Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
As we get closer to the home, the thick forest begins to thin out until it’s nothing but manicured grass with tidy bushes lining the driveway. It opens up wider into a big circular bay, and as the driver begins to pull around it, a wave of anxious nerves pulses through my veins.
I sink lower into my seat and spare a glance at the stranger beside me.
He sits casually with one foot propped up on his knee and his elbow resting against the groove in the door as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. He glances out the window overlooking his expansive property, but he knows I’m watching him. I have a feeling this is a man who misses nothing. However, if he doesn’t care that he holds my attention, then I’ll take in every last detail until he demands I stop.
He’s so tall that even in this huge SUV, his head is nearly skimming the roof while his knees are almost touching the driver’s seat before him. On the other hand, my knees are nowhere near touching the seat in front of me. I’m barely five foot three.
The SUV pulls to a stop, and my hands shake violently in my lap. The engine idles as the driver puts the car into park and pushes his door wide, making his way around. My Romanian captor exits the car first, and just as I’m left wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do, the driver appears at my door, pulling it open before waving me out. “Miss,” he says with a curt nod, barely sparing me a glance.
I swallow hard, my stomach flipping with unease as I slide out of the SUV and trail around to face the impressive home. Mr. DoAsISayOrSufferTheConsequences is already halfway up the stairs, and I hurry after him, not sure what it would mean to keep him waiting, though I doubt I want to find out.
It seems so much colder here than back at the abandoned industrial estate, and I try to ignore the way my body shakes. It could be the temperature, or it could be out of pure fear of the unknown. It’s all too clear that my life changed the second I laid eyes on this man in the darkest corner of the underground warehouse, but stepping inside his home makes it real. I don’t know what to expect or what he intends for me. All I know is that one foot out of line is going to see me occupying a shallow grave.
By the time he reaches the top step, the door opens from within, and he strides right through it without bothering to glance back at me. I scurry after him, finding his home alive with staff, despite the late hour.
A doorman stands just inside the foyer, silently welcoming me and ignoring the state of my undress like it’s a regular occurrence. He simply closes the door behind me and takes a step out of the way, silently blending into the background but staying close to be available to his boss.
My stride slows as my gaze sails around the large foyer, trying to take in as much as I can before he catches me lagging behind. But when he moves to the adjoining living area and hands his suit jacket to an older lady who I can only assume is his housekeeper, I make sure to be right there at his beck and call.
He turns toward me in a black dress shirt, his top two buttons undone, showing off just a sliver of tanned skin and the top of what I can tell are very defined pecs. He slowly rolls up his sleeves to his elbows as he watches me, and while he looks casual and relaxed, I doubt he’s anything but.
“This is my home. Your home,” he tells me in that thick accent. I keep myself a few feet away and watch nervously as his housekeeper scurries out of the room. “This is where you will stay. You will live freely here. You may roam the halls and explore as you please, so long as you continue to behave as required.”
My brows furrow as I stare up at him, hating just how uneasy I feel in front of this man. I don’t think I’ve ever been intimidated by a man in my life, and yet here I am, barely able to meet his eyes in fear of him pulling me in with that wicked intensity. “I get to roam freely?” I question, confusion rattling my bones. “I was under the impression that I was a prisoner here.”
“I do not like the term prisoner,” he tells me. “That is reserved for those who have wronged me and require punishment. You have done no such thing. You are not my prisoner. However, you are my property. I own you, your body, your mind, everything that you are belongs to me. You will be in my company, and I intend for our time together to be pleasant. So yes, I will allow you to live freely in my home. Generosity does not come easily to me. I am not a kind man by nature, and if I feel my generosity has been disrespected in any way, then it shall be stripped without question. And trust me when I tell you that you will not like the conditions you find yourself in.”