Wishing Well(11)
Stepping toward me, his voice was a deep vibration against my frozen bones when he explained, “You’ll have to excuse the interruption, émilie is quite...passionate.”
Unsure how to respond, I practically mumbled my response. “So it seems.”
A glimmer of something flickered behind his eyes. “I’ll show you to your room, but first I’ll need a key. You can wait here while I go to the lobby.”
Merely nodding because I was still in too much shock to think, I waited for what felt like forever, my tired legs finally getting to me as I crouched and huddled against a wall. At first, I’d believed he’d forgotten me, but then he returned with a bag in one hand and a keycard in the other.
“Shall we go up?”
“What’s in the bag?” I asked, fearful that he’d chosen a maid outfit for me to wear, much like émilie’s.
“Clothes I purchased from the boutique. We can have what you’re wearing now laundered and dried in the meantime.”
Vincent held the bag out to me and I clenched my teeth to look inside and discover a mass of green silky material that didn’t appear as if it would cover much.
I should have known this man would find something for me to wear that was more akin to a negligee than actual clothes.
As he led me to a service elevator, I grew quiet, unsure. We were silent all the way to room 504 where he deposited me so that I could get a shower and get dressed. I couldn’t help but stare as he sauntered off, his soaked clothes, his messy hair, his unkempt state doing nothing to disrupt his seductive swagger.
He peeked back at me once before entering the elevator again, the expression on his handsome face making it all too obvious that my new boss - the stranger who’d hurt me before luring me from the streets - was more trouble than I’d understood I was taking on.
CHAPTER SIX
The room Vincent gave me wasn’t merely some dumpy five hundred square foot space with a questionable bed, scratchy sheets and a corner kitchenette complete with dirty microwave and a small refrigerator set in a counter. This place was a full suite, a paradise to a girl who’d slept on the streets, a bastion of hope that I wasn’t sure how to interpret.
Staring out at a living room with white carpets, white sofas, and white gossamer curtains that hung to the sides of floor to ceiling windows, I felt like I’d stepped into heaven, as if I’d died and Vincent had been the angel to whisk me from this life and deliver me into paradise without mentioning I was now a ghost. The confusion I felt mixed with elation, my light feet creeping to an open door, a gasp escaping my lungs as I stared wide-eyed at a bed that could comfortably fit three people or more. Much like the living room, the bedroom was all white with touches of pastel colors, the wallpaper a tasteful pattern touched with silver. Remembering my wet clothes, I panicked and glanced behind me, thankful to find I hadn’t tracked mud across the pristine floors.
Kicking off my shoes, I hopped on one foot then the other as I peeled the sodden socks from my feet, running again to peek inside a bathroom that would make the designers of Roman baths jealous.
In a matching theme of white and silver, the fixtures gleamed beneath a small crystal chandelier hanging delicately from the ceiling, the large bath and glass encased shower beckoning me forth with the promise of warmth for my frozen bones. Soft rugs covered the tiled floors, thick towels perfectly folded and hung for my use. A vanity with a large mirror and huge bulbs like those in an actor’s dressing room sat off to the right, the bathroom itself larger than the small apartment I’d shared with Blake before he left me.
I would have believed I was dreaming if not for the way my body shook from the rain and cold. Outside the windows, the storm raged on, but in here - in this paradise - I was safe from the thunder and rain, from the lightning that cut across the sky.
Dropping the shopping bag on a plush chair as I passed, I struggled out of my soaked clothes, letting them fall in place as I made my way to the shower. Water and steam billowed out of multiple heads, my muscles relaxing the instant I stepped inside. I would have remained beneath the spray if not for my time limit before Vincent returned, and with a promise to take a long bath before falling asleep that night, I reluctantly climbed from the shower, wrapped a large towel around my body and discovered a slight problem I hadn’t considered until that moment.
Everything I owned was soaking wet, including my underwear, my bra and shoes. I had nothing but a slinky dress to cover my body, and just the thought of slipping on anything I’d worn prior made my lip curl in disgust.
Pulling the dress over my head, I glanced in the mirror, my breasts bulging against the soft material, the length of the green silk falling to my knees. This was not the impression I wanted to give to a man I barely knew. When I heard a light knock at the door, I knew I had no other choice.
Opening the door, I held an arm across my chest, my knees clinging together for fear Vincent would be able to see I wore nothing underneath. “Hey,” I said, my voice soft, my cheeks heated with embarrassment.
His eyes traced down my body, goosebumps erupting over my flesh. “Hello,” Vincent answered, his words dark...gritty. “I see the dress fits.”
Unlike me, Vincent’s appearance was impressive, his hair brushed back, the ends dusting the collar of his black suit jacket. Beneath his suit, he wore a black shirt, the top buttons loose, revealing a triangle of tan skin, a hint of the strong pecs across his broad chest. He appeared larger somehow, the intimidation I felt pervasive and elusive, the tremor of nervousness foreign after having survived several weeks on the streets with nothing but my wit to protect me.