Prey Drive by Jen Stevens
Chapter 40
the lamb
It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to me, all things considered. But for some reason, it's the final straw that sends my weakly stacked mind into a rockslide of intrusive thoughts.
Said driver has dropped us off at a ridiculously tall, newer building and handed my luggage back to Bash before driving off again. My next mental breakdown comes when we take the elevator up to the top floor that opens right up to his apartment.
I’m sorry, did I call it an apartment? I meant penthouse. No, worse than that, it’s practically a mansion in the sky.
Our elevator ride is nothing like the one we had earlier. He remains stiff at my side, his shoulders tense as he works his jaw back and forth. We’re in a silent standoff, each of us too stubborn to be the first to cut through the intense energy radiating between us. There was no warning about what to expect when the doors opened, and while all of this is pretty typical for the CEO of an insanely successful company in a city like New York, it’s still unbelievable that someone like me could be standing in a place like this, with a person like him.
This entire experience is surreal. I have no idea how I got here.
Bash strolls a few feet into the space before he turns back to face me, hands in his pockets. He almost seems… nervous? Is it possible that my stalker is just as anxious about having me here as I am about being here?
“This is home,” he announces, leaning his shoulder against one of the wood columns, a cocky gleam in his light eyes.
Nope, I was wrong before. This man is definitely showing off.
“The guest suites are upstairs. Kitchen and dining are that way. And my bedroom and office are down that hall.”
My gaze flits past him, slowly taking in the details of the new space. I'm greedily cataloging every speck of knowledge that I can gather about him in the sparsely decorated room. The walls are a light gray with black accents all around—in the tables and lamps, the framed art, the throw pillows. An enormous white sectional couch sits in the center of his living room, facing a built-in wall of shelves surrounding a large TV.
It's the perfect balance of masculine and feminine energies and, once again, the jealous monster inside my chest begins to rumble to life at the possibility that he may have shared this home with a woman at some point. Perhaps he still does.
“I'm starving.” He cuts off my wandering thoughts as he pushes off the column and heads toward the direction he said the kitchen was in. I have no choice but to follow behind him, my chest burning with nervous anticipation of what the rest of his home looks like.
The short hallway he leads me down opens up to an enormous, stark-white kitchen and dining room that look like they haven’t ever been touched, save for the two covered plates sitting on the lighted stove.
I'm starting to think there isn't a single speck of color in this place.
“I hope you don’t mind, I told my cook to make an extra plate for you. I figured you’d be hungry after nearly missing lunch.” He grabs up the plates, then turns to wink at me.
Fire burns up my chest and neck as memories of our lunch together flood my mind. Will he expect that from me again tonight?
I know I shouldn’t want him to, especially after this chauvinistic show of control over me. At what point did he decide that I was coming home with him instead of to my hotel? Did he plan it all along? I should be appalled. Still, the dark, starved part of me is hoping for more.
It’s been so long since I’ve indulged myself. Maybe I never have.
Bash pulls out a chair for me at the table, then returns to the kitchen to pour two glasses of wine before he takes the seat across from it. I shyly uncover the plate, my senses instantly assaulted by the delicious scents of various herbs and spices. I think it’s chicken parmesan, though I’ve never seen the dish presented so beautifully.
“It might be a little cold now. We took much longer to get home than I usually do.” With a pointed glare, he shoves a piece of chicken into his mouth.
I don’t bother voicing the smart retort begging to come out so I can defend myself. Instead, I cut into the meat and wrap my lips around the fork, moaning when the flavors burst across my tongue.
Quickly cutting off another bite, I repeat the motion, not bothering with manners or politeness when my stomach is empty and rumbling. Everything else fades away as I experience true bliss for a few short moments. Maybe I'm not a picky eater, just a bad cook.
I make it nearly halfway through the meal before I realize Bash has hardly touched his plate, his eyes fixated on me like some sort of animal at a zoo. Dropping my fork to grab the fabric napkin he set beside me, I delicately dab at my mouth, mortified to find that my lips were covered in red tomato sauce.
What the hell just came over me?
“You're truly an exquisite creature,” he comments, an impressed smirk kicking up the side of his mouth. It seems like it would be a jab, but his tone and expression say otherwise.
“Sorry. This is delicious,” I say, as if that explains the grotesque display I just put on.
“I can’t wait to taste it on your tongue later.”
Gulping down my wine, I raise my brows at him over the rim in response. My thighs rub together of their own accord, naturally trying to relieve the pulsating tension that kicks up again from his words. So, I guess that answers my question from before.
Bash just chuckles at my response, then returns to his meal. We finish eating and he brings me back through the main room, then up a set of stairs I must have missed when we walked off the elevator earlier.
“This is your room for the week,” he explains, opening the solid wood door at the end of the hallway to reveal a bedroom that is easily the size of half my house.
It’s tastefully decorated in deep shades of red and purple, and I can’t help but notice the resemblance to the fruit he left in my home each time he was there without my knowledge.
“Where’s your room?” I ask as he rolls my luggage into the middle of the space and tosses my pillow onto the bed.
“Downstairs, across the house. I don’t usually have guests here, but when I do, I like to keep my privacy.”
Dropping my eyes back to the bed, I nod once, a little disappointed to hear that he’ll be so far away. The way he spoke at dinner, it seemed like he expected more to happen tonight, and the traitorous, feral woman inside of me is disappointed that doesn’t seem to be the case.
“Feel free to wash up,” Bash calls to me on his way out. “I’ve got a few work emails to answer. I’ll be back for you in a little bit.”
“Back for me?”
Raising a brow at me like I’m the most pathetic thing he’s ever laid eyes on, he nods. “Yes, Stardust. I’ll be back.”
With that, he disappears down the hall, and I don’t bother going after him to ask for any more clarification. When it comes to Bash, asking more questions only seems to get me further from the answer. Instead, I grab something to wear for bed and head into the bathroom for a shower, relieved to have a chance to decompress from the insanity of this day.