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)
He reached for the chain, and the warning he’d given before leaving last night flashed through my mind. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you for breakfast.” He retrieved a sole metal key from his pocket and placed his palm a few inches above my ankle, slowly sliding his hand down.
I curled my fingers and did my best to ignore the sensations his touch evoked.
“I’m curious.” He stopped and looked up at me, the hint of a smile inching across his lips. “What did you think I meant?”
He knew exactly what he was doing and where my thoughts had gone. That was irritating beyond reason.
“Nothing possibly good,” I replied evenly.
His fingers wrapped around my ankle and his slight smile became a devious grin. “I promise you deliciae, it will be far better than that.”
I wasn’t going to respond to such a remark. He inserted his key and unclasped the chain, leaving it to hit the floor with a light thud. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or terrified. Mr. Hawthorne stood and returned the key to his pocket.
“Shall we?” He held his hand out and after a moment of hesitation, I reluctantly accepted.
He led me from the room and down a short hall with plain dark walls. We emerged into a kitchen, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought where I was being kept was nice. This was a stark contrast to that. Modern appliances coexisted with dark gothic décor, creating an even mix of old and new. Dark cabinetry with intricate carvings lined the walls, while the stainless steel had been shined so thoroughly, I could see my reflection in it.
The potent aroma of recently cooked food hung in the air along with a floral scent. I didn’t see anyone, though.
“The staff will be here tomorrow,” he explained, answering my silent thought.
From the kitchen, we entered a dining room with a round table at its center that had already been set. Large, gilded chairs were placed around it. The crimson upholstery paired well with the rest of the room. It reminded me of how the resort’s amphitheater had been decorated. There was even a fancy candelabrum as a centerpiece, but the candles weren’t lit.
The drapes in here were drawn as well. I figured this was so I couldn’t see outside. Mr. Hawthorne released my hand and pulled out one of the chairs for me to sit. Once I was seated, he began to load the empty plates in front of me with food from the various dishes someone had prepared.
“This is too much,” I protested. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”
“I’d rather you have more than you want than too little.” He poured what appeared to be fresh orange juice into my glass before sitting in the chair to my immediate right. “I rearranged my schedule to be here with you this morning. I wasn’t going to risk you refusing to eat, so I made sure I’d be around to force the food down your throat if necessary.”
That was an incentive I couldn’t ignore and a warning if I ever heard one, no matter how softly spoken it was. I bit the inside of my cheek and reached for a cloth napkin, placing it on my lap before picking up a fork. I’d never thought of myself as subservient, but if this is what I needed to do to keep him from hurting me, I’d do it without complaint.
The worst he’d done so far was spike a glass of wine and bring me here.
Compared to the crime dramas and Criminal Mind episodes I frequently binged, things could be much worse. I had no way of knowing when that would change, but I wasn’t willing to test the limits of his patience to find out. I began to eat and noticed he didn’t have a dish in front of him.
“You’re not eating?”
“I usually don’t until I get to the office.”
Office. Did he do something corporate then? I didn’t get that vibe. He seemed more like a man who owned a company or two, not who ran one.
I continued to eat, hoping he couldn’t tell how unnerved I was by the way he was watching me. Despite my unease, the food tasted better than anything I’d had in a long time.
“Good?”
I nodded and reached for my glass of orange juice, contemplating how to get him to open up.
The two most important things for me to figure out were where I was, and what he planned to do with me. That mattered more than the reason why. I’d never been great at small talk outside of work settings, but I had to at least try.
“Who made all of this? I assume not you.”
“Are you implying I can’t cook?” His tone was light—I dared say playful.
Seeing as I didn’t know who he was or anything about him, I couldn’t be sure. Something told me he was good at most things that required at least some level of skill. I wasn’t going to tell him that, though. I made it seem as if I was thinking about it before answering.