Page 4 of His Captive

I smile narrowly back at him, it’s obvious the man’s petrified himself, and I appreciate him trying to make me feel better. Despite its hopelessness.

The sound of Rick sliding open the side door grinds deep in my stomach, and I’m the last one to step out. My black heel disappearing with a crunch into the white gravel driveway. I have to crane my neck to peer up at the mansion, it’s so much bigger than I’d imagined. Much more of a castle than a mansion, with weathered stone walls that look as though they reach right to the sky. Rick interrupts my admiring, by forcing a crate of champagne flutes into my hands.

“Don’t fuck this up!” he warns under his breath, at the same time faking a smile toward the smartly dressed older woman who stands at the entrance waiting to welcome us. I follow him and the ‘team’ inside the house. My hands shaking and causing the glasses to clink together in the crate I carry.

Inside the house is just as impressive as the outside. The large elaborate staircase being the first thing I notice as I step through the door. It splits two ways at the top and dominates the huge reception room. The whole place is so much grander than the blueprints I’ve seen prepared me for.

“Please follow me. The guests should be arriving around eight, so we don’t have much time.” The woman speaks sharply as she leads us toward the kitchen.

I follow her inside, placing my crate on the expensive marble worktop before heading back to the van to get more supplies.

With the van unloaded, and the canapes ready there is little left for me to do. Other than work myself up with more panic.

I excuse myself from the others and wander back out toward the foyer. If I remember correctly from the plans, it’s the second door in the hall that leads to the bathroom.

“Can I help you?” A clipped voice startles me, preventing me from opening the door.

I twist on my heels, my eyes sticking to the floor. When I finally find enough courage to lift them, I have to hold the gasp inside my mouth.

It’s him.

Ethan Shaw.

The master of the house.

I’ve seen his picture, so of course I knew he was handsome. But just like his beautiful home, the picture hadn’t done him nearly enough justice.

Ethan’s tall, standing at least a foot and a half higher than me. His almost black hair blends perfectly into well-groomed facial hair. The black tux he wears seems to highlight every perfect angle his body offers and completely distracts me from what I’m doing.

His palm rubs over his spikey jaw, while beautiful dark eyes assess me, expecting a response. Shit, what has he even asked?

“I…I was just looking for the bathroom,” I explain, my voice so pathetically feeble I doubt he’ll even hear it.

“You won’t find it there, the bathroom is the next room along.” The low, rough growl of his voice, combined with the all-out sexiness of the man, forms a different kind of stir in my stomach. One that tenses tightly and travels all the way down to my center.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I smile at him politely, turning and quickly making my way to the door that apparently does actually lead to the bathroom.

Then I wait until I’m inside, the door securely locked before I breathe out. When I look in the mirror, as expected, my face is flushed pink and my hair is a complete mess. Turning on the faucet, I dab some water onto my face to cool myself down. Then do a quick re-plait of my hair so it hangs neatly over my shoulder. I steady myself on the basin before I go back out, reminding my reflection that now is not the time for distractions.

Sorrento has to get what he wants. I can’t go on living in the constant fear I’ve existed in since Dad’s funeral.

So, I push Ethan Shaw right out of my thoughts, straighten myself out, and head back to the kitchen.

“Where the hell have you been?” Rick’s furious when I return.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” I tell him, picking up a tray that’s loaded with canapes. He shakes his head unimpressed, and pulls a tray of full champagne glasses onto his hand like a pro.

“Eight o’clock.” His eyes raise to the clock above my head.

“It’s showtime!” Using his back, he pushes open the kitchen door and disappears out toward the hall, ready to greet the guests.

Middle-aged guy winks at me, as he takes a tray of his own and follows after him.

This is it. No backing out now. All I can do is hope that tonight goes as planned, and that tomorrow morning I wake up with my freedom.

A few hours later, everything is going smoothly. Guests have arrived in their hoards and the room is bustling with chatter. After watching the guys disappear one by one, I pick up the slack, assuring their absence isn’t noticed. At least all the extra work is distracting me from my nerves.

It works well that watching Ethan is also one of my responsibilities, because I can’t seem to take my eyes off the man who we’re here to steal from.

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