by Rina Kent
It’s becoming a dangerous obsession.
I sigh and go back to stacking boxes. I put on my earphones, blast Coldplay, and hum as I lift boxes.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on alert. Just like every time he comes into the coffee shop. I gulp, and it’s audible even with the music in my ears.
I slowly turn around while peeling out the earphones. My stomach clenches when I stare up at Dominic’s deep brown eyes.
“Hello, Camille.”
3
Camille
Dominic is here.
It isn’t strange that he’s in the coffee shop considering that he’s been a regular even before I came along. What’s strange is that he’s here in this small storage room, talking to me.
Up close, he smells of cloves and a deep masculine scent that weakens my knees. His black jacket stretches over broad shoulders like a second skin. He hovers over me like a domineering presence, blocking the exit – and any rational thoughts. His posture is upright but not stiff. He carries himself with infinite ease like he owns the place and everyone in it. If anyone doesn’t submit, he’d rip them to pieces and tear them apart just because he can.
It takes me a second – or a few – to close my gaping mouth and regain my voice. “How do you know my name?”
He motions at the nametag on my apron, and I can’t help following the lean finger.
I briefly close my eyes and curse my stupidity. “Right. What can I do for you?”
Perhaps he wanted some direction in the coffee shop. Although he probably knows this place better than I do.
“You’re French.” His deep voice with that hint of huskiness does weird things to the bottom of my stomach. I’ve always loved the British accent – I’m an anglophile to heart after all, but on him, it’s tenfold more sinful and makes me think of him saying dirty things.
I clutch one of the coffee bean boxes close to my chest to focus on anything but him. And to hide the maddening rhythm of my heartbeat. “Yes.”
His forefinger caresses his bottom lip while he appears deep in thoughts. I pause my task. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate on anything but the back and forth of his forefinger on his lips? Heat coils down my back. When has it become so hot in the small storage room?
La vache. I’ve been ogling for too long.
I snap my eyes to his. I suck in a breath at how he’s watching me. His deep brown eyes darken with interest and something else I can’t pinpoint. My body leaps to attention, and I barely hold my weight against the shelves.
His forefinger drops from his lips, and I curse it and him for forbidding me from the show.
“Meet me at lunchtime.”
It isn’t a request or an order. It’s a simple declaration like he has everything figured out and all I had to do was accept.
This is how sociopaths work. They just enchant people with their natural charm and overwhelming confidence. The next thing I know, I’ll be fighting to keep my life together – or worse, to stay alive.
Dominic might have drawn me in like the devil to hell ever since the beginning, but if he thinks I’m one of those gullible girls who fall for his charm unknowingly, then he has another thing coming.
I push the box in place and face him. If there’s one thing Papa has always taught me then it’s to never run away and face things heads on.
“What makes you think I want to meet you at lunchtime?” I’m so glad my voice comes out even.
“A hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“You’ve been watching me, Camille.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. He knew all along? I thought I was careful enough.
“I was watching your group.” I keep my ground.
“Why?” His question takes me by surprise.
“What do you mean?”
“Why were you watching us?”
“Everyone in the coffee shop does. Rich, young, and pretty kind of draws the attention.” I’m proud of how I got myself out of that one.
“Perhaps.” He closes in, and his proximity turns on the heating in the small space. I’m so tempted to lean close and inhale his head-turning scent deep in my lungs – and maybe in my memories.
“The way you watch is different.” He measures me from top to bottom. I’m only in shorts and a sleeveless tank top covered by the coffee shop non-flattering apron. Although his gaze gives nothing away, I can’t help the need to squirm.
His deep, destabilising gaze meets mine again. “You don’t look like the type who’d be drawn by what interests the foul.”
“How do you know that?”
“A hunch.”
“Do you always go by your hunch?”
“Probably. Probably not.” He flashes me that full-of-shit grin. “Meet me at lunch to find out.”
He’s baiting me.
It’s working.
To say I was curious about him would be the understatement of the freaking century. I want to dig my teeth in him and suck whatever he has to offer like some vampire.
Bah alors. That’s creepy.
But I really want to know more. I only read about his type in books and some realistic films. This is the first time I’m meeting a sociopath, and probably a pseudo-psychopath in real life.
I ran away from home to have this adventure.
Only… one look into those shrouded brown eyes and I know he can rip me apart. I might and would regret this.
What’s an adventure without a risk?
“D’accord,” I say then quickly follow up with, “I mean, okay.”
He has that full-of-shit grin again. I’m sure he thinks he just got what he wants as usual. There’s no need to let him know that I’m aware of what he is. It might trigger his ruthless, conquest-driven side.
I’ll just consider him my adventure. I’m giddy thinking about what tricks he has up his sleeves, and if I will be able to detect them.
He steps closer so he’s caging me between him and the shelf. His body heat overwhelms mine, and my breathing hitches. He places a piece of paper in my apron.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“An address.”
His index finger reaches for me and he rubs my bottom lip just like he did with his earlier.
