Page 61 of Captured

He backed away by a couple of steps, his brows furrowing. “That you’ve been very lonely your entire life. You have friends, musicians you practice with but the heartache from losing your mother has never left, the questions about her death remaining unanswered and it’s driven you musically and built a strong sense of hatred.”

I wanted to scream he was wrong, but that would be a lie and somehow I sensed he could smell those out like the desire he consumed.

“My turn,” I told him.

The amusement crossing his face continued to increase, the light in his eyes returning. “Why not? I do so love your gumption.”

Gumption? Who used that word any longer? “You’re a highly intelligent and very powerful man, but you have a damaged soul based on how you were brought up. If I had to guess, I’d say your father was brutal, a horrible man who took out his misgivings on his only child. Perhaps that drove your mother away, so you feel the same sense of abandonment that you claim I do. That’s one reason you felt compelled to lie to me that someone wanted me dead. How am I doing?”

With every word said I sensed the beast awakening from his lair. There was something damning underneath the surface, a man close to snapping without any recourse but using violence to appease his rage.

The iciness returned for a few seconds and I sensed he was having some issues with controlling himself. Instead of acting insulted at my barbs or retaliating with another by depicting me as the naive girl, he took me by the elbow, leading me toward the grand piano.

“You are correct on many of your observations and I applaud your skills in reading me. However, I have two brothers, both of whom I do not necessarily get along with.”

“Anything else?”

“That someone wants you dead. I assure you that I was offered a significant sum of money to put a bullet in that lovely large brain of yours.” As if to reiterate the point, he pressed his index finger against my forehead, acting as if he had a weapon in his hand. “Pop. Pop.”

The two little words were far more disturbing than I wanted to admit. Almost instantly, I was quivering, the lump I’d had in my throat returning. “Why?”

“Because you’re worth a significant amount of money dead to someone who deems themselves an enemy of your father’s. Fortunately for you, I realized just how valuable you are and will be. Now, play for me. Make it something light, perhaps even tropical. If you’re a good girl, then I will show you around your new home. Afterwards, we’ll have a picnic on the beach, enjoying the lovely weather. That should make you very happy.”

Was this asshole kidding me? He was going to ply me with food and drink, thinking that I’d simply forget I was his prisoner? He truly underestimated me.

However, I did want to see the island so I sat down without wasting another minute, placing my fingers on the polished ivory keys.

He backed away, returning to the window, peering out as he placed his hand on the glass. The man almost seemed happy and content. I thought murderers only felt that way after slaughtering someone.

Taking a deep breath, I counted to five as I thought about what to play. So many of the pieces I’d memorized were dark and foreboding, because he was right about how I’d felt for far too long. As I began to play, the excessive tension I’d felt began to fade, slipping into the dark abyss that had taken captive of my mind long before.

I was lucky in that I could get lost in the music, the piece a sweeping rendition of the song used for the movie Pearl Harbor. It was still haunting, as was almost every other aspect of my life, but there was a defined passion to the chords I played, a tropical infusion from the Hawaiian Islands where the actual events had occurred.

I’d forgotten how much I adored the music, the vibrant overture taking a serious amount of adrenaline. It was a long piece, over ten minutes, but it did my aching soul tremendous good. My eyes were closed as I felt every note played, leaning into the beautifully written piece. When I was close to the crescendo, I was breathless, my heart racing as if playing piano was just as intimate as anything a man could do to me.

It was strange to be thinking that way when I had never done that before, but it was the truth. When I was finally finished, my hands were shaking, my fingers remaining on the keys. I had my head down, my eyes still closed but the crackle of electricity between my captor and myself was stronger than ever.

He took an exaggerated and deep breath, and I finally lifted my head, studying his reaction. The sunlight was just so but I could swear there were tears in his eyes. No, that wasn’t possible.

“You didn’t like it,” I said, loathing the fact I wanted his words of encouragement. I needed his praise. What the hell had happened to me? And why did this bastard have such a tremendous effect on my entire personality?

“It was magnificent, a perfect selection.”

“Then why the forlorn look?” I figured the more I learned about him, the more opportunities I would have of having him arrested.

Another strange look crossed his face and he glanced out the window. “Someone I cared about loved the movie. It was her favorite.”

My God. A juicy snippet of information. He’d lost someone. “You received that scar trying to protect her. Didn’t you?”

The slight breakthrough I’d just had was short lived. He didn’t react other than to shut down all his emotions, walking closer. “We will be leaving in five minutes on our adventure. Grab a swimsuit. They are in your bottom right-hand drawer.”

With that, he walked out of the room.

This time the cold chill coursing down my spine was even icier. I was replacing the woman he’d loved and lost.

I’d noticed a woman in a flurry of activity around the kitchen. He did have staff to help him with some menial chores, like putting together a real picnic basket. The two wicker handles and red gingham material peeking from the two flaps continued to capture my attention. I was more than shocked a man like Talon even knew what a picnic meant.

He’d led me outside into the bright sunshine, even handing me a brand-new pair of sunglasses. They were Saint Laurent, which cost several hundred dollars. As with everything else he’d purchased for me, they fit my face perfectly, the dark lens cutting almost all the glare.

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