Chapter 26: Mr Garcia: Chapter 26

I blink in surprise. “What?”

“He committed suicide. They found his body in a rental car in a forest in the north.”

My heart constricts. “Oh no. When?”

“It looks like a while ago. Probably as soon as he went missing.”

“God,” I sigh sadly.

“I have to go home.” He walks into the walk-in wardrobe and retrieves his suitcase.

“Of course.”

“You’re having a good time. Stay with the others. Fly home with them, and I’ll meet you back in London.” He puts his suitcase up on the desk and begins to throw his things into it.”

“No, I’m coming with you.” I stand and retrieve my suitcase.

“It’s not necessary,” he mutters, completely distracted with his packing.” I can feel his stress levels skyrocketing by the second.

“Seb.” I hug him from behind. “I’m leaving with you.”

He turns and takes me into his arms. We stay silent for a while, just holding each other.

Suicide. Is there a worse death? So much sadness. So much pain.

“I’ll pack our things. You organize the flight,” I say with renewed purpose.

“Okay.” He kisses me. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” I smile up at him. “Promise me that we can come back here.”

“I promise.” He pulls out of our hug and gets on his phone. “Hello, I need two seats on the first plane to London.” His eyes flick over to me. “Yes, chartered, if possible.”

He listens. “Three hours?”

I nod.

“Yes, okay, thank you.”

The plane lands on the runway. We’ve arrived in London.

I look over to Sebastian who has said two words the entire flight home. He’s staring straight ahead, leaning back against the headrest, lost in his own thoughts. There’s a deep sadness within him. It’s circling around the both of us, taunting me with the happy weekend we’ve lost.

I wish I could say something worthy, something to make this all better, but there is nothing, so I stay silent.

Apparently, there are already whispers in the media. Bart has also called ahead to tell us the press is at the airport waiting for an update from their beloved Garcia. I guess they realize that if he’s coming home early, something big is going down.

Poor Theodore.

How the hell does Sebastian announce to the world that Theodore is now dead when he’s been assuring them that he was fine?

I drag my hand down my face. God, this is a fucking nightmare.

I feel guilty for leaving Bart alone in this when he needs me most. Maybe I’ll work behind the scenes for him this week.

The plane comes to a stop, and Sebastian stands and fusses around in the overhead. He retrieves his suit bag and goes to the bathroom to freshen up. When he returns, his thick, black hair is neat, his suit is crisp, and his beautiful face is grim.

He’s ready for business.

There are two versions of Mr. Garcia: the one the world knows. The hard ass, workaholic who has a secret penchant for high class hookers. Then there’s my Seb. The loving man who makes me feel like the most beautiful woman on Earth.

I hate that the world doesn’t get to see the real him, but I know that this is how he is.

Guarded.

I smile softly, hoping that he can feel my affection for him. He has the worst week coming up, and nobody can help him through it. He and he alone will face the press. It is his voice that everyone will turn to for guidance in such uncertain times.

The doors are opened, and the cabin crew and pilot shake Sebastian’s hand as they stand by the door.

“Thank you.” He nods.

I smile and follow him down the stairs, hanging back a little, unsure where I am supposed to be. Sebastian stops and turns back. He holds his hand out to me.

I frown at him. He wants to be seen together? He’s usually so private.

“Are you coming?” he asks, hand outstretched.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I take his hand, and my heart begins to hammer. This is it. The announcement of our relationship.

The doorman opens the door, and we walk into the airport.

Cameras flash. People run.

“Mr. Garcia, is it true that the Prime Minister is dead?” someone calls.

Sebastian exhales and pulls me along quickly.

“Is this your new wife, Mr. Garcia? Have you been on a honeymoon?”

Sebastian rolls his lips, unimpressed as we march along.

“What is your name, Miss?” Someone yells. “What does your ex-wife think of your new girlfriend?”

What?

Sebastian stops and turns back to the man who called it out. He glares at him. The man takes a step back, unsure of the consequences. Sebastian’s chest rises and falls, and I know it’s taking all his strength not to smack the man in the mouth. I give Sebastian’s hand a subtle tug, and he turns back to me. We start walking toward the exit to where our car is waiting.

“When are you having a press conference?” someone calls.

We walk out through the front doors, cameras still flashing. We arrive at the waiting black car.

God, this really is horrendous.

I drag my hand through my hair. What must I look like?

Sebastian opens the back door of the SUV, and I slide in. He closes the door behind me.

What?

