Page 45 of His Captive

I don’t want to give her that…

I want to ruin her, and so far I’m doing a real shit job of it.

I tap my fingers impatiently against the wicker while I wait for her. She arrives eventually, carrying two cups in her hands, and placing one of them in front of me.

“I made it myself, to say sorry.” She bites at the corner of her cheek, creating the most adorable lopsided smile I’ve ever seen. I thank her with a nod and take a sip. Somehow I manage to resist the urge to spit it back out again. Lysetta may be beautiful, but her coffee tastes like shit. Something stops me from telling her that though as I place my cup back on the table.

“I like this room,” she tells me, taking in her surroundings. The conservatory has a great view, I can see why she would appreciate it. You can see for miles through the tall clear glass windows.

“Your grounds are beautiful,” she says, admiring them.

“Buddy does a good job.” I lean forward and risk another sip of the coffee.

“So, what’s Buddy’s story? Does he have family?” she asks, curling her feet up on to the chair, and making herself comfortable.

Yeah, he has family, he has me. That’s all he needs, but I’m not about to tell her that.

“He kind of came with the property,” I tell her, because technically it isn’t a lie. He’d been working here when I’d brought the place. That’s a fact.

“How about you, do you have family?” she continues her questioning.

“No, I don’t,” I answer her sharply, and Mrs. Pritchard arrives just in time, placing a tray in front of us that contains two bowls of porridge, and a third bowl heaped with fresh fruit for us to share. Her straight mouth pulls up and she gives Lysa a warm smile before she steps away.

Christ she’s even managed to win over the battle-axe…

When we’ve finished breakfast, I leave Lysa in the conservatory reading to start on some work in my office.

Buddy lets himself in a few hours later looking nervous, Jesus, what could she have possibly done already?

“What?” I bark, and Buddy lets out a long breath.

“What the fuck’s she done now?”

“It’s not the girl, boss, well not really.”

“Fuck’s sake, Bud. What?” I raise my voice. I hate raising my voice at him, but I feel like I’m losing control. Even of my own fucking mind.

“It’s this.” He steps forward and places the newspaper in front of me, then takes a step back again. I rip it up from my desk, eying him suspiciously before I take a look, and I swear an artery in my brain erupts when I see what is on the page.

Ivan Sorrento, in his office, my Snow Tail hanging on the wall behind him.

I read the article, some shit about what his development is going to bring to Cooper’s Ridge. All of it, complete horse shit.

The purpose of the photo is to rile me, his chance to display what he’s taken.

I crumple the paper in my hands, scrunching the cunts face up inside my palm.

Then I look up to Buddy.

“Book me a table at the bistro tonight for eight. For two,” I tell him, standing up from my desk.

I march back to where I’ve left her, and find her still there, in the conservatory, her head planted in the same book she was reading when I left her earlier.

She looks up the moment she senses me, and her lips part into a smile that I try not to let warm me from the inside out. She’s becoming harder and harder to resist.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” I tell her, watching as her eyes stretch wide in shock.

“Wear the white dress, your hair down, and nothing on your face.”

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