Twisted Little Thing Read online

  "You promised me you would explain that mysterious, non-superficial beauty that you claim to see in me – and that has nothing to do with my gorgeous hair or my make-up."

  "Yes, you remember correctly."

  "Care to elaborate?" I ask. "I took you up on your invitation and followed you here, after all."

  He smiles at me. And this time, it is a triumphant smile, the kind that I had anticipated seeing when I first entered the bar.

  It doesn't bother me now, though. He is becoming more and more intriguing with every moment I spend with him.

  "I cannot deny that your looks are appealing to me, young lady," he begins. "You are beautiful in a very pure and honest way. Even though you try to hide it under that mountain of dark make-up. But even that suits you."

  He pauses then, casting me that weirdly intense look again.

  I take another puff from the shisha that he has handed to me and beckon him to continue.

  "But all of that would not have caught my attention if it wasn’t for your dancing," he finally says.

  I look at him with disbelief – and start laughing. Loudly, very unladylike. Because I cannot believe what I just heard.

  "You have to explain to me," I choke out, trying hard to suppress my laughing. "You have to explain what it is about my erratic movements that cause you to come up with all these charming words and efforts to grab my attention. What is wrong with you?!"

  He raises one of his eyebrows again, looking at me with suspicion. "Why do you think there has to be something wrong with me?"

  "Because that is such an... odd thing to say," I say, my voice almost a whisper. "My friends actually left me alone at that club because I embarrassed them so much. Well, and because they hated the music."

  "Not a very nice move by your friends, but they have every right to do that," he says. "However, I did not – by any means – say that I found your dancing beautiful."

  I look at him, feeling slightly offended. And apparently it shows in my face, because he chuckles at the sight of my expression.

  "You have a weird way of charming a woman," I say. "Showering her with sweet words to lure her in – and then retracting them immediately."

  He smiles at me. A very handsome smile, I still have to admit. This man is way too gorgeous for me, out of my league on so many levels. I still can't help but wonder what kind of sick game he might be playing with me.

  Or whether he is just really, really bored and looking for a one-night stand at an unusual place. Unusual for him, at least.

  "I did not retract anything I said," he defends, still looking at me. "I am still maintaining what I said earlier, about you being a beautiful person. Or at least appearing to be. The way you move on the dance floor is so carefree, so unlike all of those others who are only pretending to be elegant, who care more about looking graceful than being themselves. No matter what kind of beats are shaking the room, they remain untouched by it – but you don't. If there is something that touches your heart, you have no trouble showing it, and you don't care what it might look like to others. I like that."

  The way he looks at me while he is saying these things confuses me.

  "I’d like to be the one pushing the buttons that make you lose control like that," he adds, locking me in place with his intense stare.

  I feel myself blushing and turning into a babbling mess under the intensity of his eyes.

  "Whatever," I say, trying to appear nonchalant and cool as I reach for my drink to take another big swig. But my hands are shaking – and he notices.

  "See," he comments, his voice calm and confident as he nods toward my trembling hands. "I know you are trying your best to be that cool and unapproachable girl, the one who is way above me, trying to put me in my place. Me, the narrow-minded businessman, who you think you have all figured out. Yet, you can't hide that your heart has been touched. Why are your hands shaking when I pay you a compliment?"

  I hide unsuccessfully behind my drink and end up casting him a disconcerted look through narrowed eyes. Who the hell does he think he is? And why am I shaking and blushing like a little schoolgirl? I hate that. And I hate that he is right about everything he said.

  "So?" he continues. "Why do you have such trouble admitting that my words have an impact on you? Why do you care so much about what I might think if you admit it – or what others might think?"

  I put my drink down and take a deep breath. "Why do you think I am concerned with these things? Didn't you just say that I look like a 'carefree' person who does not care about appearance and what others might think of her?"

  "Yes," he says. "And I think that is true for the most part. But still, you are trapped under certain prejudices and notions that make it hard for you to give in to attraction when it hits you."

  I look at him with indignation. "Come again, what did you just say?"

  He laughs and leans forward, moving closer to me. I flinch when he lifts his right hand to touch my face. But I don't move away. He gently caresses my cheek with his thumb while his dark eyes search for mine, catching me with their intense gaze.

  "You saw me," he whispers, his voice so low that only I can hear it. "You saw me and you ran away, because what you felt was scary to you. You may not be able to explain it, and neither can I. But there is something, attraction, interest. Something that is drawing us close to each other."

  My jaw literally dropped at his charming words. I am inclined to believe them, even though I feel more than silly for being so naive.

  "You're just saying that," I whisper. "To get into my pants."

  A faint smirk flees across his handsome face. "I am not denying that I would love that. I would love to get a chance to pursue this and see if I am reading you correctly, if I am interpreting what I feel when I look at you the right way – or if I am just imagining things and so desperate to find someone who mesmerizes me that I am projecting things onto you that aren't there."

  He pauses for a moment and looks at me, waiting and searching for a reaction. But all I do is to keep staring at him. With disbelief – and desire. I know I want him. His hand caressing my face feels warm and comfortable, weirdly familiar. His touch soothes me and sends shivers of yearning racing through my body.