I peer out of the tinted windows to see what he is doing, speaking with the photographers. His face is angry, and whatever he is saying, they are all taking notes.

He turns and gets into the car beside me. He slams the door.

“Drive!” he orders.

“Yes, sir.”

The car pulls out into the street.

I turn and look out the rear window to see the camera flashes disappearing into the distance.

I turn back to the face forward, my heart still hammering in my chest.

I glance over to see Sebastian’s elbow resting on the car door, his hand on his temple. He’s staring out at the passing traffic, miles away.

Poor Theodore.

Good morning babe.

Wishing you luck for today xoxo

A text bounce’s back from him.

Missed you this morning.

I didn’t want to wake you.

Call you later.

Love you

xo

I smile. Love you. Two little words that mean so much. I get up and shower, make my way downstairs, and I turn on the television.

I make myself some coffee and toast, and then I hear the headline on the news.

“A press conference has been called by Sebastian Garcia and is scheduled for today at 11:00 a.m. Mr. Garcia, who flew in from the Maldives last night with his partner April Bennet, is in damage control amidst allegations that the Prime Minister has passed away.”

I stare at the television. There’s footage of us walking hand in hand out of the airport last night, and people firing questions at Sebastian.

I drop to the couch. Shit.

My phone beeps with a text. It’s Jeremy.

Oh my God, we need to have lunch today. I have so much to tell you.

My God, we do. I have so much to tell him. I spoke to him only briefly last week. He was still waiting for the blood tests to see if Bart had been drugged or not. I wonder what the hell is going on with those two. I reply:

Sounds great.

I smile and wave when I arrive at the restaurant.

Jeremy is sitting at the back with two cups of coffee already on the table.

“Hello, gorgeous.” He smiles broadly.

I kiss his cheek. “Hello. It’s so good to see you.” I sit down. “Is this my coffee?”

“Yes.” He winks. “Just as you like it. Although, I would have preferred wine. I took the liberty of ordering us lunch. I knew you would have to get back.”

I reach over and take his hand in mine. “Oh my God, what’s happening? Every time I call you, Bart is there, and you can’t speak.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes in an over exaggerated way. “That fucking bitch drugged him and set him up with those hookers.”

“Who?” I screw up my face.

“His wife.”

“Why, though?”

“To break us up. She’s had her suspicions about us for a while now. He hasn’t been sleeping with her so she’s presuming that he’s sleeping with me.”

I sit back, not buying it for a second. “But she’s still married to him. Wouldn’t that mean that he cheated on her as well?”

“Look.” He sips his coffee. “I know how this must look from the outside, but his drug tests came back, and he definitely had Rohypnol in his system.”

“The test was positive?” I frown, surprised.

“Yes.”

I stare at him. “That means Sebastian was drugged, too.”

“Well, thankfully, the security guard got him home safe.”

“Hmm.” My mind goes into overdrive. “Why do you think it was Bart’s wife?”

“Only she would organize female hookers. Anyone else who was trying to hurt him would have known his taste was toward men.”

“True.”

“And she called me in the morning, saying that she hadn’t been able to contact him, asking me if I could go to his room to check if he was okay.”

I narrow my eyes. “What a bitch.”

“Anyway, I don’t care.” He smiles sarcastically. “She put her own nail in the coffin. He’s left her for good now.”

I blow into my coffee. “So, he’s moved in with you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Thinks we should live apart for a while. Date and get back to trusting each other.”

I frown. “That’s weird.”

“I know.” He looks around. “I keep feeling like there is another part to this story.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is something else going on with him, but I just can’t for the life of me…” His face falls as he stares at something across the restaurant.

I look over to where he is looking. “What is it?”

“Look who’s in town,” he whispers, anger oozing out of his every pore.

I frown as I look back over to where he is staring. “Who?”

“Nicolas Anastas.”

“Who’s that?”

“See the two men sitting near the bar?”

I look over to see two men. One, a gorgeous European man, and the other with curly brown hair. “Which one?”

“The Greek god.”

“Oh.” I smile as I stare over at him. “Perfect analogy. He is, isn’t he? Who’s he?”

“He’s a psychologist, and an acclaimed author. He’s also loaded and quite famous. He lives in America. Lived in London for a couple of years a while back, and he and Bart became good friends. Bart’s his solicitor.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Hmm.”

“It was him who first made Bart question his sexuality.”

“What?”

“He told me that whenever he was with Nicolas, he found himself aroused and dreaming of them having sex together. He thought about him all the time.”

