Page 35 of Bianchi

My pencil glides with ease over the thick paper in the pad resting on my knees. I’ve been sitting in the window alcove of Romeo’s room since I woke up alone this morning.

Disappointment churned in my gut when I tested the door and found it locked. I don’t know why I felt like this but it shouldn’t have been there. After all, nothing has changed between us for him to give me free rein to walk around the house.

The sun’s setting now, pinks and purples filling the sky in a beautiful swathe of color. Aside from my clothes arriving this morning and two meals being delivered, I’ve been undisturbed.

I finished my search of Romeo's closet after lunch. Using the cover of putting my clothes away, I changed into a white T-shirt and navy jeans before digging around. There were no electronics or anything I can use as weapons—unless you count ties and belts, but they’d be no match for a gun. I was hoping that I’d get to leave the room for dinner and be able to scope out the rest of the house, but with each minute that passes, that idea seems less likely.

All of which means I’ve had zero opportunities to find a way out, so I’ve lost myself in the images that play out behind my eyelids. They come to life on the page, a familiarity to them that feels like home.

Pages of the same drawing are scattered around me. Determination fuels my movements as I try to see more. It’s been hours, but I can’t get past the roses and gray fountain that takes up pride of place among them.

The sketches are from memory, but I don’t remember ever having seen anything like this place before. The grandeur is romantic, yet there’s something cold and deathly about it in the dark shadows as my pencil flies across the page.

Exasperated, I rip another sheet out, throwing it to the floor. It hasn’t even hit the ground before my pencil is back on the paper, moving with an urgency that flows through my veins.

When the tip of my pencil snaps, I exhale heavily, lifting my head to look out the window and roll my neck. A flock of blackbirds scatter from the trees in the distance, the sound of them crying out muffled by the glass. They disappear back into the trees and I look away at the made bed.

Last night, when I returned from the shower, Romeo announced that we’d be sharing the bed going forward. A jolt of pleasure ran through my body, quickly followed by a flare of panic. There is no denying he’s an attractive man, but the more time I’m spending in his company—technically bed—the more difficult it’s becoming to separate the fact that he's a cold-blooded killer. And I’ll be his next victim.

Heaving out a sigh, I shake my head and lay my pad on the bench in front of me. I need to come at this with a different approach. Clearly, going along with whatever he dictates isn’t working anymore. If anything, I’m more likely to end up chained to his bed, satisfying his needs if I don’t fight for my freedom.

Determined, I stand and walk to the tray on the small table next to the armchair. I’m going to demand answers to my burning questions, like how long does he intend to keep me. It’s been over a week and nothing has happened. I don’t know if they’re any closer to finding my father. The gala isn’t for another week, so when do I become redundant? I’m reaching for the pencil sharpener, my frustration bubbling beneath the surface, when the door swings open. I ignore whoever has entered, expecting it to be the housekeeper bringing dinner, before I realize there was no knock.

Adrenaline rushes through my body, my tongue darts out to swipe over my suddenly dry lips, and I hold my breath. Slowly, I turn, only releasing my breath when I catch Romeo’s back walking into the bathroom before he kicks the door closed behind him. My wide eyes dart over to the open bedroom door.

This is my chance.

And yet I don’t move. Now that the opportunity has presented itself, I don’t think I’m ready. Inhaling sharply, I swipe my hands down my thighs, my breath leaves me in a rush and I force one foot in front of the other.

One step.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Steam envelops me when I push open the bathroom door. Water hitting the tile echoes around the room and although I can hardly see him through the misted glass, in my mind, his image is crystal clear. I see the water run over every toned inch of his body, leaving behind a glistening trail.

Rolling my lips together, I fold my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my pussy clenches when they graze my sensitive nipples. “I want to know what you plan on doing with me.” The demand is clear in my tone and the words come out surprisingly strong, betraying none of the desire that’s assaulting my body.

A large hand swipes the condensation from the glass that separates us. Sharp eyes meet mine, dropping down my body and setting me alight. I bite my tongue, digging my nails into my bare arms. How does he do that with just one look?

There’s a hint of teasing in his tone when he says, “You’re going to have to be clearer than that, bellissima.”

Of their own accord, my eyes track the movement of his hand when he coasts it down his tattooed chest, getting lower and lower until it disappears from sight. The misted glass blocks my view, and that annoys me, nearly as much as him misinterpreting me.

Heat engulfs me and I drop my arms, moving toward the glass. His eyes get heavy and I add an extra sway to my step as I get closer. My eyes flit down to where his large hand is wrapped around his hardening cock. Keeping my face neutral, I lift my chin and spit, “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Bianchi. The only way that”—my eyes flit down one last time and I inject as much venom into my tone as I can muster—“is going anywhere near me, is if I’m dead or unconscious. If you aren’t going to put me out of my misery soon, then just fucking tell me and I’ll do it myself.”

No, you won’t.

Romeo turns off the shower, stepping out of the cubicle and wrapping a towel around his waist. My body follows him, and as he crowds me in, I tilt my head back to hold his stare, forcing myself to stand taller. My back hits the glass of the shower wall with a dull thud.

He bends his knees, his face inches from mine as he brings his hands up to rest on either side of my head. A calmness fills his features but it does nothing to hide the heat in his gaze. There’s such an intensity swirling in the inky blue depths that every fiber of my being comes alive at once. I hate that he can turn me on with his proximity. There has to be something wrong with me. Why else would I want a man like him?

His hand drops to rest on the skin exposed by my V-neck T-shirt. I pray he can’t feel the pounding of my heart. A confident smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. He drops even closer, resting on his forearm as his hand moves to my throat. Applying a light pressure, he forces my head back.

“The blush of arousal on your chest tells me differently, Aurora. I guarantee if I dip my fingers into your panties, I’d find you soaking wet.” His thumb swipes over my bottom lip and my gasp echoes around the room. He chuckles darkly, before continuing, “As for putting you out of your misery, why would I do that when there’s so much more fun to be had?” He bares his teeth in a dangerous grin, tightening his hold on my neck a fraction before winking and releasing me.

---