Dominic led me to a dark, steel grey Jaguar. I wasn't sure what model, but it was sleek, stylish and gorgeous - much like the man who drove it. He helped me into the passenger seat and even leaned over and buckled me securely in. I'd never had anyone do that since I was a child, and even then I don't think kids' car-seats existed. My Mum just shoved me in the rear and told me to sit still. He moved swiftly around to the driver's side and slid into the scooped seat with practised ease, then started the car. It purred like a kitten, but when he pulled out of the parking lot onto Great South Road, it roared like a tiger.
I was transfixed. Watching his thigh flexing under the soft fabric of his jeans, his hands, leading to muscular forearms, moulded around the polished walnut of the steering wheel. I took in his strong profile, the square jaw, a slight stubble on his chin he hadn't had yesterday. Clearly he'd not managed a shave this morning, I wondered if that was a weekend thing, take a break from the chores of civilised lawyer society. Merge a little with that killer lawyer persona only on days off.
He didn't say anything, if he knew I was watching him, he chose not to acknowledge it. I was kind of relieved about that, I was ogling the guy and had he pointed it out, I might have felt compelled to open my mouth. And we all know how that would have gone. Eventually, I'd catalogued his physique and general god-like image enough, so stared out the side of the window, taking in the overcast Auckland day.
I hadn't really registered we weren't heading towards the city, well we had been heading in that general direction, but we turned off Great South Road well before it made it to Newmarket - which is just outside the CBD where I live - and started heading in the general direction of the Eastern Bays.
"Where are we going?" I asked, suddenly wide awake and glancing around what looked like Long Drive, taking in my environment for the very first time since I'd entered the car.
"My home," he replied evenly.
"Why?" I demanded.
"You're staying with me until this is all over."
Ah. No. "That's ridiculous. I need to go home. I have things to do, accounts to complete. Banking to organise. I need to pop in to work and make sure everything is all right. Phone Kelly. Kelly will be expecting a phone call, she'll start to panic if I don't get in touch. Plus, I want to take a bath, light some candles, put on some Barry White."
"Barry White?" Dominic interrupted my ramblings.
"Yes, Barry White. He's my soak-in-the-tub music. He soothes the soul and makes everything OK. I need Barry White."
"I can download Barry White. I have a bath also. I'd be happy to run one for you." He flicked a glance at me, there was something in his eyes on that last sentence, something that did wonderful things to my insides, making all thoughts of Barry White completely disappear.
"I bathe alone," I pointed out. He grinned.
"I could change your mind on that." I bet he could. I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Dominic. I need to go home."
It must have been the way I said it, because the car slowed and his head turned back to me, holding my gaze for several seconds, threatening to make me yell at him to watch the road. He flicked his gaze back to the street, thankfully, and then clenched his jaw. I was beginning to understand the jaw clench. It appeared when killer lawyer was about to escape his chains, but also when he was determined about something. And even though I hadn't known him long, I knew that something would not be what I wanted to hear.
"Sweetheart," he began. I clenched my jaw, but he didn't notice, too busy watching the road - now at least. "It's too dangerous to be at your place. Not only could Elliott attempt another kidnapping, there has been murmurings on the street... about you." That made me suck in a breath in unwanted surprise. Dominic went on in a soft, almost soothing, voice. "Those who seek retribution on Elliott are looking for you now too."
"How do you know this?" I asked, my throat tight with the thought that he was telling the truth. But he couldn't be, things like this didn't happen to a Kiwi girl like me. They simply didn't.
"Nick has contacts, he's put the word out to listen for mention of you. Several hits came back last night. One of which alerted us to your situation."
That's how they found out I had been kidnapped. Obviously Brett had been wrong, my place hadn't been under surveillance. And Dominic hadn't come back to the loft to see me and found me gone - which my dazzled brain had been contemplating as a good explanation - he'd been notified by his brother instead. I wondered if it had interrupted whatever he was trying to sort out from that phone call before he left. I wondered why that worried me.