My eyes widen in horror. “Bart told you that?”

“This was long before we got together, but…”

“You think Bart and Nicolas have reconnected?”

“Well, if he’s back in town, I know they definitely will have seen each other. He only comes to London to see Bart.”

Oh hell.

I puff air into my cheeks. “With all due respect, Jeremy, Bart seems like a pretty fucked-up guy. You can do a lot better than him.”

“I know,” he sighs sadly. A waitress walks by. “Excuse me,” Jeremy says. “I’ve changed my mind. Can I see the drinks menu, please?”

“Of course.” She smiles.

I watch Jeremy for a moment. “Why are you still working for him? Why are you still with him? How many chances are you going to give the man?”

“I love him.”

“Sometimes love isn’t worth the payoff,” I sigh. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous and in the prime of your life. But you’re in love with a married man who has now finally left his wife, yet he still isn’t willingly returning to your bed.”

“He loves me, April. I know he loves me.”

“I don’t doubt it, but it seems that he needs time to get his shit together. Perhaps he needs to sow his gay wild oats or something before you and he can plan a future.”

He exhales heavily. “Maybe.”

Jeremy’s eyes drift back to the other side of the restaurant. I look over to see the Greek god standing to pay the bill. He’s tall and powerful, dominant.

“He’s gorgeous,” Jeremy sighs.

He really is.

I reach over and take Jeremy’s hand in mine. “So are you, and you’re so young. Too young to be putting up with this fucking bullshit. You have your whole life ahead of you.”

Jeremy exhales heavily as his eyes find mine. “Enough of my disastrous love life. How’s Garcia treating you?”

I smile, grateful for the change of subject. “Surprisingly well.”

The week has been strained. I’ve hardly seen Sebastian. His stress levels are at an all-time high. He leaves before I wake in the morning, and he gets home late at night.

Meeting after meeting, press conference after press conference.

I’ve been working and coming straight back here.

He insists on me sleeping at his house, even though he’s hardly here. He says he’s not sleeping without me and that it is non-negotiable. I can’t say that I’m upset about it. I don’t want to sleep without him, either. We turned a corner in the Maldives. I’m not sure where that corner leads to but I’m down for the ride.

The cabinet is going to vote on Friday, and word has it that Sebastian is going to be elected as the next Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

Tonight, we are meeting the gang at a restaurant for dinner. I’m ready, dressed, and waiting to go.

Where is he?

My phone beeps with a text from Sebastian.

Sorry babe, running late. Kevin will pick you up in five minutes.

I’ll meet you there.

I reply.

Okay xo

The headlights swing into the driveway, and I grab my coat. Well, this is new, meeting his friends without him beside me. He’d better not be too late. I make my way out and smile at Kevin before I get into the backseat.

“Hello.”

“Hello, April. Lovely night, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

He reverses the car out, and we pull into the street. I watch the traffic zoom by, and I think back to all those years ago when I was hiding around the side of Sebastian’s house while he went inside with Brandon.

Brandon, now, there’s a blast from the past. Sebastian hasn’t mentioned him to me at all. Hmm, I’ll have to remember to ask about him later.

Twenty minutes later, we pull up at the curb. Kevin parks and gets out of the car. He then opens the door for me.

“Have a lovely night,” he says with a warm smile.

“You, too. Thank you.” I make my way inside and look around. The restaurant is bustling. Chatter and laughter fill the space. There’s a big bar in the center of the room with chunky metal stools around it. Huge brass lights hang down low, creating a trendy vibe. I catch sight of Spencer at the back of the restaurant. On closer inspection, I see the others are sitting with him. I make my way over.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” They all smile.

Spencer pulls out the chair beside him and taps it.

“Thanks.” I slide into my seat. “How are you feeling?” I ask Bree.

“Oh God,” she winces. “I’m still not right, and I am never drinking again.”

“Big week, huh?” Julian says.

Spencer fills my glass with wine and passes it to me.

“I’ll say,” I agree.

“How’s he going?” asks Spencer.

“He’s okay.” I shrug. “Very busy and stressed, but that’s to be expected.”

“I still can’t believe that Theodore has died. Do they know any of the details? Was he murdered?” Charlotte asks.

“Good grief.” Spencer huffs. “Murdered? This isn’t an action movie, Lottie, calm down. Why do you think everyone is fucking murdered? If I go missing, you’ll all know who did it.”

Everyone laughs.

