by Noir, Stella
He gives me a look from the side, somewhat dangerous and threatening. The elevator starts moving and I am almost surprised that he doesn’t make a move to get closer to me. Grab me. Kiss me. Isn’t that what they do in the movies once the guy has the girl lured into the privacy and confinement of an elevator?
But he is a gentleman, it seems. He keeps his distance, even though I am sure he can feel the tension between us just as much as I can. He has to. It’s undeniable.
I’m almost disappointed when the door opens and reveals an empty hallway in front of us. He beckons me to step out before him.
“Now what?” I ask, sounding a bit more bitchy than I planned.
“Now we’ll find a way to get on the roof,” he says, stepping out of the elevator behind me. He scans the hallway, but there is not much to see. It is just one long corridor that gives way to a bunch of doors, all of them looking exactly the same. The hall is painted in a light gray and lit with bright and unflattering lights.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here,” I whisper.
He nods. “Probably not.”
I expect him to turn back to the elevator to bring us back down and head out on the street as I originally thought we would, but instead he takes my hand and leads me across the corridor.
“What are you—”
“I like being in places that I’m not supposed to be in,” he says. His voice has changed. He sounds more like an excited boy right now than the sullen man he was before.
“I said I want to go up on the roof,” he adds. “So that’s what we’ll do.”
“But how?” I ask while he keeps pulling me along the hallway.
He is checking every door as we walk by, but I don’t know what he is looking for. They all look the same and seem to be locked. He tries a few of them and checks the locks on them, but none open.
“Ah!” he exclaims as we reach one of the last doors on the right. He squats in front of the door handle and examines the lock in more detail, while I stand next him, confused.
He looks up at me, casting me a mischievous smile.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says. “This will be our little secret.”
“Um,” I utter, unsure what is going on.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, and his gaze darkens. It’s intimidating. I don’t know if he is trying to scare me of if he is just joking around.
Either way, it excites me.
“Sure,” I say, trying to sound cool.
“Look away,” he orders.
“What? But w—”
“Look away!” he repeats, now glaring at me. “It’s for your own safety. If you don’t see anything, you don’t know anything. Simple as that.”
I furl my eyebrows, but follow his command.
“What are you doing?” I ask, once my back is turned to him.
“What do you think I’m doing?” he retorts. I can hear him fiddling with the lock.
“Something you’re not supposed to,” I assume. “Breaking into a door.”
“I’m not breaking anything,” he objects. “I’m opening a door. But you’re right, I’m not supposed to be doing this.”
“How do you know that this one leads out to the rooftop?” I want to know. “It could just be some storage or… whatever.”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I have a strong suspicion that it does.”
I hear a click sound and turn around just in time to see him get back up on his feet and open the door. A cold breeze greets us as he slowly pushes it open.
“Thought so,” he says triumphantly, beckoning for me to step outside.
I gulp and hesitate for a moment. A sudden and inexplicable fear claims me as I see the rooftop in front of me.
It’s a different roof. A different building. A different area. Everything is different, except for the fact that it is night and that I am standing high above the city when I step outside.
Yet something causes me to feel exceptionally uncomfortable.
Is it him?
I turn around and see him standing closely behind me. The heavy door closes with a loud click behind us, reminding me that he just fiddled with the lock for a few seconds to open it.
“How did you learn how to do this?” I ask.
He smiles at me. “Boy scouts.”
I furl my eyebrows and throw him a skeptical look.
He laughs and steps forward, placing one hand on my shoulder to guide me forward.
“Don’t worry about it,” he whispers. “Let’s get some air and enjoy the view.”
We walk toward the edge of the roof. It is securely surrounded by a high balustrade that almost reaches up to my chest.
Still, I cannot help the feeling that something is off, something is wrong. I feel as if I am in danger, a feeling that would be easy to explain if I didn’t have this particular rooftop affinity. Despite the height and despite the rather risky steps I have been willing to take to get to where I wanted to, I have never felt unsafe or as if I was putting my life in danger.
Rooftops are my safe place.
So, why am I feeling this way?
We stop in front of the balustrade and I place my elbows on it, taking a deep breath as I take in the marvelous view that stretches in front of me.
He stops next to me and does the same—and I look at him from the side.
It’s him. His presence is what’s disturbing my comfort. But how can that be?
Because he is a stranger? I don’t trust strangers.
There is no reason not to trust him, though. A patron for charity. A handsome, wealthy man who has been attending a fundraiser for a good cause. Why would I be afraid of someone like him?
He turns to me and our eyes meet for a split second before I turn away, directing my attention back to the city below us.
“Nice, isn’t it?” he wants to know.
I nod. “Yeah, it is.”
His eyes remain on me, while I stare straight ahead, trying to hide the nervousness that his gaze causes.
“Why are you so tense?” He asks, his voice as deep and calm as always. “Am I making you nervous?”
“Indeed you are,” I admit.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But you were the one approaching me, remember.”
