Page 42 of Captive Ruin

“I’ll never have enough of you.”

“Why would I harm what’s mine?”

“Your eyes. So very green, so very expressive. I could gaze at them for hours, and never get bored.”

I can’t decide whether Van Wyk is a psychopath with an unhealthy obsession, or a romantic with a willful misunderstanding of phrases including the words ‘no’ and ‘never.’

He’s in the kitchen as I walk out, leaning against the counter, wearing only boxers. Sipping from a cup of coffee with his phone in his other hand. He clicks the screen off as I come out, and looks up.

“Nice shower?”

“Yes, thank you.” I can’t help but run my eyes over him, then look away as I feel my cheeks heat.

“I need to leave too.” He sets his cup down and crosses to me, moving so smoothly I don’t have a chance to turn and flee. He grips the top of my towel and draws me into him, a finger coming up beneath my chin, angling my face to him.

Then he kisses me.

At first, it’s soft and gentle, tongue teasing its way between my lips. He tastes faintly of coffee, mostly of him. Then his kiss deepens, his other hand sliding to the back of my neck, holding me helpless as is his preference. He hasn’t let go of my towel.

A shiver runs through me, heat following in its wake. The man can kiss; I have to give him that.

I’m breathless when he finally straightens, gazing down into my eyes with satisfaction in his.

Then it fades, and he looks serious. “I have to leave for a few days.”

“Okay…?” Like I care. I’m getting a gun and not opening the door to anyone, ever again.

“I’ll come and find you when I get back.”

Not if I’ve skipped the state. Or maybe the country.

I search around for something to say. “Uh… where are you going?”

“Switzerland. A work thing.” His expression has drained of all emotion, eyes hardening. I don’t think it’s directed at me, but it might be. I won’t be probing any further, that’s for sure. I didn’t want to know anyway.

“I need to… uh… get going.”

“Sure. I’ll get my clothes too.” He tugs my towel and it comes loose. I grab at it. “Go on. We can leave together.”

Uh-huh.

“May I have my towel?” How’s that for civility?

“No, it’s mine now. Just like you are.” He pulls it, and it’s either fight him or let go. I know I won’t win.

I let him have that petty victory, turning quickly to give him my back, and head for the bedroom. He can watch if he must; it’ll be the last time he sees me naked.

Behind me, he draws in a long, slow breath. I glance back as I pass through the door; he has my towel held to his nose, his eyes closed.

Okay, that’s a little weird. Right?

I hurry to my dresser, pulling on underwear before he walks in. He’s not far behind me and watches me as he dresses himself. I skip makeup, even though I could really use some. My face is drawn and wan; I wonder why. But I’d rather be out of here as soon as possible, and away from him.

We’re both ready together. He walks me to the door, then pauses before it.

“Here,” he says, holding a business card out to me. It’s blank, save for a phone number and an ‘NC’ logo in one corner, the letters curled together. I’ve seen it before, and it takes me a moment to remember where: at the gala. Northbridge Capital. “Any problems, call me.”

I take the card, because refusing will only delay him leaving. “What problems could I possibly have?”