the disorientating expanse of his stare all over again, purposefully tearing my gaze away from his face.

Soft light catches the waterfall of droplets covering his sculpted chest. The very setting where my eyes land. My cheeks feel flush, the thrum of my pulse charging through me. Without thought, I dab my top lip, cautiously hiding the disturbance in my unruly libido.

He lifts his finger to his mouth and signals for silence, then nods his head, beckoning for me to continue following behind.

In tandem, we climb a set of stairs and walk along a corridor leading to the rear of the building. Tomás opens another door, pauses as he checks the opposite side, and then saunters through.

We immediately step into luxury I'd expect from such a wealthy family, where priceless artwork lines high walls and a plush carpet soften every step. The steady tick of a grandfather clock slows time. An intermittent metronome counting down the seconds to my incarceration.

Beyond a set of twin doors, Tomás’ lair awaits. I hesitate by the entrance, uncertainty scratching its way through my gut with pointed talons and no way of escape. Even my emotions are trapped, my racing mind is just as confused as my senses.

He stops in the middle of the large suite, slowly doing a one-eighty until we face each other in a silent standoff. I freeze, stuck in his far reaching shadow sprawling over a stone colored rug.

I watch his finger lift and leisurely crook to summon me inside the room that screams of unadulterated masculinity. The lump in my throat bobs uncomfortably when I gulp.

His dark persona glows beneath a crown of lamplight, and a few remaining raindrops glisten on tanned skin giving his solid torso a jeweled complexion. But a flicker of the unknown edges his features, something I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes before. Something terribly wicked.

“In. Now. And shut the doors,” he demands, his tone tipped with frost.

A central black bed frame with pointed corner posts is softened by alabaster sheets, precisely tucked under the mattress, and a sprawling downy duvet resembles a layer of untouched snow. At the foot of it, two oblong bolster cushions sit at opposite ends of an upholstered bench as if their positions were equally measured. At a quick count, six silky pillows line the padded headboard with the seventh resting proud of place, the letter ‘s’ stitched into its ebony material.

My gaze travels around the almost black walls, darting from one strategically hung piece of artwork to the next. The images are unusual, somehow illustrating various degrees of chaos. He doesn’t need to turn on the lights as amber bulbs without shades already alter the mood to offer a sensual haze.

I bite my lip, the rush of nerves fluttering in my throat. Does he expect me to spend the night in that bed with him?

The second I pivot to draw the doors together; he strolls up from behind me to reach around my waist and easily locks us in together with a twist of a key.

His mouth dips to the side of my face. The only thing touching me is liquored, warm breath. “Leave your clothes by the door.”

The order scurries over my scalp with equal measures of trepidation and desire. A heatwave prickles my spine, quickly cooling as he leisurely backs away and prowls through the symmetrically arranged room.

I rotate on the spot, reluctant to move. The gravity of this situation ripples over me in waves, each one cresting higher than the one before. I’m afraid, having entered his private domain as the enemy. A woman to use as he pleases, without regret or remorse.

The comforting habit of tracing my top lip fails to appease the anxiety as edgy anticipation fizzes through my veins. My stomach churns with dread. I slip out of the damp shorts, unbutton the now see-through blouse, and fold them both into a neat pile on the floor. Next, I carefully lower to unwind the straps twisting my sore ankles, letting my bare feet flatten on the softest rug when the espadrilles are finally removed. After revealing my all to him earlier, I’m no longer concerned for my appearance. It gives me a boldness I’m certain he's not expecting.

“Can I have something else to wear?” I say in a whisper, unsure if I’m allowed to speak at this point.

Earthy black eyes study me for the longest moment. Then he begins to drag his own shorts down his powerful thighs. The intensity of his stare never wavering. My neck stretches high in defiance of his strip tease, eyes fixed to his face to prevent my hungry gaze chasing the material.

I’ve wasted lustful thoughts wondering how magnificent his naked physique would be, and now that he’s before me, confident and divine, I like what I’m pretending not to see.

His mouth curls at the side like he’s aware I’m refusing to stare at the thick cock hitting his navel. Intimidation is his cruel game of choice this evening.

I have no doubt women drop at his feet, doing whatever he demands in a bid to obey him. He has high expectations woven through his naturally dominant demeanor.

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