It’s as if someone lit my body on fire. A moan lodges at the back of my throat. It takes everything in me to not open my mouth and suck his finger inside.
My eyes lock with his. A zip of energy shoots between us, and I gulp. His forefinger stops sweeping back and forth, but he doesn’t remove it from my lip. Dominic seems caught in the moment as much as I am. Or perhaps he’s acting his part? How many has he done this to before? Were their brains about to fly, too?
After a long, overpowering silence, he says, “Don’t change your clothes.”
“Why?”
Still having his finger on my lips, he leans in. His hot breaths tickle my skin, and goosebumps erupt all over. His lips brush against my earlobe, and I shudder.
His deep, authoritative tone locks my muscles together. “Because I said so, Camille.”
4
Camille
I stare at his back outlined by the fit jacket as he strides out of the storage room. His steps are measured, confident, and so effing commanding.
My mouth is still hanging open and my core tingles.
Because I said so, Camille.
Why the hell would that turn me on so much? I blink a few times to get my bearings together.
The whole meeting must’ve been all a dream.
My obsession with Dominic reached the level of hallucination.
I need a psychotherapist. They’d have a field day with me.
“Caaaam!” Nancy barges into the storage room. Her pink bangs fly all over her face as she jumps up and down with the most excited expression. “What was freaking Dominic Johnson doing here?”
Okay. So it wasn’t a dream.
Or Nancy is crazy like me. Which is believable considering the way she’s jumping like she’s on a ha
ppy pill – or drugs.
I shrug. “He wanted to ask me out… I guess.”
It sounds super weird when I say it out loud. Dominic asked me out because he knew I was watching him.
Actually, now that I’m not distracted by his proximity, the whole thing is actually dangerous.
It’s true that sociopaths like attention, but it has to be on their terms. Unwanted attention – like my morbid curiosity – isn’t welcome. Maybe he’s asking me out to shut me up somehow.
How does he intend to do that? If he wanted to kidnap me, it would’ve been easier without getting in touch with me. Maybe he wants to play with my head first.
Merde. Now, I really want to know what he has in store for me.
Nancy stops jumping and waving around. She remains frozen in place. Even her eyes are almost bulging out.
“Nancy…?” I run a hand in front of her face, worried about her.
She gulps in a long breath then blurts. “He asked you out? Like date out? Like he’s bloody interested in you?”
“I guess.” I really am not sure. He’s hard to read.
“OMG! OMG!” She goes back to jumping, only this time, she attacks me in a hug. “Go get it, girl! When you sleep with him, I want all the dirty details. I’m so curious about how he is in bed.”
That’s Nancy. No filter.
I pull away. I want to tell her that it’s early to talk about sleeping with him, but who am I kidding? That’s most likely what he wants from me. Judging from how he measured me and the way he said, ‘Because I said so’, he’ll be getting to the sex part in no time.
Heat creeps up my cheek because… I might let him.
“Do you want me to lend you one of my dresses?” Nancy asks.
“No. I’m fine.” And it’s not because he told me not to change, but it’s because I refuse to become a chameleon for anyone. That’s probably why my high school boyfriend Pierre dumped me.
I’m too hot-headed, he said. I make no compromises. I like controlling everything.
J’en ai marre, Camille. Were his last words.
It hurt so much back then. I was so attached to him and he told me he was fed up with me. After that heartbreak, I decided to never expose myself to that vulnerability again. I spent my two years in college refusing any advances and just focused on my studies.
Dominic is different. I doubt he’d be proposing any type of relationship. I stare at the mirror across from the storage room. My cheeks are flushed and my green eyes I inherited from Papa are gleaming with a smile.
After two weeks in London, I finally found my adventure.
I’m so thrilled, and slightly scared, about what Dominic can do to me.
The place in which Dominic asked me to meet him is a hotel’s underground pub. The infrastructure seems decades’ old, and I’m glad it isn’t one of those ridiculously expensive hotels. It isn’t a cheap one either, but a happy medium.
I can’t help wondering why he picked this place. Is it so I can feel more at ease and therefore, he can make me agree to anything?
He doesn’t need a setting to do that. His personality is domineering enough.
I slide into a stool at the bar and order a coffee. I spilt juice on my shorts at work so I changed into a mid-thigh denim skirt. I always liked wearing short things. Maman’s influence, I guess. She says my legs are too toned and beautiful, it’s a shame to hide them.
No ounce of makeup covers my face. I was never keen on that and I won’t start for Dominic.
I already had my lunch so he won’t feel the obligation to feed me. I’m not here for the food anyway. The sooner we get to what he wants, the better.
And I’m sure he wants something. His kind always does.
I have a shift in two hours, so it’s a good excuse to bail out.
My defences are all set. Now, I just have to wait for his move. I’m giddy just thinking about it.
This feeling is similar to when I played Chess with Papa. He has a strong strategic mind, and it’s nearly impossible to predict his next move. However, I still felt excited and pumped every time I tried to read him.