"For the time being, you'll stay with me, where I can protect you."
I sat motionless in the seat of his car, as he negotiated a turning vehicle before us and then some time later turned into a driveway in the shadow of a tall white box of a building. Too big to be one residence, but I knew instantly that it was. An enormous slatted white sliding garage door moved when he pressed a button on his visor, and slid sideways - quite different from most garage doors that flick up and away - revealing a huge expanse of darkness within. The moment the Jag crossed the threshold of the garage, lights flicked on and an array of expensive and exotic looking cars filled my vision through the windshield.
I'm not much of a car aficionado, but even I could tell the red one was a Ferrari, the silver one an Aston Martin, and the British racing green one; a vintage MG. The rest were just a blur of colour and sleekness and sexy lines. The only one that looked remotely like something I could picture myself driving was a large black SUV, a Jeep Cherokee - no that wasn't true, I could picture myself in the Aston Martin, I could picture myself quite well, actually - which looked out of place with all the European cars lined up against both sides of the walls.
I let a breath of air out as Dominic parked the Jag in the only space left available and switched the purr of the engine off. He slipped out of the car without a word. I followed suit, determined to get out under my own steam and not have him reach in and unbuckle me like some frail, delicate flower. He rounded my side of the car and took hold of my elbow again, propelling me gently but determinedly towards the internal door to the house. The garage door had closed as soon as we crossed into the inner sanctum of his car museum.
We went up two flights of stairs, emerging into a grand open space, white marble floors, with the odd white loop pile rug here and there. Huge white leather couches, side tables, entertainment unit and hall stand. Colour carefully dotted around the place in the form of green leafy palms, rich dark red rounded glass hanging lamp shades from the ceiling, a few contrasting red throw pillows on the couches. A modernist looking piece of artwork, splashes of different shades of red, which took the entirety of one whole wall. And the skyline of Auckland city from full height windows across the front of the lounge.
I stood stock-still taking in the scene, from the impersonal, yet expensively designed interior, to the wonder that is Auckland's skyline, the Sky Tower dominating the impressive sight. For once in my life I was speechless.
Dominic watched me for a moment and then shrugged, as though my reaction wasn't unexpected. I had a fleeting moment to consider he'd probably experienced the same reaction from the many women he undoubtedly brought back here. My stomach did a nasty little flip-flop, my hand immediately coming up to rub it back into submission.
"Take a seat, sweetheart. I'll run you bath in moment, I just have a call to make."
I ignored him, still standing immobile a few feet into the room. He'd spoken as he headed out a side door, to God knows where, his cellphone in his hand already, his finger thumbing through the numbers to find the one he wanted to call. I waited until I heard the low, soft words as he spoke, unable to pick up their meaning, but knowing he was occupied, then turned back towards where I thought the front of the house was, and hopefully a front door.
I had no right to be here. He clearly was phoning whoever he'd been talking to last night, someone important enough to take him away from me when he was about to
seal the evening with a kiss and no doubt instigate something more. I kept reminding myself he wasn't my dream. He belonged to someone else. And even if the other woman - I was presuming it was a woman, who else would demand his attention like that? - didn't possess the dream, but was merely the current holder of it, he was never going to be all mine. How could he be? He was way out of my league.
I mean, a garage full of hundreds of thousands of dollars, maybe even over a million dollars, worth of vehicles, a mansion three stories high and the size of a commercial building all to himself. Expensive interior design, priceless enormous artworks, marble flooring. A city view most would die for. If I had questioned my right to exist in his world, I no longer did. He was just the sort of guy who picked up stray birds with broken wings and tried to make things better.
I had no doubt once this was all over that he would walk away.
I'd made it to the front door, after a few mistaken paths down side halls, when he found me attempting to undo the multitude of locks.
"I asked you to trust me, you said you would."
I turned around in a flash, my back pressed against the door, my heart in my throat. I would have looked like a startled possum, caught out in the act of escape.
