C6 Chapter 5

I PULL UP outside the Benahillz Hotel and run inside, leaving the car engine running and effectively blocking the entrance. I wouldn’t do it under any other circumstance, but it is very early morning, and no one would want to steal my piece of shit anyway. Or at least I hope not.

Sprinting through the lobby, there are only a couple of people milling around and a few night staff working. I halt abruptly at the grand reception desk and wait for the smart, suited man behind it to slowly make his way over to me.

“Hi, I'm looking for my brother. He said he was here.”

“Name?” he asks rudely, while he eyes me with undisguised revulsion.

“Nelly Johnson.”

“Your Cousin’s name!” he counters sharply.

“M-Maxwell” I say, suddenly developing a stutter that I’ve never had before.

The man looks me up and down questionably, taking in my dishevelled appearance and cheap clothes before he picks up the phone. He turns his back to me, and I hear him whispering something to whoever is on the other end. After a few moments, he hangs up and turns to face me, assessing me from head to toe yet again from behind the safety of the marble reception desk. My skin prickles under his unnerving, critical scrutiny, but my shame, in this grand and opulent setting, is battened down in light of why I am here.

“Take the lift to the tenth floor, Miss.” Taken aback by his rude and judgemental attitude, I nod and turn to where he is pointing.

I jog quickly to the lifts, prodding the up buttons until one arrives. My fear of confined spaces has taken a back seat as my thoughts fix purely on finding Maxwell, and getting the hell away from these snotty, ungrateful people. Pressing the button to the tenth floor, my stomach lurches as the box moves, and I brace my hands on the highly polished brass railing running around the perimeter.

This is one of the three things I hate most in life: the word sweets, touching and confined spaces. In that order.

“One, breathe, two, breathe,” I say to my reflection in the mirror encasing all four sides. I grip the bar tighter, while my stomach does somersaults and threatens to empty itself all over the pristine, grey granite floor.

The doors open and I find myself in a private foyer. It is beautifully presented in warm shades of cream, with red accents. I look around in admiration at the grandeur, wondering what on earth the stupid cow has gotten mixed up in this time. And more worryingly, what might meet me on the other side. Even I know this isn’t the kind of place you tout for personal services and peddle drugs in.

My stomach recoils noticing the floor holds two suites. My eyes shift between the two doors in front of me, and I press the first doorbell with determination. Straightening my shoulders, I aim to appear confident, yet I feel anything but. There is only one thing filling my head right now: please don’t let that sneering, dirty bastard from earlier today be inside this suite. Please…

I’m in luck when the door opens, and I just walk straight on in. I don’t even stop to see who has opened it, or if I am even in the right room. The first thing I see is Maxwell, curled up in a ball on an expensive-looking leather sofa. He appears to be sleeping, and I breathe out a sigh of relief until I notice my surroundings.

I slowly take in the room; clean lines of glass and dark wood, expensive fabrics and leather. Opulence seems to be a running theme here from what I can see. Rich shades of cream and brown finish the room beautifully. The whole place screams money and success, and it’s absolutely stunning. Suddenly, I realise why the man downstairs eyed me like shit; I don’t belong here, and neither does Maxwell. I bite down on my lip to suppress the panic rising up from the confines of my stomach.

Then the door clicks shut behind me.

I spin around, and my mouth dries out almost instantly, as I prepare myself to come face to face with the sneering, dirty bastard again.

Oh. Holy. Fuck!

It’s not the sneering, dirty bastard.

I wilt where I stand. My lungs actually stop operating momentarily, and my heart shudders like it has been finally shocked from a long, deep slumber. My whole body currently feels on fire for some unknown, inexplicable reason.

“I have already had my doctor take a look at him. He seems to be fine, just, well...he's high.”

He folds his impressive, muscular arms over his equally impressive, muscular chest, and he leans back against the closed door. My eyes drop to his feet, and ever so slowly, work their way up his body. Tanned bare feet, long muscular legs and thick thighs, wrapped up in worn, faded blue jeans. The fitted white t-shirt encasing his torso does nothing to hide the perfectly defined ridges of his stomach, chest and shoulders. The outlines are more than visible underneath the stretched fabric. I gulp excessively, open-mouthed and speechless, at the faultless specimen of male perfection towering over me.

