Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Go ahead and get dressed. If you need me, I’ll be doing the same.” He strode away, his steps deliberate, and I couldn't help but watch the powerful expanse of his back as he moved. My breath hitched when I spotted the telltale signs of nail marks etched into his skin.
He glanced back over his shoulder, and I averted my eyes in a rush, but not before taking in the sight of his sculpted abdomen and the wicked ink that adorned it.
Without comment, he selected a few garments and disappeared from the closet. I waited, ensuring he wasn’t going to return immediately, before finally allowing myself to exhale and relax my tense hold on the dress he'd chosen for me. I needed to find something to wear beneath it.
After a few minutes, I was able to locate what I was looking for—bras and underwear. There were only matching sets—some silk, others lace, and a few considerately cotton. I grabbed a random combo, the fabric soft against my fingertips as I held them up to the light. I quickly pulled them on and then braved approaching the wall of mirrors.
I had seen my reflection in the pane of glass above the bed, but it wasn’t me I wanted to see. Every time I so much as moved my arm, I could feel the mark that had been seared onto my skin. I turned and hesitantly traced my fingers over the back of my shoulder blade. The pentagram was complex with a prominent A at its core.
It stood out against the still-reddened canvas of my brown skin and was tender to the touch. This was such a possessive thing to do to someone.
Even after Alexander’s explanation, I didn’t understand the full meaning of the brand. I couldn't escape the feeling that I had been dropped into uncharted waters and was completely unprepared for the tide.
The distant sound of a closing door jolted me from my thoughts, reminding me that my solitude within the closet had a time limit. With a sigh, I carefully lowered my hand and moved toward the vanity to peruse the collection of skincare products.
My fingers lingered over bottles and jars that held the promise of radiant skin. I almost laughed at the irony. I allowed myself a moment of indulgence as I smoothed on some expensive lotion that smelled like night-blooming jasmine with a hint of warm vanilla. I didn’t bother applying make-up. I had no desire to doll myself up and even less to have a repeat of my clownery.
I combed through my hair, detangling the long strands with gentle strokes before weaving them into a quick and simple braid.
When I finally stepped into the vintage dress, I hated to admit it, but I did feel as if a sense of elegance had settled around me. The silk fabric caressed my skin, and the tailoring emphasized my curves in a way that was both flattering and demure.
Returning to the bathroom, I saw Mr. Hawthorne—Alexander—had dressed in a black quarter-sleeved button-down and slacks. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that he wasn’t who Shana claimed he was. I wondered if she knew this would happen and if that’s why she’d been so afraid.
When I got out of this place, she was going to owe me a thorough explanation, and it had better be a damned good one. I took a deep breath and slowly approached.
The air was tinged with his signature cologne, an exotic symphony that heightened my senses. Even performing the casual act of brushing his teeth was captivating in its simplicity. His eyes met mine through the mirror’s reflection as he offered a wordless invitation. I didn’t have much of a choice but to accept.
There was an electric toothbrush waiting for me on the other side of the second sink, another testament to his attention to detail. His gaze lingered on me as I picked it up and added toothpaste, the weight of his observation unnerving.
It was surreal to be doing such a domestic task with the very man who held me captive. But then nothing about this situation was normal—not even by most kidnapping standards. One thing I knew without a doubt and another for certain was that he believed I was his, and he wanted me to believe he was mine.
I was beginning to understand that there was a terrifying conviction in his claim.
When we were both finished, he stepped away from the sink and made another unspoken gesture to follow him. We crossed through the bedroom and entered the hallway, where a new vista of his sprawling home revealed itself. Expansive windows offered glimpses of the world outside, a world that seemed to be encompassed by the tranquil spread of the lake shrouded in a thin blanket of fog.