Page 25 of The Captive's Curse
Between one breath and the next, I fell into the soundest, sweetest sleep I’d had in ages.
I woke with a sensation of complete and total well-being. Rain pattered against the window. Curled in my cozy cocoon of blankets, with only the top of my head sticking out, I couldn’t possibly have been more warm and dry and safe from the elements.
Any moment now, a maid would come in and pull back the curtains, stir up the fire, set a tea tray on the nightstand, lay out hot water and towels for me to…
My eyes popped open. A wave of wobbly disorientation knocked me sideways even while I was lying down, and I flailed, flinging the blankets every which way and struggling up to sitting, looking about me wildly.
I blinked away the dizziness.
No maid with tea. No hot water. No fire, only sad gray ashes in the cold hearth.
No curtains, for that matter. Equally sad, gray light seeped into the room unimpeded.
I dropped my head into my hands and breathed deeply, shoulders hunched, a picture of misery if anyone had troubled to be there to see it. But of course I was alone. If I’d woken to find Enzo still in my bed I’d have keeled over from an apoplexy, so it was just as well. I didn’t want him here mocking me and givingme that sardonic half smile or saying something rude about cucumbers. He’d likely have sprawled across the whole bed like a cad, forcing me to tuck myself against his side and put my head on his shoulder.
Ugh. That would be dreadful.
And if I repeated it to myself often enough, perhaps I’d come to believe it. Surely my memory of how utterly delicious it had felt to sink into the warmth and safety of his embrace last night had been rose-tinged by the relief from pain I’d experienced shortly beforehand.
I let my hands fall in my lap and looked around me. No tea, hot water, or other amenities had magically appeared, and my own magic would be entirely unequal to the task of making up the difference.
And yet the expected annoyance didn’t come. Instead of longing to lie in bed lazily and be waited on, my usual preference, I had a restless, edgy feeling, as if I were late for an important occasion but had forgotten what it was. Tossing back the blankets and hopping out of bed relieved the sensation slightly—even though I staggered to the side in shock as all the muscles in my ass registered their well-usage at once.
My still-slick thighs rubbed together wetly, and I shuddered, my cock stiffening.
Gods, that shouldn’t arouse me. I ought to be disgusted by his spend all over me. If Enzo were here, what would he say about seeing it dripping out?
Well, there was only one way to find out what he’d been thinking about anything at all. I might not ask him about my thighs, but he needed to account for himself in regard to slipping away in the middle of the night like a thief.
The washstand held a pitcher of (cold) water and some rags, and I cleaned myself up well enough. The narrow dressingtable even had a mirror. I peered into its pitted, darkened surface, giving myself a toss of the head and a sultry smile.
Yes, that would do nicely. I’d slept with my earrings in, which hurt a bit, but they definitely gave me a rakish morning-after air.
Taking a walk about the castle would burn off some of this strange energy that seemed to be bubbling up, and I’d find Enzo eventually, if only by following the sounds of people crying and running away.
But as I strode along corridors, up and down stairs, and around a thousand corners, my impatience only grew. I was hungry; I’d hardly eaten supper the night before, and I’d slept late into the morning, long past breakfast. It’d been nearly a full day and night since I ate. Perhaps that could account for the gnawing feeling inside me? But the thought of food didn’t particularly tempt me. I walked faster, practically trotting, my chain earring bouncing and jingling. Where the hell did Enzo have his lair, anyway? Leander’s reference to “records” implied the existence of a study or library of some sort, didn’t it? Although perhaps that was Leander’s domain, not Enzo’s.
At last I found my way to the little room where Enzo’s messenger had delivered his news and followed the path Enzo had taken when he stormed off. A fork in the passageway had me uncertain for a moment, but my instincts told me to go left, the tense little knot in the pit of my stomach easing a bit as I did.
Another few yards down, the corridor dead-ended…and opened up into a huge room that I realized, as I turned in a circle and gawked, had to be the original entry hall to the castle. High, narrow windows illuminated an even higher vaulted ceiling, and moth-eaten tapestries in still-rich crimson and cerulean and thread of gold depicting battles and hunts of long ago covered the walls. A set of magnificently carved and iron-studded double doors stood at the far end of the room; those would open onto…not the road up the mountain that Enzo and his men seemed to use, surely. That was on the other side of the castle. Wasn’t it?
This place confused me dreadfully.
But it didn’t matter. Because confused or not, clearly I’d found my way to the part of the building I’d been meaning to search for: the portion most likely to hold some relic of the very late and very unlamented Mad Lord Vincenzo.
Perhaps that had been the force driving me to run all over the castle rather than seeking out a hot meal like a sane person would! Artistic inspiration, mingled with my magic, which I could feel pulsing within me with unusual strength and clarity!
And then a deep voice behind me said, “This isn’t where we keep the produce, Your Extremely Rumpled and Wrinkled Lordship,” and my abdomen went hot and melty in an instant. I blew out a long breath, closing my eyes, as the rigid tension in my shoulders bled away.
Well, fuck.
Chapter Ten
Sucking in as much air as I could force into my chest, I braced myself and turned to face him.
Enzo stood in a doorway across the hall from where I’d come in. With one hand propped on the doorframe and a casual cock of his hips, he looked as if he’d simply happened to be lounging there when I came along. He’d stripped down to his shirt on his upper half, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show tanned, muscular forearms.
I swallowed hard, unable to tear my eyes away from the hand he had on the wall. Those long, capable fingers had been inside me.