I stare up at him, my lips part and my eyes widen. His face is heavenly; beautiful, naturally bronzed skin, a strong, chiselled jaw, set under perfect cheekbones. His nose is straight and flawlessly proportioned. He has the darkest, yet clearest midnight blue eyes I have ever seen. In fact, I’m positive I have never seen such a colour before. He seems piqued by my stare, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

My hands clench at my sides in desperation, and my tongue slides over my bottom lip. All I can think about is running my hands over his sexy, slightly too long dark locks, while his tongue… Oh my God! What the hell?

A nervous feeling wells up in my stomach, twisting into knots deep in my gut. I place a hand over my belly, but the feeling shifts south and suddenly, I can feel heat pooling in my core profusely. His eyes remain locked on mine, and I’m dying to rub my thighs together to alleviate the tension that is building immensely.

I chew my lip timidly. Is he aware of what I am doing and that he’s instigating it? He smirks a little. Of course, he’s aware! Look at him! Any woman would be brain dead not to want him. Even my asexual semi human self is not immune, judging by the way my body is reacting to him.

He arches up an eyebrow over his stunning dark blue, now virtually black eyes. He is fully aware that I am shamelessly checking him out, amongst other things, while my poor friend is lying in pain only a few feet away. I mentally scold myself for such uncharacteristic behaviour. Yet I can’t help it, this man has ignited something in me. I can’t even begin to fathom where it is coming from.

I need to get out of here.

I need to get away from him.

Feeling painfully aware, I wrap my arms around my middle and shift from one foot to the other, desperate to eradicate these alien sensations bubbling copiously inside my body. He remains motionless watching me, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable under his roving eye. The way he’s studying me makes me want to run for cover. I don’t know what it is, but there is a familiarity in his eyes that is unmistakable. I also don’t misinterpret the ghost of a smile forming on his lips.

Somewhere, I think I have seen him before.

“Thank you,” I whisper, averting my eyes, desperately trying to control the heat my body is emanating. I don’t know what else to say. All words have left me, and for the first time in my life, I actually feel something I can definitely say I’ve not experienced previously.

Sexual attraction.

It’s something that no mortal has ever elicited in me, not even come close to.

Well, maybe once, many years ago.

He moves towards Maxwell, bends down and puts his hand on his forehead. “He just needs to sleep. I found him wandering around on the floor below clothed with blood...”

I listen to his voice rumble from his chest. It’s like velvet and chocolate mixed together. Baritone, smooth and hypnotic. I am having a hard time placing what part of the country he is actually from. He doesn’t sound particularly an American or English. He’s definitely not a Mexican, I should know. There is a lilt of an accent there, possibly European or Canadian. Might even be Australian. But what do I know, I’ve never set foot outside of America.

He stands suddenly, and marches into the open plan kitchen which adjoins the living room. I blatantly stare at the muscles in his back, which flex deliciously with each movement under his t-shirt. His denim-covered arse is tight and mesmerising. I avert my eyes away for a second time, fearing he will see me again, and the way my body is fighting a battle not to wrap itself around him. He pulls out two mugs and puts on some coffee.

“I think he should stay here, he's not in a fit state to be moved.” His tone is firm and commanding. He turns to me with a cautious, yet confident stare. It penetrates deep inside me and awakens the dormant, feminine parts of myself I was sure had died long ago.

God help me he really is beautiful. But why is this happening to me? Why now? I mentally whine.

The ache deepening in my body adds further justification to the affect he is genuinely having on me. My thighs clench tight, while my hormone levels begin to rocket off the scale. I have no idea what is going on underneath my skin, but I do know I need to leave, so I use the only defence mechanism I possess - anger.

“Sorry, but who the hell are you?” I ask, hot and flustered.

“Castro Desmon,” he replies, a little too confident, holding out one of the full mugs. I shake my head, refusing his offering. He stares at me with intent, and I wring my hands together apprehensively.

“Right, Mr Desmon. Tell me, is it common practice for you to invite drugged up, young men into your hotel room and beat them?” He looks shocked at my outburst. And so am I.

