Wow. Just…wow.
Dammit. Why? You’re such a sexy, intelligent, fascinating man. Why do you need this?
“Can I get you something to drink before I take you home?” as he stepped to the side to let me pass.
The shock, maybe the gaping, had given me a bad case of cotton mouth. “That would be nice, thanks.” I followed him to the open living-slash-kitchen space. He went to the refrigerator, no doubt top of the line. My gaze wandered around, taking in the expensive furnishings, gorgeous chandelier hanging over the dining table, artwork. By the time it had made its way back to Shane, he was looking at me expectantly. He’d asked me a question.
“What was that?” I asked, my face warming. “I’m sorry.”
“What can I get you to drink?”
Something with a lot of alcohol. “I’ll take water. Thanks.”
“I have some of this flavored water. How’s that?” He pulled a white and pink bottle from the refrigerator. I recognized the label immediately.
“Perfect. My favorite.”
“Mine too.” He filled a tall glass with ice then poured some of the faint pink-colored water to the top.
I scurried over, accepted the glass with a smile and a thanks, and guzzled half of it in one long gulp.
“Thirsty?” he asked, his voice bouncing with laughter.
“A little.” I drained my glass, and he reached for it.
“More?”
“No thanks.” I suppressed a belch. Mistake, chugging that water. But I was nervous and uncomfortable. I couldn’t stop myself.
At least it had been water. If it had been something stronger, I might have found myself chained to something in that torture chamber.
A little quiver shot through me.
He polished off his water and set the glass on the counter. “I guess we’ll head out now.”
“Okay.” Somewhat relieved, somewhat not, I followed him to the door leading out to the elevator. He stepped aside, letting me exit first. As I was brushing close, I turned to face him. I couldn’t stop myself. My heart jerked in my chest, and before I could stop it, the word, “Why?” slipped out of my mouth.
“Why, what? Why, that?” He jerked his head toward the dungeon.
“Yes, why?”
“It’s difficult to explain. It’s an expression of who I am, essentially.”
“You’re...what? Sadistic?”
“No. I don’t get any pleasure from causing others pain. I have a need to control, to dominate. It’s difficult for some people to understand the difference.”
I thought about my mother, how she controlled me, my life, my every move. She was a wonderful woman, just like Shane had said. But she was also extremely controlling. “Actually, I can see it. I was raised by a woman who probably had the same drive.”
“She did.”
A chill swept up my spine.
I didn’t want to ask how he knew that, or what he might be implying by that statement. I knew for a fact that there’d been no torture dungeon in our house. But I suppose she could have gone somewhere else to exercise those demons, out of my sight.
Another shiver swept through my body.
Standing close enough to touch, close enough to smell, he said, “I’m sorry if I said something you weren’t ready to hear.”
“It’s okay.” I forced a smile, hoping it would ease his guilt. For some reason I looked deeply into his eyes. I don’t know what I saw there, shadows, sadness, loneliness, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Something dark. “I still think you’re one of the most amazing men I’ve ever met.”
“And I think you’re one of the most amazing women.” He set his hand on my shoulder, and another buzz of electricity zapped through my body. “That will never change.”
I felt myself leaning toward him, as if some kind of force was drawing me in. And the electricity was getting stronger with every inch I moved closer. I wanted him to kiss me. Despite the torture chamber. Despite the voice in my head, screaming, he’s not for you! Get out of here now!
“Bristol.”
“What?” I was so close now. Near enough to feel the heat radiating off his big, lean body. His mouth was still too far away, though. Much too far. No, too close. Much too close.
I leaned in, drawn to him by that invisible current. Pulling me.
Something like a low growl rumbled from him. “If you don’t leave now, you’re going to learn firsthand what happens in that room.”
I heard him. But part of me didn’t care. The other part, the one that did, wasn’t being very vocal at the moment. “I’m not afraid of you,” I said. The minute the words came out, I regretted them. The way my heart was racing, that had to be a lie. I was afraid. Afraid of that room and what he might do to me in it.