Page 35 of Stolen By the Enemy

I stand up and take his hand, moving into the bedroom and letting him pick a side. He lays down on the side closest to the door, which works for me, since I’ve been sleeping on the other side.

I lie down next to him, and he pulls me to place my head on his chest. We’re still both completely naked and a little wet from the shower.

I can’t help but feel odd at us falling asleep, together, in the same bed.

This is not how I thought tonight would end, but I’m feeling a lot safer with him now, and I don’t feel worried about falling asleep next to him.

I wonder about what made him come over tonight. From his initial frustration, and the copious amounts of tequila in his system, I assumed it was business that was bugging him.

As I watch Marco, already asleep, a sliver of a smile tugs at my lips.

His usually stern expression is now softened by the peacefulness of sleep, and for a moment, the layers of power and danger that he’s shown me since I’ve been here seem to fade away.

He looks vulnerable, which I am sure he would not be happy to hear. I decide I won’t tell him this tomorrow.

It’s better that he continues to feel like he’s in charge, otherwise I worry that he might shift back into being the cruel and cold man he was when he brought me here.

I shift slightly, making sure not to disturb his rest.

The silence is broken only by his occasional snoring, and the weight of the night's events settles in my mind.

A strange sense of contentment washes over me, an emotion I never expected to feel while being held captive in a foreign country by a dangerous criminal.

Chapter Eleven

Marco

Half asleep, I roll over in my bed, my body instinctively going through its almost-awake motions.

My hand stretches out in front of me, expecting the familiar soft touch of my pillow. But this time, it's different.

Instead of the gentle fabric, my fingers encounter something unexpected. Human hair.

Confused but still in the haze of half-consciousness, I move my hand down, and there's something solid beneath my touch.

A shoulder. Reality starts to seep through the grogginess as my eyes flicker open suddenly.

My gaze follows the contour of the shoulder, and there she is—Grazia.

What the fuck. How is Grazia in my fucking bed? I slowly open my eyes, the room coming into focus in a disorienting haze.

There's an unfamiliar scent of vanilla and sandalwood in the air, and the soft glow of candles that should have been put out suggests a different atmosphere.

Confusion settles in as I realize I'm not at home.

Sitting up I look around the room and realize that I am in the beach house, and Grazia is in the bed she’s supposed to be in.

Fuck.

The pieces of the puzzle start to fall into place. The events of the previous night, the unfamiliar room, and now waking up beside her.

The memories of the night before hit me like a tidal wave, but there’s a gap. How did I end up here?

I sit up, a dull ache in my head making it difficult to concentrate.

I must have passed out here.

It’s morning already, and my plan was never to stay overnight.

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