Page 17 of Captured By Fate

But I restrained myself, maintaining control. Her vulnerability excited me as much as her fiery spirit. I wanted to conquer her, but also protect her. She stirred unfamiliar feelings in me that I don't yet understand.

I lounge casually on a poolside recliner, soaking in the morning sun. The heat feels good on my skin, easing the tension in my muscles. Vince comes storming in, fuming and cursing about some woman who slipped through his grasp last night. I can't help but let out a hearty laugh at his flustered state.

"Tie them up next time," I quip, rising from my seat. My muscles flex instinctively as I stretch and dive into the pool. The water glistens against my tattooed arms. I have no qualms with my naked form. I work hard for my body, my six-pack, and I like to show it off.

I glide through the water with smooth, powerful strokes, muscles rippling beneath my sun-kissed skin. Beads of moisture accentuate my sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and chiseled torso—the results of disciplined workouts and strict dieting.

My imposing frame contrasts my lean flexibility as I turn with precise movements. I emerge from the pool, raking a hand through my dark hair, droplets trailing down my rugged features and strong jawline. I know my muscular physique draws admiring looks wherever I go. I exude raw masculinity and controlled power in every step.

Vince paces the poolside, impatience evident in his jerky movements.

“Would you quit playing around and take this seriously? What if they leak sensitive information?” He peppers me with questions about the mysterious woman he encountered, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Calm down, Vince. It’s under wraps,” I try to ease his mind before diving seamlessly into the air, sending droplets his way while he backs off from the pool, not the conversation.

“What about the other woman, I saw you with two last night?”

“Marcy?” I ask, seeing the look of curiosity on his face. “Just keeping her around to help loosen Kelley’s tongue.”

I keep my expression neutral as I reassure him that Kelley won't be easy to break, but that she isn’t going anywhere. Vince seems as interested in Marcy as much as Kelley, but I can’t reason why. Kelley seems to have all the answers I’m looking for.

“How can you be sure?” He asks, hands on hips pushing his suit jacket to the sides.

On my back, I give a flippant answer seconds before submerging myself, “Let’s just say, I’ve got her at a disadvantage.”

As I emerge from the water, beads of moisture accentuate my muscular physique. I'm well aware of the effect I have on people.

“Am I just supposed to believe you?” Vince continues prodding for details, but I remain vague, a slight smirk playing on my lips. I have my own defiant woman to deal with.

“Breakfast, gentleman,” One of my attendants calls, pushing a silver tray to the table, laden with fruit and croissants. The arrival of breakfast interrupts our conversation.

“Thank you, Marta.” I address my staff while I drip towards the spread. Marta hands me a fluffy white towel which I throw over myself as I sit casually at my table, reaching for a handful of grapes.

The table is artfully arranged with pristine white china, gleaming silverware, and crystal water glasses. A vase of vibrant flowers crowns the display. Fresh pastries emit a tempting aroma alongside poached eggs, crispy bacon, exotic fruit, and premium coffee. The elegant spread reflects my refined tastes and extravagant lifestyle.

“C’mon Vince,” I beg. “I’ve got this under control. Sit down, will you?”

Ever the gracious host, I invite Vince to join me at the outdoor table laden with food.

He doesn’t seem as confident about the situation as I am, preferring to pace around the pool instead.

“I’d feel better about those two girls if we knew what they were up to.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I assure him, confident in myself over all things. “It’s under control, Vince.”

Then, soft footsteps catch my attention.

I turn and the words die on my tongue.

It's her - Kelley. The defiant woman who's occupied my thoughts all day. She's dressed in nothing but my shirt, the thin white fabric clinging temptingly to every curve. Anger radiates from her petite but fiery frame. Her pixie-cut hair is delightfully tousled and her eyes blaze with a barely contained fury.

“May I sit?” she asks, biting each word that comes out.

Despite her attempt to appear controlled, I can read her like a book. The tense set of her shoulders, the way she crosses her arms protectively across her chest, the tapping of her foot - I recognize the signs of pent-up frustration. And beneath it all, a carefully concealed vulnerability.

“Yes, please,” I offer with a wave of my hand. Sure I left her stripped, naked on my guest room floor, but I haven’t lost all sense of hospitality. I’m still a good host, prisoner or no prisoner.

She sits obediently. I can see the edges of my shirt cling around her flesh as she sits, and I imagine for a second, the feeling of the cool iron from the patio chair rushing across her bare skin.

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