His Captive, The Unabridged Collection: Billionaire Dark Romance (4 page)

I slipped down from the bar stool to chase after him, but my legs threatened to give out beneath me if I tried to do much more than wobble over to another place to sit. Instead, I shakily made my way to the bathroom, holding onto the wall as I went, no doubt looking completely and utterly smashed.

Faltering a few times, I clawed tight to the cherry wood trim on the wall and eventually made it to the end of the darkened hallway. Not that I particularly had to go to the facilities—it was just guaranteed to be a more stable, quiet place than the shifting, pulsing world outside.

Happily, I was alone in the porcelain-tiled room. I gripped the sink, staring down my own reflection. I expected some horror movie version of myself: strung out and bug-eyed, hollow cheeked and scraggly. To my surprise, my hair was in slight disarray, but otherwise I was fine. I heaved a soft sigh of relief before letting my head drop a bit, trying to collect myself.

Beautiful, huh?

If I raised my chin just so… Under the soft chandelier light, I supposed I looked all right. Not terrible anyway. Blonde hair, grey eyes. I could have been Rachel’s little sister in another life.

The tap came on automatically when I waved my hand under it and I splashed water over the insides of my arms. I pushed my damp fingers through the back of my hair and luxuriated in the hazy surface buzz of that feeling, finally enjoying the effects of the drug in my skin and muscles.

In all probability, I might have played off half that conversation as a reasonable person. I had just psyched myself out. But look, I wasn’t a disaster. I gave myself a wink in the mirror. With my arms up and in my hair, I looked a bit sassy. Maybe confident.

Yes, that’s all right I guess. See? Disaster-free. He didn’t see the trainwreck that I feared. He didn’t even have a sober Jolie experience to compare it to.

Oh man. I can't believe I let him go.

I had talked to him for a grand total of ten minutes, but those ten minutes were the best of the night by far. Maybe for many nights before this too. That thrill every time he looked at me, the way my breath caught in my chest. I hadn’t felt anything like that in a long, long time. His smile, his deep laugh, those eyes. They pulled me in completely, and just as quickly, they were gone.

Nice move, Jolie. Can’t you ever just do what you’re told? Would it really have been so hard to listen to him?

With a resolute growl, I dropped my arms back to my sides and turned and made my way out of the bathroom.

The crowd had seemingly multiplied since I sat down with Rafe. I felt pressed in upon as I moved through them, trying desperately to make my way back to the table where Rachel was waiting for me. I was ready to be through with the night. The deal must have been made by then, and I wanted to go home.

Predictably, when I made it to the table, she was nowhere to be found. I clumsily climbed up onto the chair. Kneeling on it, I pointedly ignored a few surprised stares and looked out over the crowd. She should have been easily enough picked out by her swinging blonde hair and red dress, but there was no sign of her.

Nice. Thanks again, Rachel.

I felt a strong hand circle my arm and reflexively yanked back and away.

Bronson pulled me down from the barstool, his bleary eyes seeming to hardly  focus on mine. He was out of his mind—drugs, alcohol, and who knows what else? Probably the same stuff I had but a lot more, by the look of him. He leaned in, the grip tightening by the moment as I squirmed and pulled back.

“Come on! I— hey, what do you want? Let me go!”

I gave a hard tug but got absolutely nowhere. I'm not sure if the alcohol had anything to do with it, but the grip he had on my arm was concrete. I was going to be bruised, and I knew it. He leaned in, reeking of smoke and whiskey and gave the most unsettling smile I've ever seen.

“Where’re you going, Rachel? I need to talk to you about a few things.”

He snorted out a strange sort of half-chuckle, tongue coming out to swipe his lips. Another man stepped up, placing a hand at Bronson's shoulder and asked him if there was some kind of problem. He released my arm just long enough to face the man, arms out and ready. I bolted. There was no way I was sticking around to find out how that was going to turn out.

Legs still rubbery and disobedient, I walked as quickly as I could back to the entrance and out into the night, gulping lungfuls of prickly, misty air. After a few deep breaths, my head seemed to settle into clarity. I could feel like myself again, mostly.

But standing on the sidewalk, I found myself completely at a loss. What was I going to do? I rode there with Rachel in a cab. She had all the money. Cab drivers don't accept gratitude as payment, generally. I paced back and forth, throwing nervous glances back toward the bar, sure Bronson was going to come storming out any minute and do something horrible.

The worry must have been plastered all over my face. I tried to control myself but could do little besides walk in a tight path and hug my arms to my body. One of the women at the front of the now-thinned line seemed to be considering checking on me, concern shading her eyes.

Don’t be that girl, Jolie. Don’t be the hysterical mess at the bar. Control yourself.

I gave her a confident but shrugging smile as if to say
What a night, eh?
She shot me an uncertain nod and stepped back to her friends, glancing back again once or twice.

Pacing more slowly, I studied the black iron railings of some high-rise’s manicured landscaping like I belonged there. The low rumble of an engine came from behind, and I turned to see a long black limo pulling up quickly. The window slid down.

“What are you doing out here?” Rafe’s voice emerged from the dark interior. He rested his arm on the frame and I squinted into the limo, trying to see his face.

“Nothing. Just waiting on Rachel. She's coming right back for me. She had to make a run to get something from the apartment.”

The lie must have been even more obvious than when I was totally stoned, because he leaned forward into the wedge of light from the streetlamp. His brow lowered in something bordering on anger and I saw the quick flare of his nostrils.

“No, she's not. Get in the car.” He gave a loud snap of his fingers, motioning to the seat beside him. “Now.”

I hesitated, then quickly shook my head.

“I told you, I'm waiting for my friend. I don't even know you.”