  "But," he adds. "I might lose interest if you keep insulting me."

  I cannot suppress a little laugh at that. A giggle, shy and insecure like the young girl I never wanted to be, echoes between us and lifts the veil of tension.

  And just as I am about to object, he leans forward and kisses me. His lips meet mine with the force of surprise. My instincts tell me to shy away from a sudden kiss like this, but I don't want to.

  Instead, I hear myself let out a little moan as I lean into him. His tongue seeks to explore mine with an unknown eagerness. It feels so right, so insanely hot. He is a brilliant kisser, so passionate and sensual, yet without forcing it too much. My heart has never skipped beats the way it does during this first, unusually intimate kiss we share.

  His facial expression has changed after we part. He moves back slowly, his hand still on my cheek and his eyes lasered in on mine. But again, there is no triumphant smile. No sign of a predator who is joyous about the fact that he succeeded in capturing his prey.

  His face shows nothing but disbelief.

  "Nicky," I blurt out. "My name is Nicky."

  I instantly feel sorry for disturbing the beautiful silence that has marked the most intimate moment I have shared with anybody in a long time. But it felt right. It was this kiss which finally convinced me that he has a right to know my name. My real name.

  He stares at me with that same disbelieving expression he portrayed directly after our kiss ended, showing no reaction to what I have said.

  "Is that your real name?"

  I nod quietly.

  He smiles and continues to caress my cheek with his thumb, gently and lovingly, as if I was the most precious being he has ever seen.

  "Nice to meet you, Nicky," he whispers. "That is a cute name
. Very fitting for a sparkling lady like you."

  "I don't know about the 'lady' part," I say, trying to be funny. "But thank you."

  "Now, Nicky," he says. "Do you trust me?"

  I glance up at him. His face is stern now, concentrated.

  "Why?" I ask.

  "Would you trust me enough to come with me?" he explains. "To a place where we can be alone."

  "Your place?"

  He shakes his head. "Not exactly. A hotel."

  I frown.

  "I know," he says. "You are not used to this. You probably despise it. But do you think you could cast your ideals and your skepticism aside for tonight and just accept my invitation?"

  I look at him, still frowning and pondering. He feels comfortable – but this invitation does not.

  It's not the first time that something like this has happened. I’m no prude, and I do whatever I feel like, even when it’s not ladylike.

  But I would insist on paying half of the room in these situations. And I would like to do that tonight, as well. The problem is that I am completely broke and shouldn't spend any more money tonight than I already have.

  He looks at me, observing my inner struggle. The concern expressed on his gorgeous face appears to be real. I wish it was easier for me to trust people – and especially men. And I wish it was easier for me to love the gold digger lifestyle.

  But I just can't.

  "I'm sorry, I–"

  "Nicky," he interrupts me. "Be a little crazy."

  I look at him in confusion. "Crazy?"

  "Yes," he insists. "From your perspective, considering my invitation to come with me to a hotel must be a crazy thing to do."

  "Well, it's not like I haven't had one-night stands before, so–"

  "That's not what I am talking about," he interrupts me again, shaking his head. "I am talking about accepting an invitation. Just like that. Without an inner struggle with your – highly admirable – ideals. When have you ever done that?"

  I sigh and lift my hand to touch his hand that is still caressing my face. I take it and gently move it down, away from my cheek.

  The disappointment I see on his face as I do almost breaks my heart. And it helps to vocalize my decision.

  "You're right," I whisper. "That would be something new."

  I smile at him. That smile widens as I see him smiling, too. A boyish smile that makes him look younger and even more insanely attractive.

  "And I like new things," I add.

  He laughs and shakes his head.

  "I might have to punish you for being such a tease."

  CHAPTER V

  Nicky

  "Remember, you're cool with this," he says with a husky voice.

  We are standing outside the bar, faint traffic noises polluting the streets in the distance, while we wait for the cab he called, the air pleasantly cool in the dark evening air. I look at him smugly as I finish leaving a voicemail for Yuka letting her know that I am not coming home tonight.

  "I am not planning to put up any more arguments," I respond loftily.

  "You better not."

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. The night is chilly and I am not dressed properly for the current temperatures. His body's warmth feels too comfortable to reject his proximity.

  Being the perfect gentleman, he has his jacket draped around my shoulders, our bodies close. The way he possessively draws his arm around me and pulls me closer reminds me of how a predator handles his prey.

  A black limousine approaches, and just as I am about to crack a joke about who on earth would be driving a car like that in a neighborhood like this, the vehicle stops in front of us.

  Evan steps forward to open the door for me.

  "Are you kidding me?" I exclaim as he waits for me to climb into the back seat.

  "Remember," he warns. "No more arguments."

  I raise my eyebrows at him, but I follow the gesture of his head encouraging me to get into the car. It is not a stretch limousine, but still it is the most expensive and exquisite car that I have ever ridden in. The leather on the seats is ridiculously soft, and the features equipping the vehicle are more stylish and probably cost more money than anything I own.

