Page 42 of Sinister Intentions

Your home showed so much of your personality, whether you wanted it to or not. And I was about to catch a glimpse into his private domain.

He looked down at me, his lips tightening for a split second, while he carried me through the glass doors.

He marched through an empty room and into the adjacent bedroom.

This was Vince Salvini’s bedroom. A sense of unease washed over me. Being trapped in his territory, at his mercy, was a terrifying prospect.

If he would just release me already. I avoided looking around and instead stared at the pulsing vein on the side of his tensed throat, the only sign he wasn’t as cold and detached as he seemed—or maybe it was just a sign of physical exertion from carrying me.

I looked down at his muscular chest, which barely moved. How was he not even out of breath after all of this? I narrowed my eyes and continued to check him out.

His black dress shirt stuck to his perfectly developed chest and bulging biceps.

A part of me couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through my veins—fear mixed with intrigue.

I held my breath as Vince set me down on the floor in the middle of the room.

We were still dripping wet, creating a puddle on the floor, but he didn’t seem to care.

He didn’t utter a word as he squatted down and loosened the ropes securing my arms and legs to the chair, his movements precise yet surprisingly gentle.

The silence was deafening, his stoic expression giving nothing away.

How could he remain this cool when my mind was going in endless circles, from freaked out to intrigued, to infuriated?

Once free, he lifted my arms and stared at my wrists, his eyebrows knitted together.

He wasn’t happy about the abrasions my struggle against the ropes had left.

Well, he shouldn’t have kidnapped me in the first place—then none of this would’ve happened.

As if he’d come to a decision, he suddenly stood, then scooped me up effortlessly, cradling me against his chest.

Hello?

I hissed. “What are you?—”

“Shhh,” he hushed me.

I snapped my mouth shut and took stock for a second. I should have felt threatened and vulnerable in the arms of this powerful and very dangerous maniac who had just kidnapped me. But strangely, I didn’t. There was this odd sense of security in his hold again as if he wouldn’t let any harm come to me.

I scoffed. As if he wouldn’t let any harm come to me when he was the one who literally just did all those things himself.

What was wrong with me? Was I going insane?

Yes, my body was a little weak after all that had happened, but what exactly had happened to weaken my mind?

Vince carried me into the en-suite bathroom. The opulent space reflected the same modern aesthetic as the rest of his home—as far as I’d glimpsed through the glass front.

Vince set me down on the marble counter, still not meeting my gaze, his face a mask without any expression.

With deft movements, he began undressing me, peeling away my soaked clothes with a clinical detachment that somehow made the situation feel impersonal and strangely non-triggering. “Excuse me, what do you think you’re…”

I stared at his fingers when he pulled down my jeans and watched, lost, and again watched his detached face when he pulled my wet shirt over my head. “Doing?”

And that’s when I realized it…

My wig and cap were missing.

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