2
Skye
Istare into the face of the most captivating man I’ve ever met.
Over the five years my father has worked for him, I’ve come across pictures of the thirty-seven-year-old billionaire.
He’s some sort of financial genius who turns everything he touches to gold. But the pictures I’ve seen of Jared Prince come nowhere near doing him justice.
His eyes are a piercing dark hazel, his eyelashes sinfully long.
Cheekbones and a jaw sharp enough to cut diamonds would make him too austere were it not for the overlong dark brown hair and the sensual curve of his mouth that soften his features.
His body is hard-packed and muscled from what I suspect is a killer workout regime. And then there’s that undefinable sprinkling of something that makes the whole package drool-worthy.
The media call him a recluse and yet he looks like he spends most of his time outdoors in the sun.
Jared Prince is put together in the way very few men are.
Half my brain is scrambled from what he’s telling me about Dad. The other has been toast from his effect on me since I exited the elevator. Since he tugged me to the sofa and boldly put his hands on me.
This is the first time I’ve been touched by a man who wasn’t my father.
It’s been forever since I’ve been touched, period. Before things got irreparably shitty between my parents, Mom would give me the occasional hug or brush my hair before a dance recital. The rest of the time, stern nannies who didn’t believe in cuddles took care of me.
But I haven’t had a nanny in years and Dad completely withdrew when Mom walked out.
My skin jumps and fireworks ignite in my bloodstream when Jared pulls me closer. I should move, protest, but I can’t. I…don’t want to.
There’s something hypnotic in his touch that fascinates me. Makes me hot and restless. Makes me…yearn.
Slowly though, my reality becomes clear.
I’m Jared Prince’s captive.
Because my father stole from him.
Alarm bells echo at the back of my head, but it’s a dull, useless sound, not the sharp urgency it should be.
I shake my head again, hoping to knock a few functioning brain cells together so I can tackle the situation before me.
“I…you can’t keep me captive. It’s illegal.”
His nostrils flare and the hands dragging up my thighs tighten for a second. “So is what your father has done.”
I swallow. If it’s true, does that likely mean prison for Dad? What would happen to me then? A flash of shame burns through me at the selfish thought. I suppress it and brazen it out.
“If that’s true, why haven’t you reported him to the authorities?”
Surprise sparks in his eyes, followed by a grudging respect before his sinful mouth quirks. “I should, but I’m used to doing things my own way.”
“Including kidnapping?”
“You came here of your own free will,” he says, then his eyes narrow dangerously. “My men didn’t touch you, did they?” The question throbs with violence.
I shake my head quickly. “No.”
The danger eases but there’s still something volatile about Jared Prince. It’s in the touch blazing over my skin.