Page 21 of Muerte

After wearing the same clothes for going on two days—a work uniform—and not being able to shower, I felt gross and in desperate need of some personal hygiene.

Maybe it was a trivial concern considering my predicament, but brushing my teeth was one small normalcy I wanted to take advantage of. I took my time applying toothpaste and going through the motions. I rinsed my mouth with water from the faucet and then splashed some on my face.

When I opened my eyes, I found Mr. Hawthorne’s in the make-do mirror. I whirled around with my heart in my throat and took a few steps back. I hadn’t heard him enter the room or come up behind me. He stood in the doorway, dressed differently from last night but still just as sharp.

Every time I saw him, he was dressed so formally. Today it was a black dress shirt beneath a vest that was meticulously tailored to his cut body, making him appear even more imposing than he already was. A dash of color was added with a deep crimson cravat secured by a silver pin.

“Good morning,” he said softly, clearly amused by my reaction.

The small space seemed to grow even smaller when he stepped forward and shut the sink off. His dark hair was damp from a recent shower, the stubble lining his jawline freshly trimmed.

I took a breath and inhaled the exotic scent of his cologne. Something about it was irrationally calming. I studied his side profile and cursed myself for still being unable to deny how gorgeous he was. It made this all the more confusing. I knew someone’s appearance wasn’t a direct correlation with the way they behaved, but I doubted he struggled with finding a woman to entertain.

He turned and surveyed me from head to toe. I was suddenly overcome with a nervousness I hadn’t felt since I was in high school. I reached up to smooth down my hair without realizing I had done so.

“Don’t.” He grabbed me by the wrist and gently pulled my arm back down. “You’re beautiful exactly as you are right now.”

Thanking him didn’t seem appropriate, so I said nothing. He released me and stepped forward, almost bringing our bodies together. And then his hands were cradling my face.

“Relax,” he demanded softly, his thumbs gently brushing the water droplets from my cheeks. His lips were so close I could smell the minty mouthwash he’d used on his breath. He tucked some of my hair behind one of my ears before lowering his hands.

“You can shower after we’re done.”

His words had me taking another step back, and with nowhere left to go, my back hit the wall. Unperturbed, he followed, crouching when he was right in front of me. Seeing this man nearly on his knees tangled my stomach into a knot.

He reached for the chain, and the warning he’d given before leaving last night flashed through my mind. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you for breakfast.” He retrieved a sole metal key from his pocket and placed his palm a few inches above my ankle, slowly sliding his hand down.

I curled my fingers and did my best to ignore the sensations his touch evoked.

“I’m curious.” He stopped and looked up at me, the hint of a smile inching across his lips. “What did you think I meant?”

He knew exactly what he was doing and where my thoughts had gone. That was irritating beyond reason.

“Nothing possibly good,” I replied evenly.

His fingers wrapped around my ankle and his slight smile became a devious grin. “I promise you deliciae, it will be far better than that.”

I wasn’t going to respond to such a remark. He inserted his key and unclasped the chain, leaving it to hit the floor with a light thud. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or terrified. Mr. Hawthorne stood and returned the key to his pocket.

“Shall we?” He held his hand out and after a moment of hesitation, I reluctantly accepted.

He led me from the room and down a short hall with plain dark walls. We emerged into a kitchen, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought where I was being kept was nice. This was a stark contrast to that. Modern appliances coexisted with dark gothic décor, creating an even mix of old and new. Dark cabinetry with intricate carvings lined the walls, while the stainless steel had been shined so thoroughly, I could see my reflection in it.

The potent aroma of recently cooked food hung in the air along with a floral scent. I didn’t see anyone, though.

“The staff will be here tomorrow,” he explained, answering my silent thought.

From the kitchen, we entered a dining room with a round table at its center that had already been set. Large, gilded chairs were placed around it. The crimson upholstery paired well with the rest of the room. It reminded me of how the resort’s amphitheater had been decorated. There was even a fancy candelabrum as a centerpiece, but the candles weren’t lit.

The drapes in here were drawn as well. I figured this was so I couldn’t see outside. Mr. Hawthorne released my hand and pulled out one of the chairs for me to sit. Once I was seated, he began to load the empty plates in front of me with food from the various dishes someone had prepared.

“This is too much,” I protested. “I can’t possibly eat all of this.”

“I’d rather you have more than you want than too little.” He poured what appeared to be fresh orange juice into my glass before sitting in the chair to my immediate right. “I rearranged my schedule to be here with you this morning. I wasn’t going to risk you refusing to eat, so I made sure I’d be around to force the food down your throat if necessary.”

That was an incentive I couldn’t ignore and a warning if I ever heard one, no matter how softly spoken it was. I bit the inside of my cheek and reached for a cloth napkin, placing it on my lap before picking up a fork. I’d never thought of myself as subservient, but if this is what I needed to do to keep him from hurting me, I’d do it without complaint.

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