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I bit my lip and looked at my hands clasped tightly in my lap.
When I didn’t respond, he went on, “Didn’t we agree that we wouldn’t see each other again? Or do you need to feel good again?”
“Well, what if I do?” I responded.
He leaned back into his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “What for, this time around?”
“Why do you want to know? It’s not like you care.”
Without a word, he grabbed the seat belt’s strap and locked me in place.
My brain moved at a very slow pace with all the alcohol sloshing around in it and I felt almost confused by the barricade. “Brent,” I called.
He started the engine and zoomed us both into the night.
I know I should have insisted he let me out, but instead I settled in and waited to see where he was taking me. About half an hour later, we arrived at the gate of a residential compound in Chelsea.
He parked the car in the driveway and immediately one of his staff came over to take his keys from him. I watched as he circled the car and then jerked my door open none too gently. He unbuckled my seat belt.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“You’re intoxicated,” he said to me. “Sleep it away and you’ll be on your way tomorrow.” With that, he turned around and walked into the house.
For a few minutes, I remained in the car deep in thought. Hmmm … He should have driven me home if my intoxication was his concern. Why had he then, brought me to his home?
Freya
Brent’s townhouse was brighter and even bigger than I’d expected. Somehow, I had expected his taste to be dark and sinister, but instead it was an extremely tasteful palette of cream and brown with subtle silver accents. No doubt the creation of some talented interior designer.
There was no one to welcome me at the door and certainly no Brent to explain to me what I was supposed to do in a house of this magnitude. With little interest in sightseeing, I headed up the stairs, nearly breaking my neck in the process as my foot caught on the runner carpet. I managed to catch the banister, and gave myself a good talking to before I went up the marble grand staircase.
“You won’t get rid of me that easily, Brent Lucan,” I muttered as I reached the top step. I was faced with lots of doors. Undaunted, I boldly opened them all. Behind them, were lavishly decorated bedrooms that I supposed he expected me to just choose from while I held my peace till the next morning. I however, had no intention of doing that. Perhaps it was the alcohol still running wild in my system, or perhaps it was the fact that I had more than halfway lost my mind.
I told myself I wasn’t staying, but just before I left, I wanted to speak to him. Give him a piece of my mind. How dare he bring me here, then abandon me like this? Who did he think he was? Bluebeard? Arrogant sod.
I opened another door and found what had to be the master bedroom. It was larger than all the other rooms and his jacket was carelessly strewn across the bed. Even in my state, I could hear the running shower. I marched towards the bathroom.
For a second, I hesitated.
What would Maddie do? Or even Ella?
Then intoxication prevailed and I walked boldly into the steamy marble room. He was behind the frosted glass of a massive shower stall. It seemed as if he was leaning his head against the wall as the water cascaded down his head, completely still, as if deep in thought.
With a shaky breath, I walked over to the glass stall and knocked softly on it. “I want to go home,” I said to him. “My battery's dead. Call me a taxi please.”
He remained still for a few more moments before he straightened and finger combed his hair away from his face.
I grabbed the handle of the stall and slid the door open. I was determined to keep my eyes solely on his face, but with the cascade of water rolling down the ridges of his torso, my gaze eventually followed all those lovely droplets to his groin to see that his cock was already rock hard at a ninety-degree angle to his body.
I took a step back unconsciously and dragged my gaze back to his.
He shifted away from the cascade and stood fully naked in front of me.
I felt my legs begin to dissolve under me. It must be a delayed effect of the alcohol. “Why did you bring me here?” I demanded loftily.
“You keep asking that,” he said, his tone aloof. “Is there an answer that you would prefer?” He wasn’t going to let me in. He wasn’t going to let me know what exactly was going through his head.
I took a deep breath and thought about what I truly wanted to say to him, without restraints. I had a lot I wanted to say to him. A lot. “I’m surprised you were able to come at my request. You seemed to be quite busy with Judi Mirren.” The moment I spoke, I felt disappointment and disgust with myself. Never had I sounded or felt so petty.
His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you're acting out?”
“I’m not acting out. You know what. You deserve to be left alone. Maybe you can call Judi Mirren around to take care of that massive erection you’ve got going on.” I turned around and ran away, almost stumbling in my haste to get away.
I got as far as jerking open the door to his bedroom. Then all hell broke loose. The door was slammed closed. Before my mind could even begin to process what was going on, my arms were caught, I was spun around, and pushed against the door. With a hand beside my head to cage me in place, Brent stood close to me, his face glowering in a mixture of exasperation and something else.
