Saved by the Outlaw(74)

It’s been a long time since I’ve found myself curious about a guy I’d just met, but Mikhail... he’s definitely tall, dark and handsome, and mysterious to boot. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better, see what makes him tick...

He studies me a while with that penetrating gaze of his, the kind of look that makes me feel naked, and not just because I’m still wearing the slinky dress from last night. No, this is a powerful man who can see right through me, to the depths of my being. All the questions? It’s like he knows the answers to them all, but is merely confirming them. Sometimes because they’re too ludicrous for him to buy at face value, other times because he just wants to be absolutely certain.

“How many people at the office know you went out with your boss last night?” he asks me, his voice getting even grimmer, more serious.

“A few... We left right from the office, and then he took me to my place to get changed. I mean, just whoever was working late on a Friday night. Well, and his secretary because I’m pretty sure she knows everything.”

The answer didn’t surprise him, as I knew it wouldn’t, but it troubled him. That much is clear.

He lifts an arm, runs it back over his sleek, dark hair and casts his gaze down to my food, still not finished.

“Eat up. You will need all you can get. You were out for a very long time, thanks to what they slipped you. And if you don’t eat, the nausea you feel now will be nothing compared to what’s to come,” he explains casually, standing up from the table again, looming over me.

What they slipped me?

“Mr. Gallego wouldn’t give me anything like that. He’s a congressman, for Pete’s sake. Could you imagine the scandal if I was drugged while on a business meeting? The press would never let him live that down. And his friends all seemed nice.”

“Eat,” he ordered me sternly. “You are going to need your strength, and there won’t be much else to do around here for the next few days at least,” he instructed me as he glared down, those large, powerful hands upon his hips.

Next few days?!

Instead of eating, I stand up from my chair, thinking for a brief second that if I stood up I’d feel more powerful. I had apparently forgot that I come up to his pecs, am at most half his weight, and my glare is probably not going to cow him the way I hope it will. Not to mention the fact that I’m not too steady on my feet right now.

Still, a girl’s gotta try, right?

“A few days? Listen, I can’t stay here a few days. Firstly, I have a job to get to, and that... that... cot you gave me might work for a drunk tank, but I’m sober now and that’s not going to cut it. And lastly,” I say, having lost count of my points, “I’m supposed to be helping Mr. Gallego on his reelection campaign this weekend. That was why he invited me out, to give me more details on what he needed me to do.”

As expected, my resistance proves absolutely useless upon him. I might as well have just blown sparkles at him for all he seems swayed by my words.

“None of that matters anymore,” he states so simply in that harsh accent of his. “You have no job to return to. Gallego will not be running for re-election. And you are going to sit down, eat your food, then get changed, curl up on the couch and watch some TV,” he instructs me. And a quick glance shows me that the drab couch indeed sits before a rather unimpressive flat screen TV I hadn’t even noticed before now.

“I suggest you get used to your accommodations, Ms. Ali,” he says firmly. “For your own safety, you are staying here for the time being.”

This is when dread really starts creeping in.

“What... what happened last night?” I ask, my hands suddenly turned to ice and beginning to tremble.

“Nothing that should concern you any longer if you care for your life,” he says to me with such stern seriousness. “Now eat. Get comfortable. You are here until it becomes safe for you to leave again. For your own benefit I suggest you get used to it,” he explains before strolling past the couch.

There, he leans down, lifts a pile of clothes from the sofa, resting it on the back of the couch and patting it. It’s a pink, girly color.

“Here is a change of clothes for you. There is food in the kitchen, the TV has cable, and the bathroom is right there,” he explains, pointing to a small door off to the side. “I will be back later,” he explains as he heads to the main door.

“Wait!” The fear of being alone and not knowing what happened is apparently way stronger than my fear of what actually happened last night. Who is he? “Just tell me what happened at the party,” I plead, my head getting woozy and sending me off balance as I careen into the couch.