Tell Me Ariel, Are You Mine?

Chapter 8 - No Going Back Now

I seared air in through my teeth. "Yes."

"Yes what?" He coaxed.

"It was all for you."

I held my breath, watching, while his breath laboured for control. Hearing it forced me to notice how low the music from inside trailed towards us, faint and weak. That was the only tone for yards apart from us. Any sounds we made were the type an inch of space would catch. Just between us.

He thumped one hand at the wall, grabbed my neck with the other, brought me in and gave me the last kiss before we'd get to his place. Deep, hard, rough, eager. He sank so much against me he gave in to me. But not completely. Not here.

**

If you were ever in the market for some of the most exclusive real estate this side of London, one that consisted of a luxury residential apartment complete with private gardens, concierge, a likely outrageous budget, and in the W2 postcode area, then here we were at Dante Greco's place. The Wharf Gardens Development.

We pulled into the compound of the apartment block high enough to have balconies on every floor and a roof-top apartment to top it off. For a couple of seconds I stared at it after exiting the car. You'd think that thing led to heaven, it disappeared into the sky.

Dante had a word with his chauffeur, called him Malcolm, and left him at the wheel. When we got out onto the top floor however, I soon realised that the entire level belonged to him. The. Entire. Level.

"I know." He read my expression. A small smile softened him.

"No, it's just..." I looked around the squared hallway.

"A lot," he said.

Of square footage, yeah.

He keyed in the door and let me through before him and as I entered...if you could have seen this place. I mean, it was...I'd never seen anything like this.

At first I would have assumed there was nothing personal about this place, or homely. Or his. I would have assumed that the dark of the walls was enough to tell me his heart wasn't here. But on second thought, as I held my clutch, looking past the only vivid colour in the room from a serpent-green plant, I realised something. This was him. Rich, dark, a little empty, save for the only bright spark of life he let in through the potted green to the side. This said more to me than anything he ever had. And yet his darkness was lush.

You'd think he brought the night indoors and set moons in the ceiling with those round lights up there. He liked things a little bit hidden save for the odd spark. Black, granite, wood, stone, fire. It was so beautiful.

I think I may have said that out loud.

"It's not bad," he said, dropping his keys on a tall, cast-iron table, and draping his jacket over a seat.

Okay, so I did.

"Not bad?" I let out a small laugh. "Tell that to this view."

I set my clutch down on a stone lightstand and walked over to the window. It wasn't long before I wanted to see it from the next room, and the next room, till I found myself in the bedroom. The view flanked in sheer veils draped either side of the panoramic window. Floor to ceiling. Of course.

When you're directly in the city, really in the thick of it on the ground, its atmosphere can be abrasive. Here though, the sky was roasted coffee, the city dripped in black romance. Maybe even isolation too. Not hard to be isolated all the way up here. To feel small. I instinctively hugged myself.

"It's easy to forget, isn't it?"

"What?" he came closer. "How dark the world can get?"

"No." I acknowledged that too. I turned. "How—"