“Yes you do, and you'll not refuse my command. I said
get in.
”

Another shake of my head, but it was a lot less enthusiastic. I was beginning to think it might be best to obey him.

Rafe heaved a heavy sigh. The black door swung silently wide and he stepped out of the limo, walking quickly to me. I shrunk back reflexively, but he simply came to stand beside me.

“If you won't capitulate, I'll wait. Either your friend shows up in five minutes or you're coming with me. Simple as that, yes?”

I stared up at him. The streetlight bounced off the tiny water droplets in the air, haloing his jet-black hair. Before I knew it, I was nodding.

He stood entirely too close to me, and I felt totally dwarfed. Even though the real difference may have only been a matter of six inches, his presence made him seem like a giant. The fact that I was halfway hunched over and away like he was about to abduct me probably wasn't helping that impression.

The woman with concern in her eyes seemed entirely satisfied when I glanced over to her again. Apparently a limousine is enough to make people think that nothing strange is going on.

But maybe I was just being paranoid. There
was
nothing strange going on. Rafe was trying to look out for me, even being as bossy as he was. He was apparently pretty rich, and rich people usually get their way. Maybe he was just a gruff recluse. He did say he didn’t get out much.

I relaxed a bit and finally looked up to him properly. He was staring straight ahead, hands in his coat pockets, his lips twitching to the side now and then. I found my eyes glued to them again, especially now that he wasn't looking at me. He had such a gorgeous profile—strong nose and jaw, deep-set eyes, full lips. I began to wonder if he might have made his fortune as a model, and couldn't help the giggle that slipped from my lips.

He looked down to me with those deep coal eyes, brow furrowing a bit.

“Is something funny, Jolie?”

I immediately quieted, shaking my head.

“No, nothing. Well… I was just wondering what it was you do, exactly.”

He squinted at me from under his perfectly shaped brows.

“What I do?”

“I’m sorry, is that too rude?” I babbled nervously. “I mean, you've obviously got some serious money, right? The limo, the suit, the whole... look, really. Must be some kind of rich. So, I just kind of thought... you know, maybe you might be a model or something. You kind of have that look.”

He was silent for a long moment, then gave a rumbling affirmative hum.

“That is a new one,” he said with a confused, almost bashful smirk. My heart leapt to see the emotion play across his face. Then he covered it with a quick scowl.

“You could totally be a model,” I insisted.

“Then you find me attractive.”

I flinched a little bit. I had said it, but I wasn’t prepared for him to be saying it.

What would Rachel say?

I pushed my arms down under my bosom, forcing myself to stand upright even as the drizzle seeped between my breasts like tiny icicle fingers. Boldly, I let my gaze drift over his profile and down into the open collar of his shirt.

“You could say that,” I said in a low voice that I hoped sounded Rachel-quality confident. 

He glanced down at me, meeting my eyes with a charged intensity that I struggled not to wince from.

“Interesting,” he growled.  “You have four more minutes.”

His gaze returned straight ahead then, and he didn't say another word on the matter. I expected a
little
something more. Maybe a thanks, maybe a confirmation or denial. He didn't seem particularly keen on discussing his money either, and I decided not to push the matter.

But without saying anything, I got edgier by the second. I wanted to hear his voice again, that low rumble, that weirdly bossy presence. I could still feel the imprint of his fingers at the top of my thigh from when he had (rightly) accused me of lying about my name. Weirdly, I ached to feel that again, and my belly twanged out a stuttering tattoo of want as soon as I thought of it.

We waited in silence for the longest four minutes of my life, standing quietly together staring at the wedges of light under the streetlamps. I couldn't bring myself to look up at him again, talk to him... nothing.

I shrank back into my blouse as the realization slowly dawned on me that Rachel really wasn't coming back. It wasn't so much that I expected her to, but I was really hoping. As attractive as Rafe was, he was unsettling. He was gorgeous and rich, but he was bossy and strange. Part of me kept cautioning me to think this through: was standing next to him really the right thing to do? Was I going to think so tomorrow? Maybe I needed space to clear my head.

He wasn’t like anyone I had ever met, that was for sure. The way he said
my command
as though that was a phrase normal people used, the way he just came right out and called me a liar, the way he mocked me in the bar—I wasn't sure I liked any of it, and I didn't want to put myself at his mercy while I was still tipsy and half-stoned. What if I regretted it later?

I heard a few heavy thunks at the top of the idling limo, and within moments, it was raining in earnest. I shivered hard, crossing my arms over my chest, staring at the ground.

Come on, Rachel. Please hurry up.

I felt a heaviness at my shoulders and gave a little startled gasp, my body tensing like a wild hare. Rafe had taken his jacket off and draped it over my shoulders, keeping the bitter wind from chilling me too badly.

“Stand closer to me.”

I looked up to him, pulling the jacket around myself.

“What?”

“I said:
stand closer to me
. Do you usually have this much trouble with directions, Jolie?”

He looked down at me briefly, a bolt of mild disdain. His exasperation made me fidgety and I felt my legs tense like I should be running. But running
to
him or running
from
him, I didn’t know.

He'd
gi
ven me his coat, and he was standing in the freezing rain with me, waiting for my friend. He couldn't be all bad, bossy as he was. I understood, a little. It takes that kind of determination to get anywhere in the world, and I found myself a little envious of his confidence. With a small nod, I stepped closer to him.

He turned toward me slightly, and the wind broke over his broad shoulders and back. He was actively protecting me from the worst of the chill, and even some of the rain which was blowing in near-sideways. I looked up to him, trying hard to give him a gracious smile.

“Thank you, Rafe. It's pretty cold out here,” I admitted.