AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I head off the beach, walking back to where all the cars are parked and find a mountain of a man waiting by a blacked-out car. I stop and stare at the man as he lifts his chin, instructing me to go over. With a short sigh, I walk to him and look up. I recognise the sunglasses from the time I knocked on the Range Rover window.
“Is he in the back?” I ask politely.
“Mr Scott will meet you back at the villa.”
Oh, will he now! I grind my teeth and give the colossal man a smile. I have two options here. I either return to my hotel where he will no doubt track me down, or I can go with his henchman. He opens the door, and I get in. I'm disappointed Callan isn't in here. Why did he leave?
The journey is longer than I expect, and we are moving away from the town into more rugged terrain. It's barren but beautiful. After another ten minutes, when we finally take a left up a sharp incline—iron gates and surprisingly deep green foliage are what greet us.
“Impressive,” I say. Thebig guy up front gives a slight nod of his head. “So you’re Stalin?” I ask, leaning back in the seat and watching the palm trees flit past as we head up a long drive. My eyes lift to the rear-view mirror, and I can tell he is looking at me. His lips twitch the tiniest amount before he powers us forward faster.
“Yes, ma’am.” I did think that was the case.
“Zara,” I correct, flicking my eyes to meet once again in the mirror, and he gives me a curt nod. We dip and head back down the other side of the hill. Nestled below is a secluded villa. It's private and luxurious, and I blow out a slow breath. It's just going to be us there. No Oscar to call for backup. No place for me to go to. I have no lay of the land. I’m on foreign soil, and my navigation skills are terrible. There is a small part of me that is equally happy to be off the grid. For the first time ever, no one knows where I am. Except him. He seems to always know where I am.
Stalin parks up, and I stare at the extremely beautiful villa: old clashing with new. Stalin is there to get the door for me, and I suck in a breath when I get out. I’m still in my modelling swimsuit. I’m glad I grabbed a cover-up and pulled that on before I left. My flip-flops slap gently against the stone steps, and that door is also held open for me. He nods me in, and I step over the threshold into a spacious home, but no Callan. I know why he is here, what I am walking into, although I don't think I will ever be truly ready for a man like him. The place is quiet, and when the door clicks behind me, I jump because Stalin hasn't come in.
“Callan?” I call. The main living area is open to the kitchen and what doors there are inside are open, and I can't see him anywhere. I stop at the bottom step for what I assume are bedrooms and call him again, but nothing. I wander across the floor to the bank of doors open to the view overlooking the ocean. The soft rush of water and splashing draws my eyes that way. That’s where I find him—in the pool—a dark object powering through the water. His tattoos that I have only glimpsed at are nothing short of a work of art. He is covered, from high up his neck right down his sleek arms to trail over his hands, gliding in and out of the water. His wide frame careens the water out as if a shark was seeking its prey. He is streamlined so naturally that I gawp and belatedly realise he is as naked as any other predator in the wild would be. Sensing I’m here, he stops at the far end and hoists himself out in one fluid push. I stare open-mouthed as he turns without any shame and walks to me. My eyes are fixated on his chest, but I can see everything. Everything. I baulk. My mouth flays like a fish, and he smirks, leaning past me, getting my shoulder and arm wet to grab a towel behind me.
“Zara,” he says by way of greeting, my wide eyes meeting his nervously. Am I really going to do this? Dance with the devil?
“I… I… I didn't know. Stalin said to come in… I.” Pathetic, absolutely pathetic, Zara!
“You look nice,” he comments, his finger tracing my neck, over my shoulder to where my beach cover-up is hanging off my arm.
“Thanks. Can you put some clothes on?” I garble.
“No.” Black irises smirk into mine. “Do you know why you're here, Zara?” I swallow. Yes. He wants me. He’s made that very clear.
“Surely I should be asking you that?” There. I sound far more confident. “We agreed this was done.”
“I don't believe I agreed to anything,” he says with a dark smile.
“You told me to fuck off!” I snap.
Callan pats his big chest, and I have to fight with myself not to look.
“Your lies were starting to piss me off.” He wraps the towel around his hips and knots it securely. “Why didn't you tell me you were leaving the country?” My eyes blink away, but he pulls me back, his hand holding my chin so I have no choice but to look him in the eye. When I give no answer, he shakes his head slowly at me. “You didn’t need to come here with Stalin, so tell me, Zara, why are you here?”
Holy hell, this is it. It’s going to happen. Every word I uttered to this man about not wanting him is mocking me now, because I know I’m not going to leave this villa untouched.
“Sex,” I breathe in a whisper. For the first time ever, I feel self-conscious. This man is so big, so enigmatic, lethal, and intense. I feel suddenly inadequate, vulnerable, and small.
“For the world’s most beautiful woman, you're a shy little thing.” I laugh uncertainly. He's right. Every ounce of confidence has evaporated in the face of such a painfully handsome man. “Why are you so nervous?”
His big chest expands with a deep inhale,and once again, I notice how he is a whole shoulder and head taller than me. I itch to trace the lines on his body. It's his neck that has my attention; the tattoo there is quite simply very dark. The most realistic hands are etched into his skin in a stranglehold, and the words below read: 'death by my own hands'. I watch his throat work and try to read into the stark lettering painted on his neck.
“I wasn't expecting you to be here. I thought I wouldn’t see you again,” I say stupidly, and his lips twitch. There is no way that what is about to happen between us will be a minimal moment. Something is happening here. Something my body is waking up to. A deep transient connection has come alive, and it is rushing to the surface to meet its maker. Him. He's waking up my soul. A rush of adrenaline spikes with a desire so overwhelming it tightens my chest. I stutter out a shaky breath. “You're so big,” I admit, my eyes drifting up to find the unusual black softer somehow. They darken to an abyss at my softly spoken words.
Callan adjusts his stance. His fingers take the hem of my cover-up, and he lifts it over my head as his jaw works. I'm still littered with sand. I’m sure I dirtied his car up on the drive here. It hits me that this will be the last time I see this man. I drag a lungful of air in and close my eyes when his fingers trace down the slope of my breast.
“It's more than that. You’re so tense. When was the last time you were with a man?” My eyes snap open, and I loosely wrap my arms around my waist and scuff my flip-flop on the floor.
Do I admit that my first time has been my only time, and it was over before I ever knew what I was supposed to be feeling? No, I don’t want this man knowing more than he already does.
“A while.”
“How long?” He takes the tie at the base of my neck and undoes it. The bikini drops forward and hangs over my arms. “How long?” he grates out with a rough breath, eyes trained on my breasts. Deft fingertips draw a gentle caress around my nipple.
