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Chapter 4
Oriana
When I wake up, I’m alone. Gentle sunlight filters in through the window, and the space next to me on the bed is cold. I wonder if maybe I dreamed everything up—the way Flint held me. And how good it felt.
But no. His fresh, masculine scent lingers in my hair and on the pillow. Part of me wishes he was still here. But mostly, I’m relieved. I can’t believe I fell apart like that in front of him. It was like he just stripped me bare, showing me truths about myself and my life I wasn’t ready to face. It was like he saw me more clearly than I ever saw myself.
I sit up in bed, my mind spinning but my heart feeling lighter than it has in weeks. Months, maybe even years. What my father did to me—maybe that wasn’t love after all. If Flint told the truth about what he did, my father isn’t a good man. The thought makes my stomach sink.
I don’t know Flint well, but he doesn’t seem like a dishonest person. Quite the opposite, actually. My dad, however—I’ve seen him lie too many times to count. I just never thought he’d lie to me.
I get up abruptly and go into the bathroom. Maybe a shower will clear my head. While the warm water eases some of the tension in my muscles, I work shampoo into my hair and then rinse it. Of course there’s no conditioner. I grimace, knowing what a pain it’ll be to detangle my long hair.
After I dry myself off, I look around for deodorant. It’s a brand I don’t recognize, but it’s obviously marketed at men. I put it on anyway. It feels strange to be in a bathroom that’s so clearly only used by a man. My father always made sure I had the most expensive, luxurious products, and yet somehow I feel more like myself without all of that stuff. But maybe that’s just because I now smell like Flint after having used all his products.
I breathe in deeply, remembering the way he held me in his arms; how I could feel his strong and steady heartbeat against my cheek. And I remember him hardening against me when I tried to run. I remember the powerful lines of his body; the tattoos snaking up his arms and over his torso.
Heat pools between my legs, and I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bright and my cheeks are rosy. I look healthy. I almost look happy.
I shake my head and press my eyes shut. This is insane. I was kidnapped. I should try to find a way out of here, not fantasize about the man who kidnapped me.
I push open the bathroom door, my towel still wrapped around me. Too late it occurs to me that I don’t have any clothes. Damn. I glance at Flint’s closet, wondering if he’ll be angry if I borrow some of his clothes. But it’s not like I have a choice unless I want to sit here in my towel or naked. Briefly I wonder how Flint would react if he found me lying naked on the bed. What he would do. What it would feel like.
I walk over to the closet and grab a T-shirt and boxers, trying to get my unruly thoughts under control. This has to stop. Now. I have to figure out what exactly Flint wants and then I have to get out of here. It doesn’t matter how attractive I find him or how good it felt when he held me. I can’t just stay here. Right?
* * *
My heart races when the door opens and Flint steps inside, carrying a large light blue box in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. When he sees me sitting on the couch, he freezes, taking in my clothes. Or rather, his clothes.
“Sorry,” I say, heat flooding my cheeks. “I didn’t have any clean clothes.”
He swallows, rubbing a large hand over the back of his neck. “Don’t be sorry,” he says, his voice a delicious rumble. “I like seeing you in my clothes.”
He stares at me for a moment longer before seemingly gathering himself and gently closing the door behind him.
“But I got you some clothes while I was out.” He holds up the plastic bag.
The thought of him picking out clothes for me to wear makes my core heat and I press my thighs together. Him choosing my clothing feels like he’s marking me, somehow.
“Oh. Thank you.” I clear my throat. “What’s in that box?” I ask, trying to distract myself from what his presence does to my body.
“Lemon cheesecake.” He sets the box down on the couch table and hangs his heavy leather jacket over the back of a chair.
I blink. “Lemon cheesecake?” I try to imagine Flint in a quaint little bakery. I can’t quite manage.
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Yup. You want a piece?”
“Yes, please.”
He grins at me while he opens the box, his eyes gleaming. “Such a proper young lady.”
I blush, not sure if he’s making fun of me. “Does it bother you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He raises a dark eyebrow. “Bother me?” He shakes his head and sits down next to me on the couch, his thigh brushing mine. “Nothing you do bothers me.”
I swallow drily, trying for a sarcastic smile. “Not even when I sob hysterically into your T-shirt?”
He puts a hand on my leg, squeezing it gently, and it takes everything in me to keep my breathing even. “Not even then. I like everything about you, Oriana,” he says, his deep blue eyes earnest. “There’s nothing you could do that would change that.”
