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I let it out three nights ago when I followed her home from school. The rain kept everyone indoors, making it possible for me to go unnoticed by everyone except her. Previously, when I watched, I kept my distance, only letting her know I was near with brief notes left in places I knew she’d find them. But this time around, I crave more. With each passing day, I need to be closer to her, but at the same time, I need to feed the evil beast. It’s fun, and now the obsession is blooming.
I need to smell her, touch her, feel her against me again. The only problem is, I can’t quite be myself with her yet. When she’s near, the Christian she knows doesn’t include the dark, sadistic parts of me. The pieces of my being that’ll give her nightmares. The version that’ll scare her in the opposite direction. I can’t have that.
So far, she’s only met my representative. The handsome, charming, mysterious man with a horribly fake American accent. I almost gave myself away that night in her house when I recited my note back to her. She didn’t seem to notice, though. With everything that was going on around her and all the police everywhere, my slipup went right over her head with a measly explanation.
Thinking about that now pisses me off. She can’t be so easily persuaded. Not someone of her stature, even if she doesn’t remember her family legacy. But she is, and I don’t like it. Of course, it benefits me and the plans I have laid out, but that’s beside the point. If she stood up for herself, demanded more, and held the people around her accountable, there would be no way anyone could hurt her. Not without a fight first. Instead, she shies into herself and plays the role of this helpless girl, who’d rather suffocate in a minuscule existence than make any kind of noise.
Noise would mean people would see her, people would hear her. It would be the opposite of who she’s decided to be. Safe. The word plays back in my head, just like it did three days ago when I taunted her and chased her back to her house, disappearing the moment she stepped foot inside. And just like I knew it would, it sent her right to me. Siân called me once she’d calmed down, though she skirted around the topic, pretending her only reason for calling was to hear my voice.
My plan is working, and with that in mind, I pick up my phone from the island in the kitchen of the penthouse loft I’m renting. It’s the middle of the day, but I toss back the last of my whiskey and scroll through my contacts until I find her number.
“Hello?” Her sweet voice comes out in a hushed whisper. It’s low, breathy, and shoots straight to my dick.
I stand, adjusting the crotch of my black slacks, and set the now empty tumbler down on the surface.
“Christian, you there?” Siân asks when I don’t respond.
This fucking woman’s voice alone drives me just a little closer over the edge. I shake off the wave of arousal and roll my shoulders.
“Time to cash in on that rain check, beautiful.”
The line goes silent for a beat. The only sound emulating is the chatter of those in the background.
“Cat got your tongue?” I tease.
“Um. No. Sorry. I’m in class.”
“Forever the student,” I let out.
“What does that mean?”
Shit, I mutter when I realize I said that out loud in remembrance of the fact when I found her five years ago, she was also in school. And based on the information Tony gathered on her, I know she’s studying for her master’s this time around.
“Just that you seem to always be focused on school. Do you ever get out and have fun? And before you tell me yes, I don’t mean hitting up some hole-in-the-wall bar that you’d rather not be at.”
Siân sighs, and I swear I can hear a smile form on her lips. “Can I help you, Christian?”
“Yeah. Be outside of campus in twenty minutes.”
“What? No.”
“Yes. You owe me a rain check, remember?”
More silence. This time I can hear who I assume to be her professor—a soft female voice spewing about inequality in the workplace for women. Typical feminist crap and honestly, I’m surprised Siân’s interested in a class like that. Everything she’s exhibited doesn’t fit the picture I have in mind of a woman who is truly a feminist. Now, it makes me wonder if it’s all a front. Deep down, is there more to her persona than she’s let on? I wouldn’t be surprised since she is the daughter of Marco Giuliani.
Siân lets out a huff. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Crossing the large space that is my living room, I step into the master and over to the walk-in closet for my Ferragamo Angiolo oxfords. More chatter fills the dead air around our call.
