Chapter 33 The Seductress
ALISTAIR
I’ve faced boardrooms full of vipers, and on one occasion, I was face-to-face with a man armed with a gun who threatened to kill me for firing him. But none of those experiences would have prepared me for the sight of Emily Vance wrapped in a single, damp towel.
The steam from the bathroom follows her out like a white ghost, making the air in the bedroom suddenly too thick to breathe. Her skin is flushed a deep, warm pink from the heat of the water, and stray droplets still cling to her collarbone, catching the light from the bedside lamp. She looks small, fragile, and yet entirely too much for me to handle in this moment. My eyes roam over her against my better judgment, taking in the elegant line of her neck and the way the towel barely manages to cover her.
I feel a sudden, sharp heat climb up my own neck. It’s been years since I felt a physical reaction this visceral, this inconvenient. I thought that part of me was dead, or at least dormant, but seeing her like this makes my pulse thrum with a rhythm I don’t recognize. I instinctively turn my head away, fixing my gaze on the heavy velvet curtains across the room. My mind is a chaotic mess of thoughts I have no business having about a woman who is only here because of a contract.
Emily stands there, looking completely disoriented. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted as if she’s trying to find words that won’t come.
"Why are you here?" she finally asks. Her voice is soft, still a bit raspy from her earlier ordeal. "You said you’d give me space to freshen up."
I clear my throat, trying to regain the cold, detached persona that usually serves as my armor. I stand up, keeping my back straight, though the look that she’s giving me makes me feel...strange.
"I’m just not used to sharing a room yet," I say. I try to make my voice sound bored, nonchalant, as if I stumble upon half-naked women in my bedroom every Tuesday. "I walked in out of habit."
I turn to leave, walking past her toward the door. As I pass, a scent hits me. It isn’t like the heavy, cloying perfume Beatrice wears. It’s the smell of flowers and chocolate combined. The scent is so clean, so enticing, that a chill races down my arms. My skin prickles under my robe.
I stop at the door, my hand on the cold brass handle. I don’t look back.
"Dr. Aris will be here in five minutes," I tell the doorframe. "He’s going to conduct a medical examination to make sure you and the baby are alright. Be ready."
I step out into the hallway and close the door with more force than necessary. The moment the latch clicks, I lean my head against the cool wood and exhale a long, hot breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My chest feels tight. I need to focus. She’s a partner in a business arrangement. She isn’t a distraction I can afford.
EMILY
I stand in the middle of the room, staring at the closed door while the realization of my situation hits me like a bucket of ice water. I am clad in nothing but a thin, white bath towel that is currently damp and sticking to places it really shouldn’t.
My face is so hot I’m surprised the water on my skin isn’t sizzling.
Oh, God.
He’s going to think I did this on purpose. He’s going to think I’m one of those women who uses her body to secure her position. I can already hear Beatrice’s voice in the back of my mind, calling me a harlot and a manipulator. I have to explain myself. I have to tell him I didn’t know he was in here.
I scramble toward the walk-in closet, my feet slipping slightly on the carpet. I lock the heavy bedroom door first, the click of the bolt providing a small, pathetic sense of security. I move with a frantic energy, pulling on a pair of soft cotton leggings and an oversized, thick knit sweater. It’s modest, warm, and covers every inch of skin from my chin to my ankles.
I grab the blow dryer, the loud whirring sound filling the room and masking the frantic thumping of my heart. I dry my hair in record time, brushing it out until it hangs in shiny waves over my shoulders. Just as I set the dryer down, a firm knock sounds at the door.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my sweater down. "Come in."
I unlock the door, and Alistair enters, followed by Dr. Aris. Alistair has his hands clasped behind his back, his expression back to that terrifying, stony mask. I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye. I keep my focus on the doctor’s leather bag.
"Good evening, Mrs. Wolfe," Dr. Aris says. The man has seen me in all kinds of situations by now, but he doesn’t act like he has. He’s professional as he gestures for me to sit on the edge of the bed.
He goes through the motions of a standard checkup. He checks my pupils, looks at the small scrapes on my hands from the lake shore, and finally pulls out a stethoscope. The metal is freezing when he presses it against my chest, right over my heart.
Dr. Aris frowns slightly, moving the stethoscope. He waits a moment, then looks up at me. "Your heart rate is remarkably elevated, Emily. Are you feeling dizzy? Any chest pain?"
I feel Alistair’s gaze sharpen. I can feel the heat returning to my cheeks.
