I never make it onto the balcony. The small taste of freedom offered up by those open doors is good enough for me. My eyelids flutter shut as soon as he exits the room. I’m exhausted from his lovemaking and by the maelstrom of my own thoughts. Most of all I’m shattered by what he’s unleashed in me today. I feel like an intruder in my own life again. It’s like I’ve unveiled some sort deviant fragment of my soul I never knew existed. Did I ever truly know myself before I met him? With all this swirling around my head I tip headfirst into a dreamless sleep, my first since my abduction four days ago.

Sometime later I awake to sounds of movement in my room. It’s dusk and the room is bathed in the soothing hues of gold and rose but uneasiness cloaks my skin. It’s not him… Dante. I know that for sure. The noises are too subtle, which is one quality I could never accuse him of.

I ease onto my side, taking great care to keep my breathing even and my movements natural. That girl is in my room – Valentina – the one who brings me my food. She has her back turned and is busy arranging dresses onto hangers and transferring them to an open wardrobe. I narrow my eyelids to tiny slits so I can carry on my spying undetected which is just as well because she glances in my direction suddenly. I watch her scowl and mutter under her breath before turning back to her work.

Once the task is done, she heads for the door but then stops and seems to think better of it. Shooting me another furtive glance she makes her way back over to the chest of drawers and carefully slides the top one open. She’s looking for something but the way she keeps poring over the contents tells me she doesn’t have a clue what it is.

I watch her repeat this same action with the each of the three lower drawers before she turns and creeps over to the nightstand beside me. Up close, I can smell her panic and see the tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. Her mouth is fixed into a tight, white line of fear. Whatever she’s doing right now she’s doing it without Dante’s knowledge or permission and I’m instantly on my guard.

“Can I help you?”

She jumps back guiltily, her hand flying to her throat. Her face colors, the blush spreading high and clear across her olive skin. “Señorita! You’re awake!”

“And you speak English,” I say accusingly. I still haven’t forgiven her for ignoring me for those two days. Even less so now.

“We were under strict instruction not to speak with you,” she says looking apologetic.

“Then what are you doing here now?”

“Señor Dante requested that I unpack your new clothes and things. They arrived a few hours ago. I was trying not to wake you.”

“Have I more clothes in that chest of drawers too?” I ask, watching her eye line follow mine over to the furniture in the corner.

She shakes her head reluctantly. “Just the wardrobe.”

I open my mouth to ask the obvious question and then stop myself just in time. I don’t trust her but I don’t want her to know that. Instead, I force a smile to my lips. “Thank you. That was very kind.”

Her shoulders crumple in relief. “It’s not a problem, señorita. I’m sorry again that I woke you. Your champagne is waiting for you on the balcony.” She looks at me speculatively, almost with a challenge in her expression. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Just go, I scream at her silently. My jaw is beginning to ache under the strain of this false smile.

Hearing her footsteps outside, I slide out of bed and walk quickly over to the chest of drawers. Wrenching the top one open, I sift through the sparse contents trying to piece together exactly what she might have been looking for. There doesn’t seem to be anything here of interest – just an old car magazine and some instruction manuals in Spanish. No personal effects, just like in his bedroom…

“Looking for anything in particular?”

My hand flies to my throat, mimicking the actions of the maid earlier. Dante’s back. He’s leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed in front of him. His face is expressionless, like always, but he’s changed his clothes again. He’s wearing jeans and a pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He looks more like a god than a devil tonight and I can’t tear my eyes away. His nearness stirs up a chemical reaction in me every time. Will I always have this reaction when I’m around him?

“Nope,” I lie, shutting the drawer with a bang.

He shoots me a skeptical look before glancing at an incoming message on his cell.

“Did you have a good nap?” he asks, not bothering to look up. “I came by earlier but you were out for the count.”

“Who’s the girl?”

“Which girl?”

“The one who was in my room earlier… hanging up clothes? Brown hair.”

