GABRIEL
I'll call you anything I want.
That's the retort in my mind when Riley demands that I not call her baby. The front door swings open, and Andre is standing there. He eyes Riley for a second, then turns to me.
"Sir, the mayor's been calling. Repeatedly." A line of worry creases the space between his dark brows.
"I'll get back to him soon and meet you in the office. I need to show our guest around first. This is Riley, a wonderful writer for our local newspaper. She'll be spending the evening with me, possibly more. Riley, this is Andre, my assistant."
Andre greets Riley with a stiff formality—he was the grandson of one of Cuba's wealthiest men, before the revolution, and his manners are impeccable—and turns down a hall, to the east wing of the home. It's where my office is located, while the bedrooms are in the west wing. My suite is upstairs. I prefer to separate business from pleasure.
Riley shifts from foot to foot. "The bathroom?" She stares pointedly. Such alluring blue eyes. And the sprinkle of freckles on her nose? Gorgeous.
"Of course. This way."
She follows me as we walk through the foyer, past the sweeping staircase and the massive orchid display on a table in the center of the room. Overhead, a modern crystal chandelier looms. There's a small bathroom tucked in the corner of the foyer, wedged under the staircase and discreetly hidden by an archway. There's a faint scent of vanilla and roses in the air, light and perfumed. The sweet scent is fleeting, evaporating into the blissfully cool air-conditioned home.
"Through that door."
"Thanks." She hustles in.
I suspect the skeptical Riley thinks I'll wait out here for her. But being the man I am, I want to test her a bit, so I step through another door.
It's a small nook, one the staff uses as a bar when I entertain. The heavy, wooden cabinets hold bottles of the best liquor and a stock of crystal glasses, which I use for parties. It's also climate controlled. This little nook, which the realtor called the above ground wine cellar, also has a view of the entire foyer, and I'll be able to watch what Riley does when she emerges from the bathroom.
She'll likely try to leave, and it will give me no small amount of pleasure to catch her in the act.
I lean against the cabinet, listening for the sound of a door opening. She's taking quite a long time in there. Finally, I hear the whisper of a door opening, then footsteps on the tile. She can't see me, but I can hear her. The footsteps stop.
She's likely wondering where I am. Or taking in the lavish entrance. The footsteps begin again, softer this time. Probably because she's trying to be silent. I hear the click of a handle, and I know exactly what she's touching: the front door. I peer around the corner and watch as she tries to yank the door open. Since it's locked and is old and heavy, it takes some force to open.
Grinning, I saunter out and cross the room. The muscles in her thin arm are straining as she pulls on the door handle. She spots me and stops pulling, but keeps her hand on the door.
"That's not the way to your accommodations, Riley. Wrong direction."
Her nostrils flare. "Damn you."
"Please don't think about escaping. It will be impossible. I have dogs, and armed guards, and I really wouldn't want you to get hurt. They might mistake you for an intruder, when you're anything but. I'd hate to see anything happen to you before we get the chance to talk. Come with me."
"I want to leave, okay? Game's over. You've proven your point."
I study her for a few long seconds. I must crane my neck down for this, since she's many inches shorter than me. She really is gorgeous, in a messy, wild sort of way. Riley has put her hair into a makeshift bun, and a few strands have broken free. I watch her throat as she swallows, seeing the skin slide down the surface of her neck. Her pale-yellow sundress is made of thin, inexpensive fabric, and reveals the obvious: her nipples are hard.
"Hmm," I say, while my gaze travels down her body, then back up to her eyes, which leave me more than a little speechless.
There's an innocence about her, and the combination with the feistiness is difficult to resist. A true fucking turn-on, truth be told. Under different circumstances, I'd throw her over my shoulder, carry her to my bed, and rip that cheap little sundress off her curvy body. I imagine burying my cock in her, and how she'd probably be fierce while we fucked.
But I also wasn't lying when I said I believe in consent when it comes to sex. I am a lot of things—some would call me a murderer and a mafioso, and yes, I suppose technically I also am a kidnapper—but I am definitely not a rapist. I will not put one finger on Riley.
Unless...
If, during the course of our evening, this beautiful girl decides she'd like to share more than information on her sources with me, then I will happily oblige. In fact, it would be even more satisfying to see this wild creature beg me for sex.
"I'm sorry, bab...Riley. I thought we had an agreement that you'd spend a nice weekend with me, having cocktails and dinner, discussing your articles."
"You want to discuss my news stories on Valentine's Day weekend, over dinner?" She squints one eye. "Why?"
"Did I not make myself clear in the car? I want to talk to you about your sources and Mr. Doyle. You seem well-connected, as am I. Hopefully we can use our respective connections for mutual benefit."
Her plump, pink lips part. She is breath-stoppingly beautiful. "You want me to discuss my sources?"
I nod. "And any information you haven't printed. You see, I have a vested interest in Mr. Doyle, and I need to know what you know about him."
