AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So why does my body still tighten with the memory of his slow, seductive touch?
Why do my lips burn from his unexpected kiss?
I sit up, flushed and breathless.It’s not real, I vow, getting up to pace in the dark room. This is a symptom of my inexperience, that’s all. If I’d kissed more men, or had more sexual adventures in my life, then none of this would even register. I would be cold as marble. Indifferent.
Not itching with a restless ache inside, craving… Something.
Something from him.
No.
I take a deep breath, and then another. I need to get myself under control. If I get thrown for a loop like this on our very first night together, how am I supposed to stay committed to my mission?
My body is an instrument, like that polished Steinway downstairs. I repeat the words over to myself in the hush of the darkness. Sebastian can touch it, sure, play whatever melody he thinks he wants to hear, but whatever happens, he can’t touchme.
Only I can choose who sees the real me. Who I share that with.
The way I shared my heart with Miles.
Slowly, my heart rate slows, but I know that I’m never going to sleep when I’m still wound this tightly. Pulling on a silky robe, I ease the bedroom door open and check around.
The hallway is dark. It’s past midnight now, and the house is silent.
I creep out, barefoot, and slowly pad downstairs. I already looked around, but I’m in search of something more now. This whole place looks like something out of a magazine, but nobody can live in a blank canvas like this, not without losing their mind.
Unless he’s a sociopath. Which, the jury’s still out on that.
I figure Sebastian must have some personal things, somewhere. Some insight that will help me figure him out. So, I search every room again, looking in drawers and cabinets, and checking every locked door. Even if this is only a vacation island, it’s still his place, after all.
Ha. I have to stifle a hollow laugh at that. Who the hell has a vacationisland?
I grew up spending a week on the Jersey shore with my parents every summer, if I was lucky. But usually, my dad had pressing Barretti business—the kind we never asked about, the kind he came home from with bruises—so I spent the summers sweltering in the city, eating ice-pops, and daring Miles to bust open a sprinkler in the park.
I feel an ache of sadness at the memory. Of more innocent times, when we still had no real idea what life had in store for the both of us.
Or death.
Bingo. I’m not even paying attention, when a random doorknob turns, and I step into a room I must have missed on my first look around. It’s a long, sleek gallery space, filled with modern art and sculpture. Even I can recognize some of the pieces hanging on the pristine white walls. Rothko. Warhol. Banksy.
I gape. The art in here must be worth a fortune. And not a small one, either. These paintings are world-famous, the biggest names around.
So why is Sebastian’s collection hidden away, out of view?
A noise from behind me makes me spin around with a yelp. It’s Sebastian. “You scared me!” I blurt.
“What are you doing in here?” he asks, his face unreadable in the dim light.
“I got lost,” I cover quickly. “I was looking for the kitchen. I wanted a snack.”
He gives a nod. “The kitchen’s this way.”
I pause, lingering to look at the art. “This art is amazing,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know anything about it, but these guys… These I recognize. How long have you been collecting? Is that even the right word?” I add.
“It is. And I’ve bought art on and off for the past ten years or so,” Sebastian replies. “It’s a good investment.”
He moves closer to me, and I see, he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt. You would have thought seeing him so casual would make him less imposing, but no, his posture and bearing are just as controlled and cool as ever.
“I like this one,” I say, nodding to the charcoal sketch in a frame, all sharp lines.
