Sensations

The car ride back to the villa was steeped in a silence more charged than any argument.

I sat rigid in my seat, Adrian’s words echoing in the space between us.

"I own the place"

It wasn’t a boast. It was a reminder. A statement of his reach, his control, over stores, over my movements, over the very narrative of my life.

He didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. His attention was a physical weight, and I felt it even as he stared at his phone.

When the car stopped at the villa’s entrance, he was out before the driver could open the door. He came around to my side, his expression unreadable in the dim courtyard light.

“I can walk,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended.

“I know you can,” Adrian replied, his tone flat. “But you won’t.”

He leaned in, and before I could protest further, his arms were under me again, lifting me from the seat with effortless strength. I instinctively gripped his shoulders, my fingers digging into the fine wool of his suit jacket.

“Put me down, Adrian. This isn’t necessary.”

"The staff are watching" I whispered

“They don't care, neither do I- you sound like a little lamb” He began walking toward the grand entrance, his stride steady. I buried my face in the crisp cotton of his shirt, if only to hide the furious blush heating my cheeks. A lamb. He’d reduced my defiance to the bleating of a helpless animal. The worst part was, in his arms, that’s exactly how I felt.

He didn’t take the path to my guest wing. He turned toward the main staircase, the one that led to his private quarters. My pulse skittered.

“My room is the other way.”

“You’re not going to your room.”

The finality in his voice sent a jolt through my body. I didn't protest. He took the stairs smoothly, as if I weighed nothing. I could feel the hard plane of his chest against my side, the heat of him seeping through our clothes.

He shouldered open a heavy oak door at the end of the hall and carried me into a room that was unmistakably his.

It was spacious, dominated by a large bed with dark linens. The decor was minimalist, a sleek desk, a wall of books, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city lights. It smelled like him, sandalwood, clean linen, and something subtly sharp, like night air.

He set me down on the edge of his bed, the mattress firm beneath me. I immediately tried to stand, but a firm hand on my shoulder pressed me back down.

“Stay.”

I said

Like a little lamb

He crossed the room to a discreet intercom panel on the wall. “Margaret. Bring the first aid kit and the arnica ointment from my bathroom. Now.”

I watched him, my mind racing. He’d known about the bruises. He’d let me believe I’d gotten away with my little detour, only to reveal his knowledge in the most humiliating way possible. And now he was playing nurse.

He unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie, before rolling up his sleeves, all in front of me too, the sexiest things I had seen this man do.

Margaret appeared at the door moments later, interrupting my perverse train of thoughts- her eyes carefully averted as she handed Adrian a small silver tin and a clean cloth. He dismissed her with a nod, and the door clicked shut, leaving us alone again.

He came back to the bed, knelt before me, and reached for my ankle.

Butterflies

I was so overwhelmed, just in one night

I flinched. “I can do it myself.”

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and unwavering. “No. You can’t.”

His fingers were deft as he slid off my shoe, then the other. His touch was clinical at first, examining the scrapes and the darkening bruise along my calf. Then he opened the tin. The scent of arnica and herbs filled the space between us.

He dipped his fingers into the ointment. “This will help with the inflammation.”

The first touch of his fingers to my skin was cool, then warming. He worked the balm into the bruise with a slow, circular pressure that was far too gentle for a man like him. My breath hitched. A shiver raced up my leg, one that had nothing to do with the cool ointment and everything to do with the rough warmth of his hands. I dug my nails into the dark duvet, anchoring myself against the unwelcome wave of sensation.

I tried to get my my off the sensations, off how his hands felt against my legs.

I looked at his sculptured face beneath me, really looked at him.

“Why did you do it?” I suddenly whispered, my voice unsteady. “Why hide her from me?”

He didn’t pause his ministrations, didn't flinch, like he expected my question “She’s not hidden. She’s protected.”

“Protected from what? From me?”

“From everything.” His thumb swept over a tender spot, and I had to bite my lip. “The facility she’s in is secure. Private. The best care money can buy. Your name wasn’t removed to punish you, Elera. It was removed to protect her. Any connection to you is now a vulnerability.”

“A vulnerability to what?” I pressed, leaning forward. “And what did you mean, ‘she sent me to you’? How does my aunt even know you?”

Finally, his hands stilled. He looked up, and the intensity in his gaze pinned me to the spot.

“Your aunt, Claire,” he said, his voice low, had some dealings with my family in the past, I can assure you I'll tell you all about it when the time comes, he added, looking into my eyes- through me.

What dealings?” I demanded, my fear sharpening into suspicion. “Tell me.”

He didn’t flinch. “Not tonight, when the time is right.

She reached out to me a month ago. She knew she was running out of time. Knew you were drowning in her medical debt. She asked me to find you. To make sure you were taken care of.”

I stared at him, my mind reeling. All this time, I thought it was a cruel twist of fate, a billionaire’s whim. But it was a dying woman’s plea.

“She didn’t send you to marry me,” I breathed.

“No,” he admitted. “She asked me to give you a job. To secure your future.” A faint, humorless smile touched his lips. “But when I met you in that elevator, I saw a different solution. One that solved more than just your financial problems.”

“My problems?” A hot, sharp anger surged through the shock. “You mean your problems. You needed a wife to satisfy your shareholders.”

“Yes.” He didn’t deny it. His hands resumed their work, smoothing the ointment over my skin, his touch now feeling like a brand.

He finished applying the ointment and sat back on his heels, studying me. “The transfer was the final part of my agreement with her. To ensure her safety and comfort, away from the scrutiny that will now follow you. Following us.”

Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I was caught in a web of care and control, of a dying woman’s love and a ruthless man’s calculation.

“So I’m here,” I said softly, “because of her.”

“You’re here,” he corrected, his gaze searing into me, “because I chose you. And you chose to stay.”

He capped the tin and stood, looking down at me where I sat on the edge of his bed, my feet bare, my heart raw and exposed.

“Sleep here tonight,” he said, turning toward the door.

“What?”

“The ointment needs to work. And you shouldn’t walk on it.” He paused at the threshold. “I’ll be in the adjoining study if you need anything.”

"Go to sleep little lamb, there's someone you have to meet tomorrow-"

The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in a room that smelled like him, on a bed that belonged to him, with a new name hanging in the air. "Little lamb".

And tomorrow, I’d have to meet someone. The thought curled, cold and heavy, in the pit of my stomach. I wondered who that might be- who was so important that Adrian Black would let me meet...