Francine receives our drinks and pushes mine towards me with a wink. I take an immediate sip.
“Yes, I saw what the fool Steven was doing, but it’s too late to pull off that title, I already like you. A lot. I mean, really a lot.”
I glance sideways at her. "Hmmm … is that your attempt at impressing me?"
She cowers comically, back slouched, tone sheepish, eyes shifty. “Is it working? I really need a full-time gig here after this internship is over.”
She looks so funny I can’t hold my laughter back. Maybe this internship is going to be all right, after all.
She takes a sip of her drink. “The buttering up aside, do you have your eyes on any of the guys from our team?”
“Nah. Do you?”
Her head tilts slightly towards the tall French intern in our party. I noticed earlier that he has been turning both female and male heads alike. “He’s so goddamn full of himself,” she spits. “I’m obsessed.”
I eye the green-eyed, dark-haired, calve-length coat clad stud. “He’s very handsome, but way too obvious for me.”
“Obvious? What’s wrong with that?” she asks indignantly before turning to gaze dreamily in his direction. “He looks like fun. If I don’t get a full-time position here at the end of the day, he’ll be mine … at least for one night.”
I smile. “You don’t spit into your own rice bowl?”
“Never.” She turns back to me. Her eyes are sparking with a need for drama. “But you … you have a story to tell, and I want to hear it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Story?”
“You’re carrying a torch for someone, aren’t you?”
My eyes widen. No way she can tell. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know, but I can always tell when someone’s “I’m available” light is off and it’s always because their heart’s taken.”
I bite my lip. Never in my life has anyone asked about him. He is my deepest secret and regret. I have never forgotten him and never stopped wishing I had never told Dad about him. Over the years it has become a recurring dream. In my dream, he is not the boy who kissed me, but a beast. An angry, revengeful beast. I have never spoken about him to anyone. Not even Mum or my best friend and it feels very good that someone else has recognized something so important to me.
“Spit it out,” Francine urges impatiently.
I take a deep breath. “It’s a pathetic story, and not very adult like either.”
She grins. “Now I’m even more intrigued.”
“You’ll probably laugh, but here goes. For some weird reason, I kept the son of our gardener in my heart for long time. Well since I was eleven.”
“The gardener’s son? I need snacks for this,” she says, “and a refill.” She places her order, and immediately turns to look at me expectantly. “Go on. Was he raking you instead of the leaves?”
“No, he wasn’t. There’s actually not much to the story. It was just one stupid episode.”
“One episode? Wow, what happened?” she asks, popping a salted cashew nut into her mouth.
“Well, he grabbed me and kissed me. I was so young I didn’t understand how fragile his situation was. I ran back to the house and told my dad. He kicked both him and his father out. End of story. I haven't seen either of them since.”
She looks vaguely disappointed. “So no one was thrown in jail?”
I shook my head.
“So why is he still on your mind? Wait, how old was he?”
“Fifteen.”
“Hmm. Does that mean you haven’t dated anyone since then?”
I pick out a Wasabi covered peanut from her bag. “Honestly?”
“Of course.” She grins. “We are training to be lawyers here.”
“No.”
“Shit,” she whispers. “Must have been a damn good kiss.”
“It was … primitive, but I didn't sleep for days after.”
“Whoa! I wish someone would give me a primitive kiss.”
I shrug. “It’s probably not the kiss. Just one of those unresolved issues in your life that messes with your head and—”
“Incoming,” she interrupts.
At the warning I turn my head and sight Steven coming my way.
“Are you in the mood to have your ass licked?”
“Ugh. The things you say.” I slide off my stool. “I’ll be in the Ladies.”
“I’ll get rid of him in five.”
On my way to the Ladies I start to regret telling Francine about the gardener’s son. I don’t even know why I told her. She’s practically a stranger. Worse, it’s probably changed the way she sees me. Even I can see how pathetic and senseless it is to allow that ancient incident to hold such a momentous importance in my life, but I can’t help it.
I simply can’t let go.
All the cubicles are empty and I stand alone in front of the mirror and stare into my own eyes. They are cloudy. As usual any thoughts of him automatically weigh down on my spirit. It is almost like a loss I can’t get over. The way my mother still grieves for her lost baby. I have even seriously considered looking for him and apologizing. Maybe that will free me and make me see that the memory of him as the tortured, tragic, dark-eyed savage and his grand passion is something my young, impressionable brain has idealized out of all proportion.
For all I know he may have become absolute scum or a terrifying sociopath.
Maybe then the memory of the first time my heart fluttered will no longer be an open wound, but simply a faint scar. Maybe then I will stop devouring every second-chance romance I can lay my hands on. The rational part of me knows these books are just a fantasy, but the irrational part of me doesn’t care. It wants what it wants. I’ve drowned myself in fantasy after fantasy of such tales. They are sweeter to latch onto than the sad reality of a boy I cannot get out of my mind after all these years.
“Excuse me.”
