The rise and fall of his chest and the loosening of his grip on my hands until he guides them to flop against his chest.
The shame comes last, and it’s weak, unable to overcome the satisfaction of being the centre of this big, powerful man’s world. For now, at least.
I make a vague sound of dissent as he bends, but this time when he scoops me up, I’m cradled in his arms, not over his shoulder. The essence of Zane mixes with the clean outdoorsy-ness of the forest, and I give in again, breathing it in. Sandalwood and musk.
The men of the Maldon mafia never smelled this good. All I know is, it’s good. He has a compulsive scent that makes me want to bury my nose into his skin and rub my face over him. It’s like he has new-book smell.
Forcing myself away from his book-like pheromones, or whatever it is I’m responding to, I look around.
“This isn’t the way we came.” I didn’t take much notice, but the woodland is different here, and there’s more undergrowth. Fewer crunchy copper-coloured leaves.
“Nope,” he agrees. “It’s a shortcut.”
“Where to?”
But there’s no reason for him to answer, because at that moment we emerge from the forest at the bottom of a grass avenue lined with trees. It leads to an imposing red brick mansion with ivy growing up the walls and lilac flowers over the porch. Zane Bethnal’s country residence.
I’m in a white silk wedding dress, being carried by a strong, handsome man who says he loves me, towards the sort of place dreams are made of.
I should pinch myself. Does that even work? I’ve not tried it in a dream, and actually, upon reflection, I don’t want to wake up. This is the best dream I’ve had for a long time.
So I remain silent as Zane carries me to the house. He nods slightly as he points out the tennis courts off to the side, that there are stables, and a rose garden.
It’s a mansion. That was obvious from a distance, but the second Zane steps inside, the door opened by one of his men, it’s breathtaking. The wallpaper is a painting of leaves, flowers, and birds, the floor is an intricate geometric pattern made from gleaming wood, and the whole entrance hall is flooded with light from a glass dome above.
“Aren’t you going to put me down?” I ask halfway up the double, curved wooden staircase.
“So you can run and hurt your feet again?” he responds dryly, turning at the top and entering the first door, skilfully opening it without even shifting my weight in his arms. “No.”
“Just gonna carry me around like I’m your lapdog? I want a diamante collar and steak every day.”
His chest vibrates as he laughs, and I’m stupidly happy that he likes my jokes. None of my family ever did. Do. Am I talking about them as though they’re gone already?
Maybe it’s true that they’re in my past, since I have just been kidnapped by their enemy.
All my firsts.
He kicks the door closed behind him, and I examine the room from my place tight in his arms. It’s painted a deep green-blue with accents of pale grey. The furniture is all free-standing dark wood. No space-saving fitted wardrobes here, nope.
“Don’t move,” he instructs severely as he places me onto the enormous four-poster bed. The sheets have an expensive sheen, and I secretly caress them as I watch him.
He strides across the room, through another door to what seems to be a bathroom decked with those small rectangular white tiles. He busies himself in a cupboard, his back to me.
I split my attention between my captor and looking around. The windows are that old-fashioned type with two sets of six panes of glass, and look out over the huge lawn that leads down to a lake, and the endless blue and cloud-patterned sky. I’m used to comfort since my family is wealthy enough. But it’s all new money, all shiny steel, magnolia paint, and glass. None of the refinement that Bethnal’s house has.
“Is this your bedroom?” I can’t see much to indicate that. It’s austere. Everything in its place, behind doors, except for a watch on the bedside cabinet.
“It’s yours now, too.” He returns and I look up at him. Up, and up, because he towers over me, intimidating and thrilling. Mine too?
But I don’t have time to examine that thought, because he scoops me into his arms, and I let out a squeak and instinctively cling to him. In response he merely holds me tighter, as though he understands my need to be secure.
The bathroom has two big marble sinks, a shower that you could do laps of, and an enormous roll top bath. Only one toothbrush, I note.
“Do you have a wife, or a girlfriend?” I ask as he sits me on the edge of the bath. It’s partly filled, and I whine as my feet touch the warm water, the dress rucked over my thighs. The water releases all the pain I’ve been ignoring.
“It wouldn’t hurt if you hadn’t run from me,” he chastises me in an undertone.
My feet sting, and I gaze at where brown and red float off my toes. Mud and blood from where I ran from Zane. He’s right, but I don’t regret making him chase me down.