“I’m not sure about any of the details,” I lie. I don’t know what Sebastian has told them but I’m not oversharing.

Julian’s eyes hold mine and, once again, I’m reminded that if Sebastian knows something, Julian and Spencer do, too. He tells them everything.

The group continue to talk conspiracy theories. I look around the restaurant, it has a really cool vibe. My eyes roam over the crowd and then stop when I get to the bar. I see a familiar person sitting with another woman.

My blood runs cold.

Helena.

What is she doing here?

Sebastian walks through the front door, towering over everyone around him, and flanked by security. Wearing a dark suit and a pale blue shirt with tie, he looks as handsome as ever.

Sebastian Garcia cannot hide in a crowd, and it has nothing to do with being the Deputy Prime Minister.

My eyes immediately drift back to Helena to see if she notices him. Right on cue, she glances up and sees him. Her face lights up, and she smiles softly.

Huh?

That doesn’t look like the face of the woman who hates him.

My skin begins to crawl.

I watch on as she stands and walks towards him. He glances up and his step falters when he sees her. She approaches him. Her face is hopeful, and then she smiles and says something. His security guards step forward and Sebastian holds his hand up to them as a warning to stay back.

Helena rises on her toes to kiss his cheek, but he turns his head away from her.

Cold and hard, in front of everyone who is watching.

My stomach twists. I know how much his dismissal hurts.

Helena drops her head.

God…

And for the first time ever, I feel sorry for her.

It’s one thing to have a marriage break down, but to fuck it up so badly with a man like Sebastian Garcia must take you to a new level of regret.

How would you ever forgive yourself for losing him?

I watch her, watching him.

“Shouldn’t it, April?” Brielle asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Oh, sorry.” I return my attention to her. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t hear you.”

“I said that sangria should be used as a weapon in war.”

I giggle and raise my glass to her. “Agreed.”

Sebastian appears at our table. “Hello.” He smiles and loosens his tie.

“About time, fucker.” Spencer smiles.

Sebastian sits down beside me and leans over to kiss my cheek. “Hello, sweetheart,” he whispers, his finger running up the back of my neck. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hi.” I smile bashfully. God, he’s a beautiful man. I glance up to see the rest of the table and the restaurant for that matter, are watching our interaction. I blush, embarrassed. Sebastian reaches over and, in one sharp movement, pulls my chair toward him. He takes my hand and places it over his thick quad.

He picks up a menu. “Just so you all know, I’m eating everything in the house tonight. This is my breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten at all today?” Charlotte gasps. “Sebastian, that’s so bad for you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he had a liquid lunch,” Spencer mutters dryly, raising a brow.

They continue talking, and my eyes fall back to Helena. She’s sitting back at the bar now, watching our interaction.

Have his friends seen her? Do they shun her, too?

Once upon a time, this would have been her sitting at this table in my place.

I wonder what it feels like to watch us from the outside.

I can’t imagine.

And for the first time, I get it. I get why she won’t walk away and leave him alone.

I understand why she’s hanging around and trying to cause trouble to gain his attention.

Because any attention from Sebastian Garcia would be worth it.

She’s still in love with him.

It’s late, and we are lying in bed. Sebastian is watching the news, and I’m pretending to read. The reporters on the television are speculating about Theodore’s death, going on and on and on about the possibilities and who will be voted in as the next Prime Minister.

But my mind is firmly on Helena.

I’m not sure if I should bring this up, but the poison is burning a hole inside of me. I have to say it out loud.

“Why didn’t you tell me that Helena is still in love with you?” I ask quietly.

He pauses before answering, his gaze firmly on the television. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

“To whom?”

“To everyone. Least of all her.” He continues watching television.

I think for a moment as I watch him. What does that even mean?

“Has she ever asked you to take her back?”

“Every time I speak to her.”

Ouch.

“Is that why she does all these things? Is it some sort of revenge to try and hurt you?”

He shrugs, clearly uninterested.

“Sebastian, I don’t understand. Explain this to me. I thought you hated each other.”

“I don’t want to talk about this tonight. Seriously? You think I don’t have enough on my plate at the moment, April? Now, I have to deal with your insecurities.”

“Just forget it.” I exhale heavily and put my book down on the nightstand. I roll over and turn my back to him. Another thought enters my mind. Why haven’t I asked this before? “What did the police say?”

He stays silent.

I roll over to face him. “When she broke into this house, did they charge her for breaking and entering?”