My heart jumps at the interruption and my head whirls around. At first I am not sure why I feel so bothered at the presence of the man standing just inside the door. He is clad in a blue and white checkered dress shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His face is weathered, his hair a dirty blond, and his eyes a lifeless blue.
Then I realize why my body instinctively contracted with fear. I am standing in front of the sink of the women’s bathroom. I force a smile to my lips. “This is the women’s bathroom,” I point out, in the wild hope that for some unfathomable reason he truly does not realize so.
His watery blue gaze doesn’t waver. It remains steadily on mine. He doesn’t even blink, and I know then that I am in deep trouble. Unable to hold his dead gaze I lower my eyes, turn on the faucet, and pretend to wash my hands while my panic-stricken mind tries desperately to remember what my father taught me to do, but the only thing I can remember is my father telling me to be vigilant at all times. A bit late for that though.
“I need to know what the time is, please?”
“I’m not wearing a watch,” I say as casually as I can, and lifting my eyes I look directly at his reflection. I need to keep him talking. Someone is bound to come in.
“That’s a shame,” he murmurs, taking a step forward.
Oh God, my dad’s greatest fear is going to be realized. I am going to be kidnapped! My pepper spray is in my purse, but my purse is zipped up. I try not to show the panic clawing at my heart. I remember Dad saying, Scream. Scream as hard as you can. I open my mouth to yell, but in an instant, he is on me.
A callused hand wraps around my mouth and the thick pungent smell of sardines and onions overwhelms me just as I feel a sharp prick on my upper arm. I continue to struggle with all my strength, but I sense my limbs becoming heavy. My vigorously beating heart seems to slow down, and all I can think about is my father. He is going to be royally pissed, and I am now most definitely never going to be free from his surveillance, perhaps for the rest of my life.
Chapter Three
Liliana
I awake in a pitch-black room no
t knowing who I am, or where, or how long I have been here.
Then the fog in my brain lifts and I remember. Instantly, a deep fear overtakes me, to the point I cannot move at all. I dare not even breathe. Shutting my eyes, I think of my father. I see his strong face. What would he do if he were in my shoes? He would never lay down and die. He would fight until his dying breath. I open my eyes and try to make sense of my surroundings. I am not in some garage shed somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
I realize I am fully dressed in my own clothes. My body has no pain and I’m lying on clean smelling sheets, the mattress is extremely comfortable. I am also not bound in any way. My frightened brain finds the least threatening explanation: I’ve been itching to get out from under my father’s wings to chart my own way, but to him I’m just ripe to be scammed, cheated and abused, so this is a trick he’s pulling on me to teach me to be more vigilant.
Slowly, careful not to make any sound in case there is someone else or thing in the room with me, I sit up. When my bare feet hit the ground, they connect with the roughness of a cheap rug. I stand with my hands stretched out in front of me and carefully grope my way in the dark to the nearest wall. Then I begin to feel for a door. My hand closes over a handle. Hardly daring to breathe I turn it. It is firmly locked, of course. I exhale slowly.
Hopefully, the light switch will be right by it.
In a few seconds, I find it, and feel the tears of relief rush to my eyes. Drawing in a quick breath and saying a little prayer, I flip the switch. A naked lightbulb in the middle of the room bursts into harsh light. My eyes hurt with the sudden glare, and I squeeze them shut before squinting into the brightness.
I am in a medium-sized room, bare but for a bed and a cupboard. The walls are freshly painted in magnolia and the floor is grey concrete. The idea that it could be my own father doing this to teach me a lesson in vigilance dissipates instantly. Dad would rather cut off his own hand than imprison me in a drab room like this, and even if he did, Mum would never let him.
I look around, more confused than ever. It must be the effect of the drug the man had used to knock me out earlier, but my thoughts feel slow and disconnected. I find myself going towards my shoes, slipping them on and heading to the only window in the room.
I pull the green drapes apart. A metal barricade surrounds the window. Looking beyond I can see absolutely nothing but a thin slice of moon in the sky, a few dots of lights from the stars, and the velvety dark silhouette of trees. I gaze down at my empty wrist and regret not putting on a watch. If I had to guess the time I’d put it to be the early hours of the morning.
I need a plan.
I wonder if banging on the door and demanding an audience with whomever has orchestrated this nightmare is the right way to go. I turn around then, and that is when I see it: the dark lens staring down at me. The entire room, I am sure, is in its view. My hands begin to tremble. Not with fear but fury. I walk towards the surveillance camera.
“Why am I here?” I demand.
Silence.
“I’m awake now. There's no need to waste either of our time so just state what you want and we can end this stupid charade.”
Silence.
“Is it money? If it is the sooner you get down here the sooner we can stop this charade and the money hits your bank account.”
Silence.
Furious, but not stupid enough to tick anyone off with the barrage of insults that wants to burst from my mouth, I turn around and head back to the bed. I take a seat and stare directly into the camera.
“I’m waiting,” I say, and that is exactly what I do.