"I need to go home," was all I managed to get out.
"And I told you that would be unsafe."
"I can't stay here," I countered.
"Of course you can. I have plenty of space." He indicated how much space he had with a shrug of his shoulders and a self-deprecating smile. I stared back, still wide eyed and ready to bolt. He ran a hand though his hair. "I have someone bringing you some supplies from your loft."
I frowned at him. "You have someone going through my stuff?" I could just imagine Nick or Ben sifting through my underwear drawer, it was not a welcome picture.
He must have understood the look of mortification on my face.
"Relax, she's seen it all before."
Oh, he did not just say that.
"She?" He'd sent a woman. Maybe his woman. To my loft. I made a strangled sound in the back of my throat and turned to frantically undo the locks on the door. I hadn't even managed to shift one before his body was pressed against mine and his hand reached out to still my attempts. His other hand slipped around my waist, laying splayed flat against my stomach, and pulled me away from the door. I struggled for a moment, no longer aware of what I was doing or why, but just frantic to get away from him. From the embarrassment of the situation. From the hurt and humiliation I could feel welling up inside.
"Let me go!" I demanded, on an almost shout.
"No. I told you, I won't let you go now." His voice was whisper quiet in my ear.
"I don't want to be here."
"I can tell, but you will stay."
"No! I! Won't!" I shouted full out back.
"Do you want someone to harm you, to kidnap you again? And if it isn't your incompetent ex-boyfriend, then it will be a hell of a lot worse. Worse than you can even imagine. They won't stumble and cause injury, they will cause it with intent. And they have a wealth of experience to ensure they injure you in such a way that it is obvious and permanent, but won't make you dead. Their only goal will be to send a message to your ex, that if he can't give them what they want, they'll take his possessions in another way. And destroy them."
His voice had started out harsh and just as loud as mine, but ended again on a whisper. I stopped fighting him somewhere along the way, just let him hold me close to his chest, his hot breath washing over my ear. His heartbeat thumping into my back, matching my own.
"Trust me," he whispered, shifting his lips to kiss against my temple, in amongst my hair. Did he know what that movement did to me? Was he manipulating me with that feather-light, intimate touch?
"I'm scared," I whispered back, cursing my honesty as soon as the words slipped free.
"I know," he replied. "But I promise, no one will hurt you."
"You can't promise that," I replied, feeling my body giving up the fight. He felt it too and tightened his hold around my waist. I didn't add, that he couldn't protect me from what I feared most. Him. And his effect over me, the fact I was letting him get further and further under my skin.
He didn't argue my statement, maybe he read more in it than I had realised at first. He just kissed my temple again and then swung me up into his arms, as though I weighed little more than a child and began carrying me away from the door. My hand came out, stretched back toward freedom and then with a will of its own, came back towards me and wrapped around the back of his neck.
He shifted my weight, redistributing it so I could hold on more securely around his neck, my head nestling under his chin.
"You know," he said conversationally, as he began to climb a set of stairs. "When I said this would be fun, I really meant in the light-hearted, romantic kind of way. I hadn't considered you'd be a fireball, hell-bent on testing the limits of my patience."
I could tell he was trying to lighten the moment, I smiled at the effort. I think he felt my lips twitch against the bare flesh at his neck, because his arms tightened briefly.
"I did warn you, you know," I said softly, allowing the warmth of his body to quash the last of my fears. I'd bury them, until I could think clearly. Until I could make my escape and protect my heart once and for all. Maybe I'll go live in Guatemala. Somewhere a long way away. "I may not be what you bargained for."
"And I think I replied, I do hope so. And, sweetheart, I meant every word."
Chapter 10
A Hint Of A Smile To Back It Up
Dominic deposited me on a padded stool in a luxurious bathroom decorated in warm bronzes and browns. So at odds with the rest of the mansion. It had also led off what could only be the master bedroom. An entirely too large space, with beautiful double doors out on to a balcony, the view of Auckland city obvious in the distance. A large curved dark and sleek wooden bed, with gold and black coverings, thick black drapes on the windows and gold and black modernist art on the walls. A tallboy dresser that matched the bed frame and a door that led into what looked like a dressing room the size of my loft.
