I slink through the empty living room, suddenly turned on by the thrill of the chase. Catalina must be hiding. Good. Stalking my prey will scratch that primal part of my brain that’s been bored to death during all these board meetings.
The lights stay off as I move through the darkness, completely at home. Where are you, little mouse?
Despite the size of my penthouse suite, there aren’t many places to hide. The open concept displays everything up front. The only blind spots are around the corners that lead to my bedroom. Sure, I could stop this little game of cat and mouse right now by watching the security tapes from the hidden cameras that litter the place, but what’s the fun in that?
Instead, I strut down the dark hall, towards the sliver of dim light that cascades out of my half-open bedroom doorway.
Ah, good. So, I won’t have to drag Catalina to my bed tonight; she’s done me the favor of waiting there for my return.
Maybe she’s more subservient than I thought.
... Or maybe not.
I can’t help but smirk at the sight that awaits me.
Catalina, covered in my oversized white bathrobe, passed out like a drunk college student over the covers of my bed.
Not exactly elegant.
Yet, as I approach, my view of her as a sloppy fighter is challenged. Her breasts heave softly under the clean cotton, and her lean yet plump caramel thighs wash out from the slits of my oversized bathrobe.
If I didn’t know any better, I might say she looked like a sleeping princess.
Fuck, maybe Juan was right; maybe Catalina does fit the part. With her mouth closed, there definitely is an elegance about my hostage. The big problem will be controlling that yap, as well as the fire behind it—but I’ve faced far tougher challengers before.
I loom over Catalina, just watching for a moment, before my presence seems to stir the slumbering beauty awake. Her dark eyelashes flutter open, revealing those smart sparkling eyes of hers. I can’t tell whether I’ll miss the silence that is about to be broken, or if I like her more when she’s fighting for her life.
“What do you want?” Catalina bites, not missing a beat. She’s barely been awake for ten seconds and she’s already ready to go.
Oh, what I bride she could make.
“You’re wearing my robe,” I sneer. “Take it off.”
12
Catalina
As if I’m going to let Angel see my goods so easily.
“If you want a robe, there are more in the bathroom,” I hiss, wiping the sleep from my eyes. There’s n
o doubt that Angel knows this already, this is his place after all, but he’s not getting me naked without a fight.
I sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard to study the man of my dirty dreams. His dress shirt is completely unbuttoned, and an invisible breeze teasingly lifts the edges around his cut hip bones, revealing mouth-watering glimpses of his hard, chiselled body.
I cross my legs, as if trying to hide the heat that’s working its way up from in between them.
“You can take one of those robes, then,” Angel responds, coldly. “Off with this one.”
Then, as if to show me how it’s done, he begins to strip himself. The dress shirt is the first to go; the full display of his naked torso nearly pushes me down through the mattress. Angel is close enough that I can see every contour of his lean muscles, every subtle flex of his athletic body as he unbuckles his belt.
I desperately want to look away, make it clear how unattractive I find him, but it’s impossible. He’s not unattractive, he’s smoking hot.
The heat that washes from his exposed skin pours over me like steamy shower water.
“You’re not listening,” Angel notes, his tone filled with a mixture of authority and playfulness. A glacial cool scent drifts from his exposed skin, floating into my nostril and nearly lifting me off the mattress.
But I don’t go anywhere, I can’t. I’m trapped between the heaviness of his heat and the levity of his coolness.