Oh shit, did that really just come out? I could slap myself for it, but in my shame, I don’t stand around to await his response.

Walking over to maxwell with determination, I delicately place my hand on his forehead, satisfied he is still breathing and sleeping peacefully. and the purple bruises forming rapidly are evident under his jaw, and now ruined, face. His clothes are bloodied and torn, and he has bandages around his knees and hands waited for a little distraction of Castro then I gently flip his clothes to see if the plastic band on his back covered his marks properly then attending to me again Castro interrupts.

“No, it isn't, Miss?” his voice speaks up hoarsely from behind me.

“johnson. Nelly johnson,” I answer, standing to face him. He is now only a few inches away from me. I feel lightheaded and uncomfortable being this close to him, being able to identify his unique scent so easily. His brow furrows slightly, then he gives out a small sigh. I have no idea what is going through his head, but all I want is to get the hell away from this hotel room. Now.

“Miss johnson, I will have my driver take you and your Cousin home.”

Amazed at his nerve, I’m unable to conceal my abhorrence for what he has done and the nonchalant demeanour in which he can dismiss him so easily, without taking any responsibility for his actions.

“What, so you just fuck and beat defenceless lad and send them on their way?!” My eyes burn holes into him, and it’s not because of what he has done to Maxwell, it’s because I can’t control the heat flaring inside me for a man who equals my father. It’s masochistic to want a man who has done such a degrading thing to my cousin, my brother. Usually, it would make me recoil and lash out.

I start to move away from him, but his fingers cut into my wrist, halting my escape. A shock of something sends a powerful surge down my arm and deep into my body. Not possessing the wisdom to understand what I am feeling, I look up at him, mouth open and eyes wide. Captured in his gaze and hold, I wait impatiently for the prickly burn to come, but it doesn’t materialise. Whenever anyone touches me, I feel it. Yet with him - setting aside the static shock from my cheap top - it feels natural to have his hand on me. It feels like it belongs there. It’s a calm feeling I have only felt once before.

“Now, let's get one thing clear in your head, Miss johnson,” he says, his tone dripping with anger. “I did not touch him and I did not beat him,” he responds, levying his resentment on me. “I was told there was a an pounding on the doors of the guests. This is not the kind of place that has an hourly charge, regardless of what ridiculous and twisted ideas you may have filling your head right now.” His eyes flick to Maxwell, then back to me. They soften slightly, and I now feel something else that has also been alien to me for many years. Guilt.

I haven’t experienced that particular emotion in a long time, but damn, do I feel it now. I’m so confused at his ability to make me feel. I hate these emotions that are welling up inside, and he is the bloody cause of them.

I look down at my brother and then back to him. Shame washes over me in abundance. “Sorry,” I apologise a little too quietly, trying to avoid his gaze.

He doesn’t say anything further, and I don’t expect him to. He merely nods and hands the coffee back to me. Feeling self-conscious, I accept it while he continues to watch me closely, seemingly satisfied with himself. The tension in the room is thick, and I shift nervously under his penetrating stare. Maxwell murmurs in his drug-induced state, and I love him for the brief reprieve he has just afforded me. Holding his hand out to take the mug from me, his finger brushes against mine softly. The electricity piques and surges once again. The pleasurable heat flaring from such an innocent touch feels like I am being burnt alive from the outside. The intensity of it is indescribable, and I have to hold in the gasp that I am dying to let out.

“I'll call my driver and have him take you both home.” His eyes linger on mine for far too long until I break the connection. Maybe I’m imagining it, but I could have sworn I heard a disappointing huff coming from his direction.

“You don't have to do that. My car is outside. We'll be fine,” I reply, training my eyes on the floor – anywhere - to avoid his piercing and smouldering gaze, which is figuratively burning me alive, and causing all kinds of things to awaken inside my dormant body.

“Please, don't fight me on this. I will have your car put into the secure car park, and you can pick it up later.” He is firm and commanding again. His eyes continue to search my face, and I wonder what it is he is actually searching for. He seems to want to say something, but the words don’t come out, and I don’t dare press him for more.