Page 37 of Mine

Confused, I stare at the pictures, and for the first time, wonder how in love they were. After all, only a man who is madly in love with his wife would have so many photos of her everywhere. Am I stupid for thinking there was a genuine attraction between us? Or am I nothing but a rebound, an escape from the pain?

I turn away from the watchful eyes of his dead wife and follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Here I find Leo, the man who was standing guard when we arrived, and who later delivered a five-course meal to my room. He’s stocking the cabinets full of food.

“Oh.” I clear my throat, unsure if I’m allowed to speak. I’m not up to date on my prisoner/free-person protocol. “Hi.”

He slides me a glance. “Hey.”

Like last night, his expression is tight and hard, his demeanor rigid. He still has the five o’clock shadow, but today, his shaggy blond hair is slicked back, away from his face. Probably wet from the rain. He looks younger this way, and I wonder how close in age we are.

It would be far more appropriate for me to lust after Leo instead of his much-older boss. But then again, this alternate universe I’m suddenly living in is all Greek to me.

“Thank you for the food last night,” I say, daring to move deeper into the room.

“It was ordered to be done, so it was done.”

“By Astor?”

“Yes.”

“Well, thank you anyway.”

Clearly not one for small talk, Leo continues his work as I take in the space around me.

The kitchen is double the size of my Vegas apartment. Thankfully, there are no pictures of Astor’s late wife in this room.

I take my time studying the lavish space, the marble countertops, the deep double sinks, the top-of-the-line appliances, the copper cookware hanging from the ceiling. I muse over all the wonderful dishes I could prepare in this kitchen, the hours I could spend in here cooking, listening to music, and drinking wine.

What a life Astor’s wife had.

Leo closes the cabinet. “There’s fresh fruit in the fridge, and the coffee is also fresh. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. Do you think it’s okay if I walk around?”

“I’ve not been told otherwise.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Astor and Cillian are taking a meeting in Astor’s office, and I’m not sure about Prishna. Have a good day.”

I regard him closely as he gathers the grocery sacks. I find it interesting that Leo doesn’t seem fazed that I am here, that his boss has kidnapped a woman and is keeping her hostage. I get the vibe that kidnapping is not the worst thing this man has seen.

After helping myself to fresh fruit, yogurt, and a delicious flaky croissant, I continue my stroll through Stone Manor, feeling much more clearheaded.

Next to my room are two massive wooden doors that I assume lead to the master bedroom, which I assume is Astor’s room. I’ve been wanting to peek inside ever since Cillian dumped me in the next room.

The door is cracked, and the room appears dark.

Cupping my hand to my mouth, I call out a gentle hello? When I get no response, I slowly push open the door.

The walls are filled with stunning artwork, pops of color against deep mahogany walls. Massive plush rugs run over gleaming hardwood floors. More windows, these showcasing the mountains instead of the lake. The focal point of the room is a king-sized four-poster bed bathed in alabaster white. Clean, slick, and sexy against the dark wood. The room is as impressive as the man himself.

I can smell him, and like Pavlov’s dog, respond. A million racy thoughts pummel my head.

I feel both exhilarated and nervous being in his space, knowing I’m getting an exclusive sneak peek into a notoriously private and mysterious man. My pace quickens with my wish to see as much of the room as possible before getting caught.

There are more framed photos in this room. His wife, once again, is everywhere.

Once again, staring into my soul. Once again, making me feel stupid for thinking Astor’s advance on me was anything more than an escape.

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