His jaw clenches, and his tongue glides over his bottom lip. He’s annoyed.

Uneasiness fills me.

“We had no evidence. The cameras weren’t working.”

I frown as I stare at him. “She wasn’t charged?”

“No.”

“But you could have had a restraining order put on her. You did that, though, right?”

He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. “I’ve done everything right by you, April,” he says. “You have no reason to doubt me.”

“Answer my question, Sebastian.”

He hesitates, but eventually answers, “No.”

I stare at him for a moment. I open my mouth to say something.

“Don’t,” he warns. “This conversation is over.”

I blink, surprised.

Wow.

I roll over and turn my back to him. I can’t believe him.

I inhale deeply and close my eyes as I try to chase the demons away, because those bitches are scared and reading more into this than they should.

How could they not?

He’s still protecting her.

He switches the television off and snuggles in behind me. His body is close to mine. He kisses my shoulder, and I stare into the darkness.

There are secrets between us. I can feel them lurking.

What isn’t he telling me?

We lie in silence for a while, and eventually he says, “Good night, sweetheart. I love you.”

Do you?

“Good night,” I whisper.

But it’s not a good night. It’s a terrible night.

Sebastian’s ex-wife still loves him… and maybe, just maybe, he still loves her.

The alarm goes off.

Sebastian bounces out of bed and walks into the bathroom, leaving me in the darkness, my mind a clusterfuck of confusion. I hear the shower running, and I go over what we talked about last night. Although, it’s not what we spoke about that has me concerned. It’s what he wouldn’t discuss that’s triggered me.

I get up and walk into the bathroom. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before he turns away and continues to wash himself.

I sit up on the bathroom vanity. Eventually, he turns off the shower and gets out. He begins to dry himself with a black towel.

“Can we talk about last night?” I ask.

“April.” He dries himself aggressively. “I don’t have the mental energy to fight with you this week.”

“Why are you protecting her?”

“For fuck’s sake!” he cries. “Are you listening to me at all? Press conferences, police questioning, federal taxation issues, organizing a funeral service and dealing with the entire fucking country’s questions.” He throws up his hands in disgust. “I’m so stressed out that my head is about to explode, and you’re carrying on about a woman I divorced seven fucking years ago. The Cabinet is voting for a new Prime Minister today, and I’m in the front running.” He wraps his towel around his waist. “Do you have any fucking idea the amount of pressure I’m under?” He marches out into the bedroom and into his walk-in wardrobe.

My shoulders slump. God, he’s right.

This week is not the week to talk about anything of importance. I scrunch up my face in regret.

You idiot.

He dresses in his suit, acting angry, while I sit on the bed and watch on in silence. He stands in front of the mirror and does up his tie. My stomach somersaults. How can an angry man putting a tie on be so sexy?

I get up and go to him to take over his tie tying. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes meet mine. “I just—”

“I know, babe.” I rise up onto my toes and kiss his big lips. “I’m just being an insecure cow.”

“You have me, April. You know that you have me.”

“I know.” I smile up at him. He’s right, I do know that I have him. There’s no question about that. “No stress tonight, I promise.”

His hand slides around to my behind, and he pulls my hips toward his waiting dick. “What I really need is a good stress reliever.” He gives me a pump with his hips.

“You’re a sex maniac, Mr. Garcia.”

He gives me a slow, sexy smile. “And you are excellent in bed.” He pumps me with his hips again. “Which is why we’re perfect together.”

“Well…” I rearrange his collar. “I will be at my most excellent best tonight, sir.”

His dark eyes hold mine. “I’ll look forward to it.”

8:00 p.m. and I look at myself in the full-length mirror. Holy hell on a cracker, who am I?

Determined to give Sebastian a stress relieving night, I went to the adult shop today and bought myself a sexy little hooker outfit.

Little being the operative word.

I’m wearing black suede, thigh-high boots, black leather crotchless panties, and a black leather bra with the boob parts cut out. I have on a full face of glamorous makeup, complete with fake lashes, red lipstick, and I’m wearing a long, dark wig, with a red satin ribbon tied strategically in a bow around my neck.

I’m unrecognizable, even to me.

I’m nervous seeing him like this. What will he think?

Who am I kidding? I know he’ll love it.

The man’s a fucking deviant.

I walk downstairs and pour myself a shot of tequila. I want it to be a complete fantasy for him, sensually as well as visually. I remember back in the day when I saw him at the Escape Club. He would always be smoking a cigar and drinking strong liquor. I go to his bar and take out one of his cigars and light it. I inhale and the smoke fills my lungs.

