The Dare Collection April 2019. Nicola Marsh
Читать онлайн книгу.
It was such a delicious smell. I wanted to bury my nose in the lapels of Ajax’s jacket and spend the rest of the evening breathing it in.
Okay, so it was a little weird, me being in his closet and sniffing his clothing, and I did feel bad about poking around in his private space.
It was only that after two days of being alone with nothing to do I was going stir-crazy.
After he’d left me that morning, I’d decided that the only way to figure out how to get him on board with the whole losing my virginity thing was to explore as much of his house as I could, see what I could discover about him. And then perhaps use it to my advantage.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to discover. He had an industrial, minimalist aesthetic which seemed to involve no clutter anywhere and absolutely nothing personal, including no knick-knacks or family photographs.
So I’d asked what I could of his housekeeper, Mrs Jacobs, but she wouldn’t give me any answers, getting annoyed when I attempted to press the issue.
So I’d tried to wait him out.
I swam in the pool. I walked around the gardens. I watched TV and a few movies. I peered through his library and the bookshelves full of books.
But I couldn’t settle. Every passing hour was another hour of my freedom gone. Another hour closer to going back to my father and a life of no choices about anything.
It put me in a foul mood.
This wasn’t just about sex and my stupid hymen. Or even revenge against my dad. This was about life. My life. And what was missing from it. Choice. That was what was missing.
And I wanted the very first choice that I made to be about Ajax. Learning more of his secrets. Discovering more of his touch, more of him. And the longer he stayed away, the hungrier for him I became.
That’s why I was up here on the forbidden second level of his house. Because my curiosity had morphed into frustration and I hadn’t been able to contain it. I couldn’t stop obsessing about what was up there, thinking that if he’d told me to stay away, it must mean that there was something he didn’t want me to see.
So on the third day I’d crept up the stairs.
The second level had been quiet, with the same kind of uncluttered, minimalist vibe that the downstairs had.
There was an office and a bedroom that both faced the ocean and made the most of the awesome view.
His office was a plain white room with a polished wooden floor and a huge slab of black wood that served as a desk, with a sleek silver computer on it. Bookshelves lined two walls, all stacked with business texts and filing boxes. But, unlike downstairs, there was a piece of art on the wall above his desk: a painting of a yacht on the ocean, sailing towards the horizon. The picture was simple and clean and beautifully done. I could almost smell the salt coming from it, feel the wind in my hair.
Why had he hung this picture here? What was it that he liked about it?
I was tempted to look at his books or have a nosey at his computer, but I did have a few scruples and decided not to in the end, moving into his bedroom instead.
That was a nice space, the only furniture a massive bed that faced the wall of glass and a dresser. There were two photos on it, who I assumed were his brothers, Leon and Xander.
There wasn’t much else in the bedroom but, since the door to the closet was open, I put my head in and had a quick look inside. That’s when his scent hit me and that’s when I stepped inside, moving to where one of his suits hung, wanting more of it and the warm feeling it gave me.
Yes, I was an idiot and sniffing his clothes was ridiculous. But that scent reminded me of how he’d made me feel the night he’d kidnapped me. Safe. Peaceful. Yet excited too.
You should probably leave before he catches you here.
I straightened reluctantly. I really didn’t want him to catch me on the second level, especially not in his closet with my nose in his suit.
Abruptly, fingers closed around my upper arm.
I froze, a burst of panic exploding through me.
The fingers tightened in an irresistible grip and I found myself being pulled gently but firmly out of the closet then pushed with the same irresistible gentleness against the closet door.
An expanse of white cotton was in front of me, a T-shirt pulled tight over a broad, muscled chest.
Oh, hell.
I went from panic to excitement in seconds as it slowly penetrated whose fingers were wrapped around my upper arm. And the scent that I’d been inhaling only moments before was now coming direct from the source.
‘Little one,’ Ajax rumbled. ‘What the fuck are you doing in my closet?’
Embarrassment set fire to my cheeks and I wanted to sink straight through the floor.
Going through his things had turned out to be a really stupid idea.
‘I’m sorry.’ I stared at his chest because I couldn’t bear to look up at him. ‘I was just...uh...bored.’
‘Bored,’ he echoed. ‘So bored that you had to come upstairs, where I explicitly told you not to go, and start looking around my fucking closet?’
He sounded pissed and he had every right to be. Being found intruding on his privacy didn’t exactly reflect well on me.
‘I... I’m sorry,’ I repeated. ‘I know I shouldn’t have. But there wasn’t anything else to do. I swam in the pool and watched all the movies. And I don’t have a computer, and I—’
‘Look at me when you’re speaking to me.’
I didn’t want to, but staring at his chest was stupid so I gritted my teeth and looked up.
His electric-blue gaze slammed into mine and all the air vanished from my lungs, sending my heartbeat tumbling over itself.
In the two days he’d been away, I’d told myself that surely I’d overstated his attractiveness; that he couldn’t possibly have been as gorgeous and compelling as I’d made him in my head.
But I was wrong. If anything, I’d understated it.
He stood very close, looking down at me, and his fingers on my skin were warm, sensitising all the places that he wasn’t touching.
Bloody man.
‘That doesn’t explain what you’re doing up here.’ He said each word very quietly, anger gleaming in his eyes. ‘After I told you not to.’
My own anger rose, fuelled by my helpless response to him, not to mention a fair amount of embarrassment.
I should have locked it down, but I couldn’t. I’d been trapped in his house for two days, with the timer on my brief window of freedom from Dad slowly ticking down, and I didn’t have the emotional resources to get myself under control.
‘I was curious,’ I snapped, lifting my chin. ‘And look, if you leave me alone for two days, you’re going to have to give me something to do or else I’ll find something on my own that you may not like.’
‘What are you, a toddler?’ His expression turned thunderous. ‘This area is private and I told you it was out of bounds. What made you think you could just come up here and start looking around?’
Another wave of defensive anger went through me, his tone reminding me of the way Dad would berate me for my behaviour, telling me I was an insult to my mother’s memory.
It never failed to hurt me.
‘You patronising asshole,’ I said, stung. ‘Don’t call me that.’
‘I’ll call you anything I damn well please. Especially if you’re