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Hassling her would prove to be futile, even if I wanted to lash out at anyone in my path. I didn’t bother barraging her with questions, but I did contemplate bolting out of the room, staring at the door as she finished her task, which of course she noticed.
“Mr. Sabatin has instructed me to allow you free roam of the house.”
“Did he now?” I asked, more excited than I wanted to let on. At least I’d get an up close and personal tour of my spiffy cage.
“Yes, but you may not leave the premises,” she stated as she walked quickly toward the door.
“Of course not.” And what would happen if I tried? She certainly didn’t seem like a trained killer.
She stopped just inside the door, acting as if she wanted to say something to me. Then she disappeared, once again muttering under her breath. I sagged against the wall, staring down at the plate of food. A sandwich, a bottle of water, a glass of milk with an apple on the side. Milk? I grabbed the water, cracking it open and taking a huge gulp. At least the cold liquid soothed my throat.
Unfortunately, nothing could do that for my heart.
The lure of the open door continued to draw my attention even though my stomach continued to rumble. I replaced the water with the apple, taking tentative steps toward the hallway. As I walked down the expansive space, the walls complete devoid of photographs or art of any kind, I’d never felt so claustrophobic, but the intensity of the silence was overwhelming.
As I walked by at least six rooms, I tried the doors, finding two of them locked. The other four were more like storage areas than anything else, but at least one had floor-to-ceiling bookcases, hundreds of books positioned on the gorgeous dark shelves. Perhaps this was going to become his library. I glanced at his selection, drinking in the various titles. As with everything else, his taste in books was infinite.
Classicals.
History books.
Travel books.
The only single modern book I could find was one from Tom Clancy. I don’t know why that would surprise me. Perhaps I’d expected to find everything printed in Russian. I trailed my fingers across several of the spines, finally pulling out one. Even more surprising was that it was a first edition. The man was a true anomaly. As I replaced it in the shelf, I realized just seeing some of his things allowed me to feel closer to him. While it shouldn’t matter, it did. Everything about the man intrigued me.
After turning around in a full circle, I backed out, continuing my search. What I didn’t find was anything that looked like his bedroom. I knew for a fact the room where I was staying was either meant as a prison or a guest room. There were no clothes in the closet, the few toiletry items in the bathroom unopened.
He’d mentioned there were two condos that he’d had turned into one. Maybe he had an entire wing to himself.
I hurried along the various corridors, noticing the huge living room and small kitchen, which appeared as if it had never been used. When I stepped foot into the foyer where he’d brought me in, I stared at the elevator for several seconds. Kirill had saved me from God knows what, but I couldn’t spend my entire life as his prisoner, no matter what he called it or what kind of danger I was in.
Exhaling, I glanced from right to left then moved toward it, pressing the button. I half expected one of his goons would be standing with an automatic rifle behind the steel doors, but it was empty. I took a series of deep breaths, realizing that if I somehow made it outside the building, I’d have to run far away. Could the Walsh family keep me safe, or would that start a crazy war? I didn’t know.
The nagging voice inside my head told me to back away, but I moved inside, staring at the two buttons I could press. My hand was shaking as I made my selection, slapping my fingers across it then moving against the back wall. As soon as the doors started to close, I lurched forward, throwing my arm between them and pushing. Still shaking, I returned to the foyer, waiting until the doors closed once again. A part of me didn’t want to leave. A huge part.
What did that say about me?
I backed away, folding my arms and chastising how foolish I’d been. Thank God I hadn’t gone through with it. After taking a few seconds to collect my shit, I continued my tour, unable to stop thinking about him. We’d been so intimate, but this was personal. He was allowing me the opportunity to learn more about him, something he’d never done. I shivered from the thought.
There was more character, including dark gothic pictures adorning the walls. I saw no one as I continued my venture, but I felt eyes watching me. Maybe there were hidden cameras I hadn’t noticed.
As I crossed into another long hallway, I looked over my shoulder before continuing. I knew everything I did would be reported to the master of the house. Maybe the woman would get a gold star for tattling on me. Several of the rooms on this side were also locked, but a single door stood ajar. There was no reason to be afraid of going inside, but I suddenly felt like I was trespassing.
Half laughing, I bolted inside, ill prepared for the beautiful, majestic view that almost assaulted my senses. Everything within the room was rich in detail, the dark furniture appearing heavy yet the exquisite detailing of the woodworking taking my breath away. I was drawn inside, no longer caring who found me here. His bed was massive, larger than I suspected the majority of king-size beds were. The comforter reminded me of crushed velvet, the deep burgundy meant for royalty.
The stupid nervous girl in me wanted to jump on the bed, raking my hands across the surface, testing the softness. I didn’t dare to do something so childlike for fear of being punished. The thought brought a chill down my spine. I wasn’t certain of the right adjective to use regarding the look of the room, but ‘old world’ came to mind, but instead of feeling stuffy, I envisioned sweltering nights of passion.
My actions still tentative, I moved toward the closet, hesitating for almost thirty seconds before opening the two doors. The man had dozens of suits, all in dark colors, dozens of crisp long-sleeved shirts hung in perfect formation, and ties in every color. They were all lined up, the entire closet completely organized. It was another moment where I wasn’t certain what I’d expected. Leather? The thought gave me a small laugh. I threw another look over my shoulder before opening one of the drawers from a massive built-in dresser.
Tee shirts folded as if they’d been pressed. I pulled one into my hands, running my fingers across the front. There was no screen print gruff saying. From what I could see, none of them had any statement or admiration of a sports team printed anywhere. I pulled the soft material to my nose, his scent lingering even though I knew everything inside this room had been dry cleaned or washed, everything kept exactly the way he wanted.
The way he demanded.
I closed my eyes, trying to keep from crying. I’d never been that kind of girl, refusing to whimper even when I’d broken my arm. My mother had called me far too tough for my own good, yet here I was blubbering like a fool.
Breathe. In and out. In and out.
Every time I did, I inhaled more of his musky scent. All that did was leave me aching inside. I returned the shirt, trying to place it exactly the way I’d found it, taking one last look before walking out.
