Page 35 of Muerte
“I didn’t do anything.”
He chuckled at my quick rebuttal. “I was prepared to have you drugged if you decided to behave stubbornly. I always knew you were level-headed. Intelligent to a fault.” He squeezed excess water from the sponge and then continued using it to caress my skin.
I silently repeated what he said back to myself, taking a quiet breath before I spoke. “You say that as if you know me.”
“I do. I’ve been watching you for a long time, deliciae.”
“The trade show only lasted a day.”
“I met you long before then.”
“When?”
I was positive I’d never encountered this man before. We were two worlds apart, his completely different than mine.
The resort was the only place a confrontation between us could’ve happened, even if only in passing.
“That’s not important right now.” He reached for more body wash, still holding me with one arm around my middle. “You were meant to be mine, Lolita. From the time you took your first breath, and long after you draw your last.”
I tensed as he lowered his mouth to the juncture of my neck and brushed his lips against my skin, a trail of goosebumps following in their wake.
“Seeing my brand on your beautiful body as you came all over my dick again and again is a memory I will cherish.”
My cheeks flushed with a mixture of contempt and a strange exhilaration. I could remember it all too vividly. But I wasn’t ready to go there mentally or verbally.
“Why an A?” I blurted, desperate to change the subject.
“This?” He moved my hair over one shoulder and began to lightly trace around the brand, causing me to flinch. “Not only does it look good, it feels good too. It will be even better when it’s had time to heal.”
He made it sound as if he were talking about more than the mark. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I’m surprised I didn’t draw blood. “The A means something, right? I… I saw it a lot yesterday.”
“Do you think I would allow it to be on your body if it didn’t?”
“I guess not…”
“The A honors the surname Alistair. It’s a symbol of my family’s emblem.”
Hearing that, I finally looked at him. Against the ethereal backdrop of the lake, with the sunshine softening the sharpness of his features, he looked otherworldly.
His face was the epitome of masculine beauty, and in any other circumstance I might have been captivated the same way I was when I first saw him.
“Alistair? Your last name isn’t Hawthorne?” I asked slowly, processing this revelation as I sought confirmation.
“Hawthorne is an alias.” He raised his hand and brushed his fingers over my cheek. It was a touch that could’ve been considered tender if not for the man touching me.
“I suppose the A has a double meaning where you’re concerned.”
“Your name?” I guessed; the question was no more than a whisper as everything sank in.
“Alexander Alistair,” he revealed with a note of pride. “You catch on quick.”
Alistair. That sounded so familiar. As my perception rapidly shifted, a fresh dose of fear seeped into my veins. I decided right then that his alias was preferable to the real thing. Hawthorne was nothing. Mr. Hawthorne was the insane rich guy channeling his inner Kevin Wendell. But Alexander wasn’t some random psycho holding me captive.
After what occurred last night and everything I’d seen, I knew his name was a symbolic moniker.
It didn’t simply hint at danger and darkness—that’s what it entailed. I felt like he’d just shared something that was usually hidden, binding me further to him and to the sinister world I had been thrust into. I wanted him to take it back, or at least pretend I hadn’t heard.
“My beautiful girl,” he implored almost mockingly, now tracing along my jawline. A dark amusement danced in his eyes as he sensed my inner turmoil, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of his lips. He seemed to relish in my unease with a twisted satisfaction.