After watching her for several minutes, I pull myself away, not wanting to torture myself any longer. She’s coming around, but she isn’t there yet. I’ll give her time. I will not force myself on her no matter how much I want to. I’ll never hurt her.
Instead, I go to my hidden room that is stocked with vintage wines. It was the first thing I had built upon finishing the updates on the place.
I keep my private collection here, as this place isn’t frequently used. This is my escape. I come here to get away and to hide out when necessary. . . on the rare occasion, my men will bring in an adversary, but often, we don’t have to go that route.
Only a few people know about this island, and they know their life, and that of their families, are dependent on their secrecy. I pay them handsomely for the inconvenience. I sift through my collection and come upon a 1949 Chateau Lafite Rothschild.
It isn’t my most expensive bottle, but it’s a good one, and I want to share it with her.
If there’s one thing I know about Ivy, it’s that she was deprived of the finer things in life, all so that her father could indulge in his vices.
I saw the state of the exterior of the brownstone she lived in. Any man who wears a watch like he did but couldn’t keep up his shit privately wouldn’t treat his family right, and then don’t get me started on gambling her virtue away.
The thought of the man turns my stomach and makes me rage.
I return to the kitchen just in time to see her putting the silverware in place. She looks up, smiling when she sees me until her eyes land on my hands. One is holding the bottle of wine and the other, two goblets.
“What’s that for?” she says, furrowing her brows.
“To drink,” I pronounce, earning a scowl from her.
“I know what you do with it. I asked why you’re bringing it in here.” Her hands rest on her hips, and her eyes are in two thin slits as she glowers my way.
Frustration is rolling off her in waves, and I can’t help but chuckle. She is adorable when she is flustered and gorgeous as fuck when she is pissed.
“It’s a peace offering. For you saving my life,” I explain with nonchalance.
She rolls her eyes at me, and a part of me wants to throw her across my lap and punish her. I won’t, though.
Damn fucking morals.
“I hardly saved your life. I merely stitched you up.”
“You’re right.” I shrug. “This is for me since you nearly got me killed, along with yourself, and poor Cerberus. Look what you did to him. He looks worse than both of us,” I say, nodding my head toward the limp tail.
“Cerberus,” she says, looking close to tears. “Is he going to be all right?” she asks for the umpteenth time.
“Ivy, he’ll be fine. I was only messing with you.”
“Don’t joke about stuff like that. I feel terrible about what I did to him.”
Now it’s my turn to feel like a shit. “I’m sorry. I won’t joke about that anymore,” I promise. “Cerberus will be fine. I assure you.”
She nods her head but doesn’t say another word. So, I forge forward, hoping to lighten the mood with my offering. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like wine, and a vintage bottle at that.
“Now that I’m stranded here, I sure as hell am not going to be denied appropriate drink,” I tease, looking down at the glass of water she has sitting out for me.
She rolls her eyes. “Ever the opportunist.”
I act affronted. “There are no motivations here, Ivy. I simply want to share a near
priceless bottle of wine. With you.” I grin. “Is that so bad?”
She mumbles something under her breath but acquiesces and then points at the chair for me to sit. I oblige, not wanting to further her irritation. I want to have a decent meal with good conversation.
“Do you always give your prisoners expensive wine?” she asks, raising a brow.
I groan. “So, we’re going to go there, are we?”
“Why not discuss the elephant in the room? Surely, we’ll enjoy our food more once this topic is out in the open. Heaven knows I’ll feel more comfortable tasting your near priceless bottle with some answers.” She mocks my very words, and I have to count to three so I don’t lose my temper.
“Must you ruin every moment with your smart mouth?”
Her back straightens. “Have you ever been stolen from your life and held captive? No? Then don’t talk to me about my smart mouth.”
I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. Her argumentative attitude should make me livid. Bigger men have fallen for talking to me like that, but something about her feisty side makes me crave her even more. I relish in her boldness.