Hmm, it’s been a long time since I enjoyed one of these babies.

I won’t even smell like me. The tequila, the smoke, the look of me… they all bring back memories of when we first met. When he was a bad man, and I was pretending to be a bad girl. Though, I didn’t have to pretend too hard. I loved every second of our time in the club. It was the ultimate fantasy…for both of us.

I place a chair in front of the door, and I sit down, spread my legs, and I wait.

I see the headlights come onto the driveway, and I smile darkly as I inhale the cigar.

Mr. Garcia, come to Mummy.

Game on.

The door opens, and Sebastian closes it behind him. He walks in casually. He frowns when he smells the cigar smoke, and he glances up, stopping in his tracks. He inhales sharply, and I know that he likes what he sees. I take a long, slow drag of the cigar, and I blow a stream of smoke.

“Cash or credit?” I whisper.

He drops his briefcase on the floor. “Cash.” He takes his jacket off and throws it to the side with urgency.

I hold my smile. Oh, he likes it all right.

He jerks his tie loose and puts his hand on my chin to lift my face to his.

Electricity crackles as we stare at each other.

I inhale the cigar slowly, and he drops his lips to mine, he inhales the smoke I breathe out.

Fuck.

He licks my open lips and then slowly unbuttons his shirt, his eyes never leaving mine.

His thick, broad chest comes into view, as well as his muscular stomach and the trail of black hair that disappears down into his pants.

He takes the cigar from me and pours himself a glass of tequila. “Get on your knees.”

I drop to the floor on my knees, and he unzips his pants and steps out of them. He falls into my place on the chair. He spreads his legs and leans back, inhaling the cigar, drink in hand as he watches me.

His cock is thick and heavy between his legs, engorged with the large risen vein through the center.

He inhales his cigar again. “Suck. My. Cock,” he mouths. The smoke drifts out of his mouth and dances in the air.

Fuck, he’s a dirty bastard.

I spread his legs and kiss his inner thigh. He grabs my face aggressively. “I’m not paying to be fucking kissed,” he growls.

Jeez.

My arousal begins to hammer, and I lick up the length of his cock. Dark eyes watch me.

“All of it,” he mouths.

I take him into my mouth. The taste of pre-ejaculate hits my tongue, and my eyes flutter closed.

He hisses sharply. I flick my tongue over the end of him, teasing as I go, and he grabs the back of my head and pushes me down, forcing me to take all of him.

I gag.

“There’s nothing hotter than the sound of a woman choking on my cock,” he whispers.

Bastard.

I bet he’s heard that sound a million times before.

With both hands on his thick quads, I deep-throat him. He sits back, legs wide, cigar in hand, watching me.

Emotionless and cold.

Detached.

I can feel the arousal building between us. He’s rock hard, and with every stroke of my tongue, my body gets wetter.

He tips his head back and drains his glass of tequila before he pushes me back. “Come.” He holds out his hand.

I stand, and he leads me up the stairs. I smile, knowing just how hard his cock is and how good I’m going to get it.

We get to the top of the stairs, but instead of turning right to his room, he leads me to the left.

Huh?

We walk into the last guest bedroom down the hall, and I frown. I came into this room once when we first met. It has a king-size bed and its own bathroom, and the floor is hardwood instead of carpet. I thought it was odd that it was so different to the rest of the house.

He closes the door behind us and turns toward me.

His eyes are ablaze with desire. There’s something different about him tonight, I just can’t put my finger on it.

He pulls the blankets back, revealing leather sheets.

Huh? What is this?

“Get on the bed.”

I hesitate.

“Now,” he orders.

I lay down on the bed. He grabs my hands and brings them up over my head. He pulls the curtains behind the bed to reveal four sets of handcuffs attached to the iron bedframe.

What the hell?

He handcuffs me to the bed with a cold detachment.

My heart begins to hammer with confusion.

What’s going on?

He goes to the door and locks it with a key, and then with the same key unlocks a wall-length cabinet.

The air leaves my lungs as the color drains from my face.

Every sex toy known to man is in here, as well as bottles of lube. Huge dildos, a sex doll, whips, and bondage gear.

Panic runs through me.

What the fuck is this room?

He takes out a bottle of oil and pours it all over me. It splashes all over the leather sheets.

Dark eyes hold mine.

“Don’t tempt the Devil, Cartier. You may not like him.”