“Valentina,” he murmurs, now preoccupied with typing out a reply to the message. His mood is starting to sour.

“And she works for you?”

Dante looks up and frowns. “Yes, why?”

“She’s nothing more to you than that?”

The frown loosens immediately and to my annoyance the corners of his lips start to twitch. “No, my angel, she’s nothing more to me than that.”

“She’s not one of your whores?”

He puts his phone back in his pocket and crosses his arms again. “Are you going to insist on wearing my t-shirt to dinner?”

“I asked you a–”

“Change,” he orders, cutting me off in a voice that even I don’t dare defy. The temperature in the room has plummeted. His message is loud and clear. The subject is done as far as he’s concerned. This man doesn’t explain himself to anyone.

“Fine,” I snap, storming over to the wardrobe and flinging open the doors. The sight that greets me makes me forget my frustration in an instant. The rails are over-flowing with the silks and satins of thousands of dollars worth of understated designer luxury.

“They’re all white,” I say stupidly.

“Fitting for my angel, don’t you think?”

How can I be an angel if I succumb to a devil and his darkness so easily? Surely I should be putting up more of a fight than this?

“No it’s not, it’s weird and it doesn’t change anything. You can’t buy my affections.” I finger the material of the closest dress, a short, linen halter neck shift. It’s sexy and sophisticated and I know it’s going to fit like a dream. I’ve never owned a wardrobe like this. I’ve never even dared to hope that one day I might.

“I never assumed it would.” He snakes a large forearm around my waist and yanks me back against that thick wall of muscle.

I close my eyes and let the warmth and smell of him penetrate my defenses again. I’m relieved his mood is lifting but I’m furious with myself for wanting him so much, and for being so easily sidetracked. I’ve never been one of ‘those girls’ and I don’t intend to start now. I really, really want to be pissed at him but his growing erection is nudging at the small of my back and it’s proving a better distraction than the clothes. This man is insatiable and so am I now, judging from the beat that’s started to thrum away in my core, awakening that dark desire that only he can satisfy.

“Do you like your new dresses?” he murmurs.

“No, I hate them,” I whisper, throwing my head back against his chest.

He groans long and deep in his throat as one hand disappears under the hemline of my t-shirt, his fingers climbing a silken trail up past my hip to roughly cup my breast.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“If I wear one of your dresses will you promise to fuck me like you did on the beach?” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

With another groan he seizes the tips of my shoulders and spins me round to face him. His dark eyes are hooded with lust.

“Let’s get one thing clear, those clothes are a gift so be a good girl and remember your manners.” He drops his fingers to the hem of the t-shirt again and whips it up and over my head before I have a chance to protest. He fists his hand in my hair, bringing his mouth tantalizingly close to my own. “And as for your last request? Why, my angel, I’ll fuck you anyway I choose.”

He picks out the white, linen halter-neck for me to wear. He must have guessed how much I liked it. As expected it fits me perfectly and I have to suppress the urge to preen and twirl in front of the mirror. I don’t recognise the stylish woman staring back at me. It’s not just the dress either, I’ve lost weight since I’ve been his captive and I didn’t have much to spare in the first place. My breasts are still heavy but my cheekbones are sharper, more defined, and I can see the shadow of my hips bones through the material. It’s the gleam in my eyes that startles me the most, though. It tells me that not all the change has happened on the outside.

An old English quotation springs to mind as we descend the stairs together, his hand resting lightly on my waist. He is my best of times and my worst…. He’s my enemy who keeps me captive and features in all my revengeful fantasies. But he’s also a lover who presses at something so base and needful in me. Someone who shines a light on my true desires. My family is never far from my thoughts but I’ve realized something today. For the last five years I’ve been living for them, not me. I’ve been trying to project the image of a perfect daughter to make amends for my brother’s mistakes, and in doing so suppressing the woman I really am. His methods may be questionable but Dante is ripping the hood from my eyes. There is no future for us but there is a here and now, and I have to pursue this if I want to learn more about this darker side of me. I have to go deeper if I want to learn more about my brother’s killers.

