Page 80 of Mine

Astor surges to his feet the moment I enter the room, rage in his eyes. His suit jacket is off, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He advances hotly, rounding the desk.

Do not back down, Sabine.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” I snap, my voice quivering.

Oblivious to my words, he’s scanning my body from head to toe like he’s checking for something. It’s then that I realize it isn’t all anger; it’s also fear. Astor is checking to make sure that I am okay and not hurt.

His words from our first dinner trickle through my head. I’ve lost every person I’ve ever loved.

“That will never, ever happen again, do you understand me?” His fists clench as his eyes meet mine. “You will be home when I tell you to be. Is that clear, Sabine?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Astor. We need to talk. Things need to be addressed.”

He scoffs.

“No. Don’t do that. This is happening, whether you like it or not. It’s time. We’re dancing around so many things. And for what?” I toss his phone and black card on the desk. “I’m going to put my things in my room, and in ten minutes, I want you to meet me in the library. Bring a bottle of wine. I need a damn drink.”

Before he can protest, I turn on my heel and walk out of the room with my head held high.

It’s time.

An hour later, I’m staring out the window, now black with night, with a sick feeling in my stomach.

Astor and I have hit a pivotal moment in whatever is happening between us. I’m sick because I feel like it’s slipped out of my control, and that whatever this undeniable connection is between us will end before it’s even really begun.

The hair on the back of my neck rises as Astor closes the library doors and quietly crosses the room.

I don’t move, keeping my back to him. My heart begins to pound.

I feel his body stop behind me, all brooding, hostile, irresistible masculinity.

“Sabine,” he says softly, gently sweeping my hair off my shoulder.

I close my eyes, exhale, and turn.

His eyes are bloodshot, heavy. He offers me one of the wineglasses in his hands. “Is red okay? I can get white if you?—”

“No. It’s fine.” I take the glass, aware of—and surprised by—the nervousness emanating from him.

“Do you want to sit?” I gesture to the loveseat just behind us.

But I don’t join him. I can’t sit. Too many emotions.

I take a long, deep sip of my wine, and begin.

“What has happened here is crazy; I know it, and you know it. I am very aware that I haven’t asked to leave since that first day. I’m very aware that some sick part of me is okay with what happened ... because it’s brought me to you.”

Though his face is a mask of stoicism, the emotion in his eyes gives him away. The thick walls surrounding Astor Stone are beginning to crack.

“I think it’s safe to say that neither of us expected to have the crazy connection that we do—and I know you feel it, so don’t even act like you don’t. And now, after the most incredible sex of my life, as things seem to be suddenly spiraling out of control, I have questions—a lot—and I expect you to answer them. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Thank you. First, a comment more than anything ... a demand, really. I will not tolerate you speaking to me again the way you spoke to me on the phone today.”

His jaw twitches.

“Astor.”

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