Her heart thudding, she opened the door and stepped into the dimly lighted corridor. A feeling of déjà vu descended on her. How many times had she snuck through her high-security private school when she had been a teenager? It hadn’t ended well even a single time.
Within minutes she’d entered the main foyer, with the gleaming marble floors that led to several bedrooms. Ceiling lights here and there illuminated her path, drawing attention to the elegant angles of the mansion, shedding light on the priceless art pieces everywhere she looked.
Any other time she would have enjoyed the beauty of this house surrounded by lush gardens and the private beach. Her studio apartment, the size of a walk-in closet, in a not-so-good neighborhood of Manhattan, was hardly conducive to creativity. But this mansion, with its sky-high ceilings taking advantage of natural light during the day, was the perfect location to relax, to let the ideas fighting for life inside her head breathe onto paper.
Except for the pervading presence of the man who owned the mansion, who had no problem rearranging her life to suit his plans.
No. She couldn’t tolerate another hour in his presence, much less travel with him to Paris, of all places. Just thinking of the city brought a chill to her skin, memories cloying their way to the surface.
Reaching the entrance, she plucked the keys to a Range Rover she had seen in the courtyard from the key-holder. All she needed was to get to the airport, which was fifty miles away, and then get on a flight out of the island. She didn’t much care where she went as long as she got out of here in the next couple of hours. The airline ticket was going to max out her credit card, but it was a price she was willing to pay.
She stepped into the wide courtyard, intent on locating the vehicle—and ran headlong into a solid, warm body. Her breath whooshed out of her at the impact, her insides rearranging themselves into jelly.
Alexander.
His hands on her arms anchored her. A dark navy sweater hugged the lean breadth of his chest, and black khakis completed his casual look. His blue, blue eyes shone with razor-edged amusement and he was very much awake. He looked dangerously yummy, and the assault of his clean, fresh scent was too much for her sleep-deprived body.
“Going somewhere, Olivia?”
His smooth words sent prickles of alarm running down her arms. Before she could answer he turned her around and marched her back through the foyer as though she were a petulant teenager.
While he barked orders into his cellphone—no doubt ordering his minions to bar the gates against her—she pulled her arm from his hold and dragged her heels. His gaze intent on her, he stood with his hands folded across his chest, his feet apart. She would have preferred it if he’d yelled at her.
His silence, however, eroded the edge of her anger, her resentment, and the need to explain was a pressing compulsion in her head. He provoked the most unusual responses in her. “I can’t go with you. Believe me, it’s better if you wait here for Kim rather than drag me to Paris.”
The frost of his anger didn’t thaw even a little. “Follow me,” he said, and walked away.
Staring at his retreating back, she stood rooted to the spot, feeling like a dog being summoned by its master. Yet did she have a choice?
She drew the line at running after him like a supplicant. She followed him with unhurried steps and found herself on the marble-tiled terrace. Beautiful solar lights placed at strategic points illuminated the vast grounds, and the rising sun was casting a golden glow over the grounds. Sprawling patches of green stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with tall palm trees and occasional wildlife. Behind the mansion lay the ocean, and in front of them a picturesque lawn complete with a huge pool. For a minute the pristine beauty surrounding her captured her attention, and her elemental need to escape was buried under her awe.
It was stunning and peaceful. The mansion was a natural extension to the backdrop of the island. Except for the cluster of vans and tents parked outside the electronically controlled estate gates. She automatically counted them, finding fourteen vans in all. Something that very much looked like a long-range telescope was pointed at the terrace even now, and a babble of excitement surrounded it.
She instinctively ducked behind Alexander’s solid body, disbelief shredding the peace she had felt mere minutes ago. “Are those...?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence for the terror coating her throat.
“Reporters? Yes.”
Fear wrapped its tentacles round and round her throat, cutting off her breath, dragging her into a ghastly flashback. Images she didn’t want to see—of her tear-stricken face plastered across the newspapers. Sounds she didn’t want to hear—of the rabble with microphones and cameras stuck in her face as her father hauled her across the courtyard of his house. And the uproarious glee of the bloodthirsty vultures when he had literally thrown her onto the street, proudly disowning her. They flooded her, sweeping her along on a tide of nightmare. Sweat dribbled down her spine and she moved closer to Alexander. She didn’t care that she was clinging to him. She clutched the soft fabric of his sweater with her fingers, the warmth from his body penetrating the chill.