Her tongue darts out of her mouth and licks her bottom lip, sending a dozen filthy fantasies through my mind. "Wouldn't a phone call have sufficed, Gabriel? Perhaps this could've been an email?"
I shake my head. "I never conduct delicate business over the phone or computer. And may I remind you, it was you who didn't return my email."
"So you decided to kidnap me instead? When are you going to let me go? Can you give me my phone?"
A flicker of panic flares in her eyes, replaced by that fiery defiance and flared nostrils. Something evil surges through me, and the way I'm aroused by this is probably a sin. But I don't give a fuck. I need to know how much she knows—and how much she's willing to print in the paper.
"Please don't think of our time like that. We will be together as long as we both need. And no, your phone is quite safe with my men. Your car will also be driven to a secure location. Remember, this could be quite beneficial to you, as well."
"The exclusive interview, you mean?"
I nod. Chances are good I won't allow her to write an article, but I need for her to hold out hope so I can get the details on Doyle. "Come. I'm going to show you to a room, where you can freshen up and rest for an hour or so, while I take care of some other business."
"You have, like, a prison cell for me?" Her voice rises in pitch, the sound bouncing around the high-ceilinged entryway.
A chuckle slips from my lips. "I'd hardly call it a prison, but you can be the judge of that after you see it. If you don't like it, we can upgrade your accommodations."
She snorts. "Like to your bedroom? Is that where this is going?"
"Only if you want, darling."
She curls her lip as if she's disgusted, which only makes my smile grow wider. I walk toward the west wing of the home. She's following me, the soles of her black sandals slapping against the white tile. I glance down and notice that her toes are a polished scarlet color, as if she's gotten a fresh pedicure.
"I can't fucking believe this," she mutters.
"I'm not going to harm you. Please don't think negative thoughts. Approach this like an adventure, Riley. Surely you have those during the course of your reporting duties."
She huffs out a grunt. "They usually don't involve me getting my bodily autonomy taken away."
I ignore her sputtering as we make our way down the long hallway that grows darker with every step. The walls are lined with original art, from Francis Bacon to David Hockney to Chaïm Soutine—all macabre, edgy paintings. Riley takes it all in, and I can practically feel the fear coming off her in waves.
At the end of the hall is a door, and I push it open. "Make yourself comfortable in here. There's an ensuite bathroom and"—I open an armoire—"clothing that you can change into, if you wish. I'm sure you'll find something that fits your taste and size."
She peers into the closet and runs a hand over the silky fabrics arranged by color on wooden hangers, then removes a robe and studies it. "What is this? Have you been stalking me? Why do you have women's clothing here? Do you kidnap women often? Is there a basement with bodies? Locks of hair? Teeth? What the fuck?"
I let out a genuine laugh. "Okay, I'll admit this seems odd to a stranger. But I do have a reasonable and mundane explanation for what's in here."
She stuffs the hanger back into the armoire, and fails. It falls to the floor. She doesn't move to pick it up and neither do I because our gazes are locked on one another's. She folds her arms. "Tell me."
Riley's skin smells like dessert cherries and sugar, with a hint of something dark and musky. The fragrance tickles my nose as I stand so close to her. She backs up a few inches, against the wall.
"My sister is a clothing designer. She recently started a new line of silk loungewear and swimwear. She's doing a photoshoot in my house in a few weeks, and had the samples sent here. I had my staff steam and hang them in this bedroom, which is rarely used. So no, I don't normally keep closets full of women's clothing to offer the ladies I've kidnapped."
I wink at her for dramatic effect, the corners of my mouth turning up. My expression will surely get a rise out of her, and I'm a little surprised at how much I want to see that reaction. She flinches, then recovers, but she's clearly thinking hard. She doesn't take her eyes off me. She's evaluating me, and I'm doing the same. Only I'm wearing a smirk, and she's wary, fearful. As she should be. I'm definitely a man to fear.
But I wasn't joking when I told her tonight will be an adventure, and even I'm just realizing that this is uncharted territory. No matter what happens next, after this moment there will be no going back for either of us.
"You're insane," she whispers. "Holy shit. I'm so fucked."
"Only as fucked as you want to be, Riley. Listen, I need to call the mayor." I check my watch. "It's five-thirty now. I'll send someone to get you for cocktails at seven. Freshen up, if you wish. There's a shower and a tub, with all the amenities you need. Wear this clothing or stay how you are. It doesn't matter to me."
I step out of the door and am down the hall when she pokes her head out. "What's stopping me from leaving?"
I turn and cock my head, wondering if I should once again emphasize the words armed guards. "You. You're going to stop yourself from leaving. Because you're insanely curious, and deep down, you know the reward you might get from staying will exceed your wildest expectations. Now, close the door and rest up, Riley."
As I stroll down the hall, I hear the door to her bedroom slam, and all I can do is laugh. This girl is going to be fun to play with tonight.