If I didn’t run away from home, Papa would be so effing proud of me if he knew I detected a sociopath. Only… well, he only taught me to read people so I’d avoid Dominic’s type, not become obsessed with them.
The bartender, who doesn’t look much older than me, smiles while sliding the cup of coffee in front of me. Give it to the British to have coffee in their pubs. It’s one of the best things they ever did.
“Thank you.” Both my hands surround the cup and its warmth seeps straight to my bones. It would’ve been better if I had my favourite mug with me, but oh, well.
“French?” the bartender asks while wiping a glass. He has boyish features and a tall body. A few tribal tattoos peek from underneath his T-shirt’s sleeves. I always had a weakness for tattoos.
“Yes.” I take a sip from the coffee and stifle a moan. This is the best beverage humans ever invented. I don’t know why people prefer alcohol to this heaven. There’s an odd taste in it. It’s not bad or anything, just a bit weird. It must be this pub’s specialty.
“What brings you to London?” The bartender continues talking to me. It’s empty here. There’s only a couple who are talking in a hushed tone at the back table and an Asian-looking man who is drinking a beer and sighing.
“Are you half-British?” he asks.
“Why would you think that?”
“You don’t have a tragic accent like most of the French who come here.”
“Hey!” I can’t help feeling defensive even though I keep the light tone he addressed me with. “British people have a horrible French accent, too.”
“Touché, love.” He laughs. “So are you half-British?”
“No. I’m half-Arabic.” I take another sip of coffee. “My mother is North African from Morocco.”
He raises an eyebrow and his gaze trails over my blond hair, green eyes, and pale complexions. “You have no Arabic traits, love.”
“You know, not all Arabs have olive skin.” I wish I had one. No amount of lying on the beach managed to tan me. “My mother is Caucasian. Most of her family are French-born and bred.”
I sigh. If only we had any family I can visit in Casablanca.
Living my entire life in Marseille is ought to drive anyone mad.
“Hope London is to your liking?” he asks with a gleam in his bright blue eyes. Then, he stares behind me. His smile disappears and his eyebrows draw together.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand in attention. A strange awareness digs beneath my skin, forming goosebumps. I gulp the mouthful of coffee. Even without looking back, I know. I just know that Dominic has arrived.
The easy-going bartender nods and trudges to the other side of the bar.
Warmth envelops me. Literally. A hard chest flushes against my back. I clutch the cup of coffee tighter as his hot breath tickle my ear, just like earlier. “You changed the shorts.”
He sounds disapproving and slightly irritated.
I swallow and lift a shoulder. I could’ve told him that I spilt juice on my short, but for an unexplainable reason, I don’t. I want to gauge his reaction. It fills me with both dread and excitement.
“I see.” He pulls back and finally offers me a view of him as he stands on my side. One hand is in his pocket while the other lies casually on the bar.
He’s in the same suit from this morning. Only now, he lost the tie. The first few buttons are undone, and a few fine, dark hairs peek out. The semi-casual look and the way his white shirt strains against his chest twists my stomach with an abnormal hunger.
“You like defying me, Camille?” There’s something about the spark in his eyes that draws me in like those sirens drew the fisherman. Now I know what it feels like to be enchanted.
I shrug again. “Maybe.”
His lips curve into a smirk, and it’s nothing like the full-of-shit one. This one shows his true self; the devil’s minion. “W
e should rectify that.”
“What do you intend to do about it?” Dieu. I’m flirting with a sociopath.
“The question is.” He leans forward and places his hand on the edge of my stool. He’s not touching me, but the charged energy almost suffocates me. “Are you ready for what I intend to do, Camille?”
“Oui… I mean, yes.” I almost slap a hand on my mouth, but I don’t. It’s a ruse, an adventure. If it means taking an unknown ride with Dominic, then so be it.
Je suis désolé, Papa.
He’s silent for a moment as if he didn’t expect me to agree so fast.
Hell. I didn’t expect to agree so fast.
His forefinger rubs his bottom lip and everything vanishes. Everything but that finger and lip.
“I don’t usually give second chances but…” His inquisitive eyes roam all over my face again. I wonder what he’s searching for. “Think again, Camille, because the moment you say yes, I have all right to do whatever I please with you.”
I gulp in a few stuttering breaths. I want to correct him and say that he doesn’t have any right and that legally speaking, I can withdraw my consent whenever I wish.
His words should raise a red alert and send me running. But all I keep thinking about is the part where he said ‘whatever he pleases.’
What pleases a man like Dominic?
“Yes.”
The moment the word is out of my lips, Dominic grabs my hand and yanks me down from the stool. A soft gasp falls from my lips as I stumble and follow his wide steps. My heartbeat thumps louder and louder in my chest.
What did I just sign up for?
5
Camille
My head becomes hazy. No matter how many breaths I suck in, my lungs starve.
I only get a view of Dominic’s back, outlined by the jacket, but it’s enough to push my body on overdrive.
It’s hard to keep up with his wide strides even though I’m wearing flat sandals. We stop in front of the lift so that means we’re going up to a room.