The time ticks by, and a strange grogginess, probably a lingering effect of the drug administered earlier begins to take effect again. My eyelids begin to feel as heavy as lead, and my head starts to nod, but with a jerk I straighten up and stare ahead. Time passes before I hear footsteps outside the door. I instantly jump to my feet, then check myself and sit back down. The handle of the door is pulled down.
I am terrified, but I curl my hands into fists, harden my gaze, and stare at the door. It opens and a man fills in the doorway.
He is a ten.
This is all my muddled, terrified brain can muster up. My jaw drops and I stare at him in confusion. His shoulders are broad, his hair is raven-black, and he is dressed from head to toe in black, but what sends a chill through me are his eyes. They are like tar-slicks. Shiny and utterly opaque. There is no doubt he is dangerous, and the way he looks at me ...
I spring to my feet in an instant.
He stands very still and regards me from beneath his sooty lashes. Like a wild animal watching its prey, and for a moment I am sure I am going to be raped.
“Who are you?” I ask, but even as I ask that question something else clicks in my brain. He looks familiar. His face, the oval way it is structured and those eyes ... the chill I experienced had been from a trigger of familiarity, not fear. My facade of coolness snaps and an angry yell erupts from my throat. “Who the fuck are you?”
His response is an amused snicker, and my heart nearly stops.
Chapter Four
Brand
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrO4YZeyl0I
My, my, but little Liliana Eden has grown up to be one fiery woman. A fucking gorgeous one too. Her hair is long and thick, her nose is small and neat like her mother’s, and her eyes are as haunting as I remember. Her lips, however, are still my favorite feature. To put it simply they are audaciously plump, the top one almost overlapping the lower and giving her the look of a sulky whore. With a mouth like that all you have to do is pout your lips and the whole world would do your bidding.
I desperately want to slip my tongue into that bitchy mouth: to see if she still tastes the same. Of bubblegum. She will bite down and injure me, but the thought only rocks my cock. My gaze drops down to the full chest straining against the soft pink blouse. It makes my hands itch. The fleshy mounds are begging to be fondled and sucked. I can already see myself dragging my tongue down to her tiny waist, sliding my fingers into her cunt. It would be wet for me, impatient, eager, and painfully swollen.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she demands.
The thread of fear in her voice makes my eyes snap back to hers. She is white and trembling with rage, but at the expression on my face, she takes an involuntary step backwards only to come up against the bed. I tower over her, as I’ve always done, but this time it is not just physically that I will dominate. This time I am in full and total control … and she is going to serve me with everything that she has.
“What do you want?” she spits. “Is it money? I’ll get it for you.”
The offer is insulting. As if I’d take even a red cent off her. I pull out my cell phone from my pocket and toss it over to the bed. “Call your father,” I instruct.
She stares defiantly at it. “How much do you want?”
“Everything he owns.”
Her head shoots up, a scowl of disbelief across her face. “What kind of stupid kidnapper are you? Who asks for everything? Trust me, my father is not going to give you everything in exchange for me. He has three other children to think of.”
I manage to keep the dark smile at bay, but she is oh, so entertaining. The excruciating wait for her has been worth it. “Oh, but I intend to take everything he has.”
“Are you out of your mind?” she sneers. “If it is that easy to become so bloody wealthy then why does anyone need to spend their whole life busting their ass to make something of themselves, you fucking loser.”
She has a fucking dirty mouth on her. On any other girl, it would have turned me off instantly, but on her it makes me want to sit down and just fucking listen to her disrespect me. She goes on with her torrent of insults. The girl has absolutely no sense of self preservation. And she is unbelievably arrogant. This part of her I absolutely loathe.
“How much do you bloody want?” she repeats, snatching up the phone. Either anger has made her forget her initial
fear, or she completely read me wrong. She thinks she can use bluster to dominate me. I am not her gardener’s son anymore. I am her master.
“If you say the wrong thing,” I say quietly, as she begins to dial his number, “he will be dead before the sun rises.”
She freezes then and watches me with shocked eyes as I cross my arms across my chest. “Right now, your father is in a meeting near Hammersmith station. He is, however aware that you have gone missing so you can tell him that you have been whisked off to Spain by some of your friends for your upcoming birthday. And that you will be back soon.”
She watches me carefully and I see the realization come into her eyes. She knows now I mean every word of what I am saying.
“He will never believe that,” she replies slowly. “I just started a job that I've been looking forward to all year. Today is only my first day, he will never believe that I have suddenly decided to take off.”
“Then concoct your own story. For his own good you better make it a believable one. If he is alarmed, and goes looking in the wrong places, the picture of his corpse might be the last thing you ever see of him.”
I see the moment true terror comes into her eyes, all the color instantly draining from her face.
“What do you want with me?” she asks. “He’ll give you all the money you want, just let me go.”
“I have my own money.” I reply.
She frowns. “Then what do you want?”
“You. You are what I want.”
Her suspicions of exactly how I want her is as clear as day in her eyes. “You’re sick,” she hurls at me, color flooding up her neck and making her cheeks bloom.
“That is the general consensus,” I agree pleasantly.
“Are you going to take me by force?”
A Kiss Stolen Page 2