“This way,” he says, guiding me towards the back of the house and out into a small courtyard. A table for two has been set beneath a wooden pergola that’s adorned with trailing creeper and the most exquisite white flowers.

“It’s beautiful,” I state, grinding to a halt in surprise.

“What can I say, I have impeccable taste?”

He pulls out a chair for me. I take my seat and admire the ornate silver candelabra. This whole set-up is almost sinister in its idealization but that’s him all over – a beautiful façade with an undercurrent of menace.

“What are we having?”

“Whatever I decide we’re having,” he says, running a finger slowly down my left cheek. I close my eyes at his touch and try to quell the surge of lust that’s threatening to engulf me.

He sits down opposite and shoots me a loaded look. It’s pretty clear that I’m a natural submissive. My role has been neatly defined for me by my past and I have a suspicion that his has too but outside of the bedroom things aren’t so clear-cut. Not for me, anyway. Today he’s decided how we make love, what I should wear and what I’m eating. The independent woman in me is shaking her fist at him and screaming.

“Wine?”

“No thanks… I don’t drink.”

“Ah yes,” he says, looking at me speculatively. “Any particular reason why?”

“I don’t like the taste.”

It’s a lie. I don’t like the loss of control. I don’t want my senses stupefied anymore than they already are with him.

“Water then.”

“Please.”

He smirks and pours me a glass then sets about de-corking an expensive-looking bottle of red. “I believe that’s the first time you’ve ever used that word with me. In a non-petitionary sense of course.”

“I believe it’s customary to beg and plead for your life when a dangerous criminal is holding a gun to your head.”

“Criminal is a relative term,” he says lightly.

“Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

“No fighting,” he murmurs. “To you, my angel,” he adds, raising his glass in toast before bringing it to his lips and drinking long and deep. I don’t raise my glass of water to join him. Instead, I fiddle with the stem, running my fingers up and down the delicate column. There’s no sentimentalizing us. He’s a bad man holding me hostage. Our worlds don’t belong in sync… they don’t even belong in the same universe.

“You’re overthinking this too much,” he murmurs, as if reading my mind.

“It’s a little difficult when two days ago you had me under lock and key.”

My words seem to strike an unpleasant chord with him. He grits his jaw and I watch the powerful muscles flexing beneath his olive skin. He hasn’t shaved tonight and the shadow of dark stubble is lending even more of a sinister edge to him.

“I regret my treatment of you those first few days.”

My head jerks up in shock. The corners of his gorgeous mouth are curling upwards. This man is perilously close to a smile.

“Don’t look so surprised. You had the good grace to show me manners just now, Eve. It’s only right I do the same.”

Right? This man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Everything about him and his life is wrong. “Social etiquette is important to you, is it?” I say, raising my eyebrows at him.

“In the right context.” He takes another draft of wine. “What do you do for a job?”

“Receptionist,” I lie.

There’s a pause. “Do you enjoy it?”

“It’s ok.”

He tips his head back and laughs. It’s a rich, delicious sound that echoes throughout the courtyard. “I don’t believe small talk is your strength, my angel, and neither is a casual repartee about our respective occupations. I suggest we stick to other topics.”

“Like the weather?”

“Oh I think we can do better than that.” I catch him glancing at my breasts and the air between us lights up with illicit promise again.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” I ask him, curious suddenly. “You sound more American than I do.”

“School.”

“Which school?”

He sits back in his chair and runs his teeth slowly along his lower lip. I feel an instant reaction in my core. I’m imagining those lips on every part of me.

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Why? Do you think it might implement you?”

He smirks. “Most likely. My angel is one tenacious lady.”

A jolt of uneasiness zips through me. This man has the money and the means to find out everything about me. His mocking tone suggests he already knows about my job as a reporter. Shit. I stare down at the tablecloth, my head in riotous panic.

“I was educated in your country, Eve,” he concedes with a sigh.

“America?”