“Yeah.”
“Because there was a bet to win,” he continues.
“Mhm.”
“And now?”
I turn around and look up at him. He is smiling. There’s something malicious about his smile.
“Any dark secrets you’d like to share with me?” he asks.
His question startles me. He looks at me as if he knew. As if he knew that there’s something that I have not been able to tell anybody. A dark secret, indeed.
For a few moments, I find myself wondering whether he might be working for the police. I don’t know how that would even be possible, but what if he was some kind of secret agent? Or a detective?
I chuckle. How ridiculous.
“What’s so funny?” he probes, frowning at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just a little paranoid.”
“Paranoid?”
He raises one his eyebrows and leans over to me, supporting himself on his elbows on the balustrade as he turns all of his attention to me.
“What do you have to be paranoid about?”
Ugh. Why did I have to use that word?
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head.
“You’re a weird one,” he says, touching my arm as he comes closer to me. I can feel his warmth on my upper arm, radiating from the strong muscles that grace his biceps.
Suddenly, he is very close to me, all of him. I can almost feel his breath on my face when he leans closer, trying to catch my eyes with his.
“Look at me,” he orders, when I try to shy away from him. I do as I am told and raise my eyes up to him, my eyes locking on to his dark hazel gaze.
“Why do I have a feeling that you’re hiding something from me?” H
e asks.
“Because I am,” I whisper.
His eyebrows arch in surprise. “Are you now?”
“Of course,” I say. “We just met, Mr. Mars. There wasn’t much time to let you in on a lot of things—”
“That’s not what I mean,” he interrupts. “I think you’re hiding something. Not only from me. And it has nothing to do with us not knowing each other.”
I try not to let it show, but his words scare me. Our eyes are still locked onto each other and his dark, hazel stare seems to drill right through me. I feel as if he can read my thoughts.
I try to flee from his gaze and want to turn my head away, but he doesn’t let me. His hand is on my chin, holding it between his thumb and finger and forcing my attention back to him.
Why is he doing this? This gorgeous man looks at me as if I am the most interesting, most enticing living thing he has ever seen. His interest in me confuses me almost as much as it flatters me.
I don’t even think to resist when he claims me with a kiss.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mars
I can taste the sweetness of the drinks she had on her lips. A weak little moan escapes her dainty body when I claim her.
She melts into me so willingly, letting go of all inhibitions sooner than a sober person ever would. I know it’s mostly the alcohol that causes her to be this smitten by a simple kiss, but it still edges me on like a fucking aphrodisiac.
I allow myself a careful taste of her soft lips, restraining myself before she can react to me. When she moans and melts under my touch as if she has been waiting for me to take her all her life, I cannot help but show her what I really want.
I don’t peck and cuddle. If I take her, I will do it my way.
I straighten up and put one arm around her fragile back, pulling her closer while my other hand takes a fistful of that insane hair of hers. She is so timid and shy, innocent, reluctant.
I will eat her alive.
And then I will make her talk.
Only when she is high on pleasure and intoxication, she will talk. I need to get her into that state, the most vulnerable and honest a person can be. Stripped naked of her protection and caution. If she doesn’t talk then, I might rest assured that she never will.
It seems like she hasn’t talked to anyone about what she saw on that rooftop, maybe not even her close friend. If that’s true, I need to know about her reasons. I need to become the only one she would tell, ever.
I’ll decide what to do about her then.
Fucking silly man.
Already, I can feel her divine taste taking me over. Her lips are pressed against mine with hungry desperation and with every moment that our tongues continue their ecstatic dance, I notice my pulse speed up.
Another moan from her calls me back to reality and I push her away. She is panting heavily, staring up at me with rosy cheeks and wide eyes. There’s a hint of shock in her gaze, but most of all there is need. Delicious need for more.
I have never seduced a woman like a gentleman. Working with the mob provided me with plenty of opportunities to have my way with a bunch of easy girls, who didn’t care about being treated right—they just cared about material compensation and a taste of luxury that they would have been prohibited from experiencing otherwise.
They liked who I was with them. Rough, harsh, a bad boy who didn’t care about anything or anyone else.
This one is different. With her, I have to protect my name, my life really.
“I’m sorry,” I growl, assuming that this is what a girl like her would expect to hear after such an intrusion.
I’m not sorry, of course. She belongs in my fucking bed, close to unconsciousness, drunk with pleasure and a fake sense of security.
She smiles.
“I think we’re even now,” she says, casting me a flirtatious smile.
I tighten my fist around the hair at the back of her head and pull on it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I cannot hide the animal inside of me. But she seems to enjoy it.
“I made a clumsy first move on you,” she whispers. “And you took what I offered.”
I don’t know what she is trying to say with this and chose to ignore her little banter. The night is getting late and things need to get moving.
“Had enough fresh air?” I want to know.
She nods. “I think I’m good.”