  I instantly feel self-conscious about my holey jeans and cheap t-shirt, as if I am little more than filth, drastically underdressed to be in such an expensive vehicle. The driver, whose face is hidden from us by a darkened piece of glass, starts the engine.

  "This was not part of the deal," I whisper.

  Evan reaches for my hand and gently squeezes it. "I am sorry. I hope you don't feel tricked."

  "A little," I whisper. "But I might be willing to forgive you."

  He catches my eye then, again with that boyish smile. "Guess you didn't expect your night to turn out like this?"

  I shake my head. "Certainly not."

  "Isn't that a good thing, though?" he wants to know. "Unpredictability."

  "It is for me," I say. "But I am sure you wouldn't agree. You are the one in control, after all."

  He smirks as if I caught him doing something naughty.

  "You're right," he says in a deep, seductive voice. "Would you mind if I continue to do that? Exercising control, that is."

  "What do you mean?"

  I look at him expectantly, as he fixes me with his dark eyes. He looks like someone who has a secret that he is shy to share. His intense gaze scares me a little – but it also makes my heart race. I would never openly admit it in front of him, but I cannot wait to get to wherever it is that he is taking us so that we can continue to explore what that intense kiss promised.

  "I like to be in control," he finally says. "I don't know if you have experience with a dominant man or not, but I think I can teach you a lot and reward you with a lot of pleasure. That is, if you are willing to submit to me the way I want you to."

  I look at him, slightly confused. Without saying a word, I seek for an explanation by staring into his dark eyes, his perfect face that is too far away from me right now.

  "The way you want me to?" I ask.

  He nods. "Yes. To submit. Let me take the lead. I have a dominant nature, Nicky. A very specific way of giving and receiving pleasure. And I sense that you might be a good match for me."

  "Oh," I breathe.

  I can feel my heart pounding against my ribcage and my cheeks blushing. I don't know what to say or how to respond.

  But apparently, I don't have to.

  He observes me attentively. And he starts smirking. Triumphantly this time. As if I had given him the answer he was hoping for.

  "Thank you," he says, in his usual calm and confident way.

  "For what?"

  My voice is low and hoarse. I clear my throat and turn my head in an effort to hide my embarrassment. "I didn't say anything..."

  "You did, Nicky," he says. "The way you breathe and blush is the most beautiful answer I could have hoped for."

  He squeezes my hand again, gently caressing the back of it with his thumb.

  "I will make sure you will never forget this night," he whispers. "Despite your stubbornness, you have already given me many reasons to smile tonight. You deserve nothing but my best."

  I am a bit perplexed by his words, but I know I am about to find out.

  The limousine driver pulls into a hotel driveway, but it is not just any hotel. It is a well-known five-star accomodation that towers over the city.

  "Smooth," I joke as we exit the limousine and head for the hotel's lobby. "You are either ridiculously rich or stupid – or a very successful mobster."

  He laughs and takes my hand to lead me to the elevators.

  "You already have a room reserved, so I assume you're not from here?" I ask, as we await the elevator’s arrival.

  He turns around and looks down at me.

  "No arguments," he reminds me. "And no questions. I think it's time for you to just let me take the lead. All right?"

  I swallow nervously. "All right," I say weakly.

/>   An evil smile appears on his face.

  "Now," he says. "Do you think that's the way I would like you to address me?"

  I look at him confused. "What do you mean?"

  The elevator arrives at that moment, and the opening doors interrupt us. He beckons me to enter ahead of him, but I throw him a wary look from the side.

  As soon as the doors close behind us, he surprises me by pushing me roughly against the back of the elevator.

  I gasp in surprise as he forces his muscular body against me, pinning me against the wall. He is strong – and determined.

  He leans down and plants a greedy kiss on my lips. I am so overwhelmed by how fast everything happens that I don't even think about pushing him away.

  I don't want to anyway. He tastes so good. And his kisses are so greedy, so hungry for me, and yet so loving and gentle. I catch myself following him with longing eyes when he ends the kiss to speak to me.

  "From now on," he whispers, "I want you to call me Sir. And when I ask you a question, I want you to reply with 'Yes, Sir'. Do you understand?"

  I almost burst out laughing, but the seriousness with which he looks at me stops me from doing so.

  "Excuse me?" I ask, arching my eyebrows with amusement. "Are you serious?"

  His expression doesn’t change, and it makes me feel small and unnerved.

  "Dead serious," he says. "Do you understand?"

  There’s nothing playful about his demeanor anymore, nothing gentle, nothing charming.

  I’m deliciously scared.

  "Yes, Sir," I breathe, relishing the feeling that travels along my spine as I display this new approach to obedience.

  "Good girl," he leans down and whispers in my ear. He then gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

  His little burst of praise makes my heart jump in an unfamiliar way. No one has ever called me a ‘good girl’. No one has ever caused me to react in this way using only his words.

  Good girl. I really like the sound of it.

  The doors of the elevator open and invite us into a long, brightly lit hallway. I try not to think about how much a night in one of these rooms on this floor might cost – or why he can even afford it.