“Yes, the home of the Mustang convertible and beautiful, inquisitive women.”

My cheeks flood with color at his surprise compliment. At the same time a million questions line up like silver bullets on the tip of my tongue.

Valentina appears with our entrees and lays down two delectable-smelling plates of seared scallops in front of us but I barely notice them. I knew he was educated from the moment I met him. How I wish I had access to a computer. I’m an investigative reporter. I could track his surname down within the hour. I glance up to find Dante watching me closely. It’s as if he can smell the thrill of the chase on my skin.

“That’ll be all, Valentina,” he snaps, dismissing her with a curt wave.

She’s flinches and backs away. She’s as nervous as hell around him but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“That wasn’t very nice,” I tell him. “I thought you were shit-hot on manners?”

“Don’t curse,” he says picking up his fork. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Fuck, shit, fuck. Anyway I can’t eat this, I’m allergic to seafood,” I declare, sitting back in my chair and folding my arms in front of me. I’m not, but I’m feeling defiant again.

“You’re missing out, I can assure you they’re delicious.”

I watch his fork disappear into his mouth and I can’t seems to tear my eyes away from his lips again. That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for. The scallops smell divine as well, all dripping in hot sage and butter. I’m so hungry I want to pick the plate up and inhale it.

“I really can’t tempt you?” he says, hovering another forkful under my nose.

Bastard.

“Sure go ahead, if you want my death on your conscience forevermore.”

He just smirks at me and doesn’t say a word. That’s when I remember he has access to my medical records. I have no allergies and he already knows it.

“Is that girl Valentina part of your harem?” I say quickly.

The smirk dies on his lips. “My what?”

“She’s part of your sex slave gang, isn’t she? Like I am. That’s why you kidnapped me.”

Now it’s his turn to drop his fork with a crash. “You are nothing like them, Eve.”

“But you have sex with her?”

“What the fuck gave you that idea?”

“You beat her as well, don’t you?”

His mildly amused expression in gone in a flash, replaced by something much more sinister. He throws down his napkin and rises to his feet. “This was a mistake. Go. Get out of my sight, Eve Miller, before I really lose my temper.”

I’m scared suddenly but a sliver of heat is still coursing through my veins. I know I should just do as he says but I’ve been spoiling for this fight ever since he took me.

“Is she jealous of me? Am I the new favorite? She doesn’t trust me, does she? Is that why she was snooping around my room earlier?”

“She was unpacking your clothes, Eve. Clothes that I fucking bought you!”

“I never asked you for a damn thing! Except a one-way ticket back to America but that’s never going to happen, is it?” I retort angrily. “I meant after that, when she was rooting through your stuff, or whatever you keep in those drawers.”

He goes very still. “What did you say?”

Instinct is screaming at me to backtrack but I can’t form the words quick enough. The atmosphere has shifted to something ugly and menacing, and not even the idyllic scene can offset any of it. My pulse is beating wild and uneven as he leans across the table, grinding his clenched fists into the tablecloth.

“Tell me exactly what you saw, Eve Miller, and I might let you live out the night.”

Everything goes very quiet. I can’t move or speak from fear.

“TELL ME!”

“I-I-its nothing… I must have imagined it. I’m sorry… please, sit down, let’s eat.”

With a trembling hand I spear a scallop, force it into my mouth and start going through the motions. After this afternoon I’d almost forgotten about the intimidating killer that lurks behind the mask, the one whose dark eyes are devoid of all emotion. This isn’t his game face I realize with a shudder. Once again I’m seeing Dante for who and what he really is. No amount of education, wealth and skillful manipulation can conceal the real monster lurking inside.

“Bullshit!” he roars, slamming his fist down onto the table. “Start talking, Eve, or else.”

I swallow my mouthful with difficulty. My throat seems to have completely closed up. “I think she was looking for something but she didn’t seem to know what.”

He straightens up immediately and through a veil of tears I see him punching a number into his cell phone.

“Get over to the main house,” I hear him order. “We have ourselves a situation.”