"I’m just... I’m still a bit shaken from earlier," I lie. I focus very hard on a spot on the wall. "The kidnapping, the water... it was a lot of fright for one day. My heart hasn’t really settled down since we got back."
It’s a half-truth. My heart was fine until I walked out of the bathroom and saw Alistair standing by my bed.
Alistair moves closer, his shadow falling over the bed. "It’s been over an hour since the rescue, Doctor. Should her heart still be racing this fast? Is there a risk to the baby?"
His voice sounds genuinely concerned, which only makes my pulse jump higher. I hate how much power he has over my physical reactions.
Dr. Aris taps his chin, looking between us. "It’s not uncommon for shock to linger, especially in pregnancy. The body is under a lot of stress. However, we want to keep things as calm as possible."
He begins packing his instruments away, clicking his bag shut. "I’ll prescribe a mild sedative to help you sleep, but more importantly, you need absolute rest. Given the state of shock and the physical toll of the evening, I’d advise against any... strenuous physical activity. Specifically, you should refrain from sexual activity for at least the next week until we’re sure the pregnancy is stable, and your blood pressure has leveled out."
Se...sexual activity?!
My face goes from pink to a shade of crimson that probably matches the rug. I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole. I want to teleport to a different continent.
Alistair looks like he’s been turned to stone. He blinks, his throat moving as he swallows. He looks at the doctor, then briefly at me, before clearing his throat.
"I see," Alistair says. "That won’t be an issue. Thank you, Doctor."
After Alistair escorts Dr. Aris out, he returns to the room. The atmosphere is so awkward, I feel like I might choke on it. He stands by the window, looking out at the dark estate grounds.
"You heard the doctor," Alistair says. He doesn’t turn around. "Remember your contractual obligations. You are the vessel for the Wolfe heir. Refrain from doing anything detrimental to the baby’s health. That includes getting yourself into situations where your heart rate hits the ceiling."
I nod obediently, my eyes fixed on my lap. "I understand."
He starts to head toward the door.
"Alistair," I call out. I have to say it. "About earlier. When I came out of the bathroom."
He stops, his hand on the doorknob. He looks like he’s holding his breath, his shoulders tense.
"I didn’t know you were in the room," I say quickly. "It wasn’t a... a deliberate attempt to seduce you or anything. I thought I was alone. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
Alistair lets out a long sigh, a sound that seems to deflate some of the tension in his frame. He looks back at me, and for a second, I see something in his eyes that isn’t coldness. It’s a struggle.
"I believe you," he says. He stays there for a moment longer than necessary before disappearing and closing the door.
I sink back against the pillows, feeling a strange mixture of relief and a twinge of disappointment I shouldn’t be feeling. I need to get my head in the game. I need to focus on Beatrice.
Ten minutes later, there’s a light tap on the door. Alistair walks back in, looking more composed.
"Did the kidnapper say anything?" I ask, sitting up. "Did he admit who hired him?"
Alistair shakes his head. "He’s a gambler. Deep in debt to some very unpleasant people. He claims he got a call from a blocked number, a voice he didn’t recognize. They offered him enough to clear his debts if he snatched the girl and made some demands. There’s no paper trail. No evidence that points to a mastermind."
My heart sinks. Beatrice is going to get away with it. She’s going to keep walking these halls like she’s a saint while I’m the one under suspicion.
"He’s lying," I say. "Or he’s too afraid to talk. Beatrice was terrified when I mentioned the truth earlier."
"Fear isn’t evidence," Alistair says.
I reach for my nightstand and pick up my mobile phone. The screen is cracked from the chaos at the café, but it still works. I pull up the text messages I received earlier in the day. They were vile, threatening, and clearly intended to rattle me.
"Look at these," I say, handing him the phone.
Alistair takes the device. As he reads the messages, I watch his face. His expression goes from calm to a terrifying, dark mask of rage. The skin around his eyes tightens, and his jaw muscles bulge.
Suddenly, there’s a sickening crunch.
My eyes go wide as Alistair’s hand closes into a fist. The plastic and glass of my phone groan and then shatter under the sheer pressure of his grip. Bits of the screen fall to the carpet like glittering dust. He drops the mangled remains of the phone onto the bed as if it were a piece of filth.
I shrink back into the headboard, and I let out a small gasp, my hands flying to my mouth.
"Alistair!" I cry out.
Inside, however, a warm, smug sense of triumph spreads through me. He’s angry. He’s truly, deeply furious on my behalf.