He began to run a bath, as he had promised, steam quickly filling up the room and making me sweat. I watched as he fussed with some bath salts, a strange thing for a man to have in his ensuite, the smell mingling with the steam to make a heady environment, in what was swiftly becoming an intimate moment. Bathrooms were not something you wandered into in a strange man's house. Not that I thought Dominic was strange to me anymore, but I had only met him yesterday, and that thought never really left my head at all.
But sitting waiting for him to fill a tub for me to soak - naked in, I might add - I felt the moment was seguing into something entirely else. He turned back to look at me and for a second I thought he'd insist I undress before his eyes. His gaze running over my frame languidly, but by the time they returned to my face he'd got himself under control.
"Wait a sec," he instructed as he slipped back out of the room. I sat patiently, if not a little breathlessly, on the stool for him to come back.
He returned with some clothing; looked like a T-shirt and a pair of track pants. He placed them on the bench to the side of where I sat, then stood in front of me. His hand came up, fingers trailing down my cheek.
"Take as long as you need. I'll whip you up something to eat, you must be getting hungry."
I nodded, strangely enough I hadn't thought of food until he mentioned it, but now I was aware of an emptiness in my stomach. The nausea of being knocked out had passed and I was beginning to get my appetite back at last. He left on silent feet and I watched the closed door for several minutes, until I realised the bath was in danger of over filling. I forced myself to my feet, feeling older than my twenty-eight years, and leaned across the steaming water to turn the taps off.
In almost a drunken stupor I stripped out of my clothing, folding it carefully and putting it to the side, but knowing I'd be throwing the entire outfit in the bin at the first chanc
e, and dipped a toe in the water. He'd perfected the temperature. Somehow I was certain he perfected everything in his life. I slowly lowered my body into the inviting warmth, realising how stiff and sore it actually was.
The steam cleared my nostrils, making it possible to breathe clearly for the first time since I had awoken in that decrepit motel room earlier today. And then the realisation of that made the tears flow. I'm, unfortunately, a crier. I shed a tear at the drop of a hat. I cry at commercials and Hallmark birthday cards. I cried through Bambi and Watership Down as a kid, and I definitely cried through Titanic. Leonardo DiCaprio dying was just the pits. So I'm used to it, but it doesn't mean I like it or embrace it. The after effects are a pain in the butt.
So, in an effort to not end up with blotchy cheeks and red, puffy eyes, I allowed myself five minutes to break down and then I refortified myself. Scrubbed my face, cleaned myself up - top to bottom - and then lay back and tried to relax.
I don't know how long I had been soaking when soft music wafted through speakers into the room. I glanced up and noticed the speakers were embedded in the wall, painted the same colour, so had been easy to miss. Within the first few bars of the song I recognised it. Barry White's Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe. I felt a smile spread across my face. Dominic had told me he'd download Barry for me, he hadn't forgotten.
I spent the next forty minutes letting the last of my tension go and turning into a prune in the process. Normally I'd lather moisturiser all over my body once I'd bathed, but I didn't have the nerve to check through Dominic's bathroom cupboards to see if he had any, it would only lead to unpleasant thoughts. Men don't have moisturiser, if he had some it wouldn't have been brought here by him.
I slipped the T-shirt on, no bra or underwear - I was forcing myself to go commando, as my whole outfit from yesterday was definitely being trashed - and smoothed the fabric down over my body. The shirt came to mid thigh, it was way too big on my slim frame, but it smelled of Dominic. I decided I'd find a way to keep it, even if his woman did bring my clothes here from my loft. The track pants were enormous, but luckily had a drawstring at the waist, I cinched it as tightly as it would go, making them billow out around me like balloon pants.
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