“Would it be considered unprofessional if you went home with one of the patrons?” I ask.
Of course, I don’t care about that, but I know she does.
She hesitates for a moment, looking up at me with shy questions written across her face, before she breaks into a sexy little smirk.
“Not if no one notices.”
She tries to be coy, but there is an undeniable uncertainty radiating from her.
“Would you mind if I called us a cab?” I ask, trying to be the gentleman she needs me to be to be convinced. It takes all my efforts to turn into this person. The nice one. The careful one. I loathe it, but understand the necessity for it. Years of playing with the bad kids have made it hard for me to act like the agreeable person I need to be for this new life.
But I know I have it in me. I can be the good guy, if need be.
She gulps, still enclosed in my embrace, her dark eyes switching back and forth between me and the city landscape beneath us. Something is holding her back or even frightening her.
It seems like I have to make this decision for her, so I take a step back, creating a little distance between us before I grab her hand and turn around, pulling her behind me as I make my way toward the door.
“I take your silence as a yes,” I announce, when we reach the elevator.
She stands next to me, weirdly quiet. Her hand is soft in my hard grip, weak and passive. I don’t like it at all. I feel as if she is fading away from me, and I have no idea what caused this sudden change in her.
The doors to the elevator open surprisingly quickly. We step inside, and I notice her turning around to me as soon as the doors close. I reciprocate her silent gaze and the small elevator is soon filled with an uncomfortable tension while she stares up at me.
I’m alarmed.
Does she recognize me after all? Did I miss something? Did she lure me away from the group so her friend can call the police and have them wait for me outside the venue on the street? Is that why she was so taken aback when I decided to go up on the roof instead?
“What is it?” I ask, sounding harsher than intended. I cannot hide my sudden suspicion toward her. “Are you scared?”
She shakes her head.
“No,” she whispers. “It’s just that… I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what before?” I probe, even though I’m pretty sure I know what she is talking about.
Of course, she blushes and lowers her eyes.
“You know… go home with a guy I just met,” she mumbles, hardly audible to my ears.
Same old story. I’m fairly certain that girls like her are schooled to keep up this facade of the good girl. They don’t want to be the easy one, the girl who gives herself away just like that.
But she also doesn’t seem to know how to make a guy fight for her. Her hesitation is just an act, something she does as to not lose her reputation—it doesn’t reflect what she really thinks or wants.
At least that is what I suspect. Trying to read her turns out to be a lot more fun than I thought. She is so closed up, so careful and somewhat contradictory.
Even if it weren’t for the danger that is attached to her, I would want to make her mine, at least for the night.
“I don’t believe you,” I say to challenge her.
She looks up to me and breaks into a shy smile. “You probably shouldn’t.”
Her words send another stream of suspicion through me, but when we leave the elevator and walk out to the street through the lobby, there is no one waiting for us. No police, no alarm going off. Her shy girl act m
ust be solely based on her attraction to me.
Flattering.
As of right now, I have two places that I call home, and when the cab driver asks for an address, I give him the new one, the respectable one.
I haven’t had the place for very long and barely spent a night there, so I’m not surprised to find her confused when she first steps inside.
“This is your place?” She asks, scanning the barely furnished living area. “Did you just move here?”
‘Not yet’ would be the honest answer, but then she would ask about my old and current home—and I sure as hell won’t bring her to that scary dump.
“Yes,” I say. “I work a lot and don’t spend much time at home, that’s why this whole furnishing process takes longer for me than it would for others.”
I pause and wink at her. “But I can promise you that there is a comfortable bed.”
She lowers her eyes and blushes. Whatever sexual tension and attraction there was between us while we were standing on the rooftop is now gone, replaced by an awkward distance.
I think she might need another drink, and I curse myself for not thinking of that earlier, because there is very little I can offer her here. All I have is an old bottle of whiskey, a leftover from bad habits.
We walk into my kitchen and she spots the lone bottle before I can even offer it to her.
“Oh,” she says, beaming and pointing at it. “Could I try that?”
“It’s the only drink I can offer you anyways,” I reply, fetching a glass from the cabinet. “On the rocks or neat?”
“Neat,” she says.
“A true connoisseur, huh.”
She shakes her head while I pour her drink.
“No, but I like a good whiskey once in a while,” she says. “It’s good to calm the nerves.”
“I don’t know if you’d consider this a good one,” I say. “But if your nerves need calming, I’m sure it can do the job.”
“Thank you.”
She takes the glass and brings it up to her face, smelling the whiskey before she takes a careful sip.
I take her in while she is busy enjoying her drink. Her wild mane is a mess, and it looks terribly endearing to me. It was windy on the roof and whatever she did to fix her hair for tonight’s event is now a lost cause. It creates an interesting contrast to her chic clothing. Her lipstick is smeared and has lost its deep and overdone color. She looks so much better without it and I will make sure to remove even the last hint of that annoying goop from her face by the time I am done with her.
