Raw, A Dark Romance (4 page)

So far, so good. Despite Sid getting sick, I had no regrets yet. Back at home it had been a blustery, bitter-cold fifteen degrees. Here, even early, it felt so much warmer. I couldn’t wait to get outside, to feel the sun heating my skin. To feel the wet sand oozing between my toes and the water lapping at my ankles.

Once again I hurried through my routine, this time my morning ritual. I showered and shaved every inch of my body smooth. Wearing my bathing suit under a flowy skirt, tank top and a lightweight sweater, I was ready to hit the beach within a half hour. I grabbed a towel to dry my feet, stepped into a pair of flip-flops and unlatched one of the French doors leading out to a patio and pool area. Not a single guest was swimming in the pool when I flip-flopped around it. The brilliant sun glinted off the clear blue water as I hurried by, my focus on getting to the beach.

God, it was heaven out here.

Sid was going to love it. I actually sent up a little thank you to her for talking me into this trip. I hadn’t been here for long and already I could feel the tension unfurling from inside my body, knots loosening. I hadn’t realized how uptight I’d become until I stepped out on that beach and took a long, deep breath.

I kicked off my sandals. The sand was warm underfoot. The air heavily perfumed with a mixture of fragrant flowers, plants and the tang of sea salt.

The blue of the sky and water was breathtakingly brilliant. I didn’t think I’d ever seen water or sky so beautiful. But even the million-dollar view of the shoreline could not keep me from looking at the two men down by the water. They were…I squinted…were they fighting? No, not exactly. They were both shirtless. Their arms and legs were moving. They were striking each other. But it wasn’t a fistfight. It looked to be some kind of martial arts training. Combat. Hand-to-hand. The movements were too precise and graceful to be just a fight.

I stood, transfixed.

The men were both stunningly built. Smooth skin gleaming, stretched taut over rolling bulges of muscles. The sheen of sweat beading on their shoulders, backs, chests, caught the bright morning sunlight, making them look almost god-like. Coupled with the graceful moves they made as they battled, there was no ripping my gaze away.

My attention kept shifting to the man on the left. His wavy hair was tied back in a ponytail. His body was magnificent. I was transfixed, frozen in place.

And the instant they stopped and he, seeming to sense someone was watching, turned to me, I became breathless.

I didn’t think it was possible for a man to be so beautiful. His features were very masculine--chiseled cheeks, striking eyes, mouth--but so perfectly proportioned I couldn’t help staring.

Something flashed in his eyes, and I wondered for a moment whether he would come and speak to me. Instead, he turned to his partner, dismissing me.

Feeling slightly disappointed, I reminded myself I was here to enjoy my vacation, not to flirt with random Spanish (gods) men. I turned the opposite way from the pair and started walking down the shore, enjoying the feel of the water lapping at my ankles and the sun warming my shoulders.

Up ahead a jumble of massive rocks  cut across the sandy beach, arching out into the water. I stopped to sit on a smaller boulder and stared out at the water. But a tingle, at my nape, made me swivel around.

It was him.

The battling god.

His eyes were as dark and hard as the rocks cutting into the water, and, as he moved closer, I suddenly wondered if it was safe for me to be out here, alone. With him. This glorious stranger.

Just because he was insanely gorgeous didn’t make him a nice man. A good man. As a matter of fact, judging from the strength of the blows he’d delivered to his partner, and the seeming accuracy of their placement, I would be a fool not to assume he was a dangerous man.

Extremely dangerous.

Uneasy, I circled around him so the rocks weren’t at my back, and I had a clear escape route back to the hotel.

“You’ve wandered too far,” he said in a heavily accented voice, as deep and smooth as fine chocolate.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” I motioned toward the rocks. “I didn’t see any signs or notices. I can’t believe this beach is empty, with the hotel right there.”

“Hotel?” he echoed, looking absolutely perplexed. Did they not use that word in
Spain? Was he having a hard time understanding my English?

“
Inn?” I offered, as an alternative. “Resort?”

“Resort? There are no resorts on this stretch of coast.”

“But I’m staying at that one.” I pointed at the building, partially hidden by a line of tropical trees and plants. “Over there.”

“That is no resort, it is a residence.”

“What?” There was no way he could be talking about the same building. That place was so enormous...and spectacular...and flippingly magnificent, it couldn’t be someone’s home. “No, you’re mistaken.”

“That one?” He pointed. It appeared as if his finger was indicating the right place. “There?”

I nodded. “Yes. The big one with the swimming pool and those trees.”

“That is no resort. It is a
hacienda
. A home.”

Home?

I didn’t understand.

I was told I had been booked into a hotel for the night and would go on my blind date today.

My blind date with a Spanish billionaire.

A Spanish billionaire might own a house (make that, a castle) like that, if such a house-castle existed.

“Wait, who are you…?”

“Miss Tremaine, you will not come this far again. Come with me.” He knew my name. Which had to mean…was he the billionaire or one of his employees?

Whichever he was, employer or employee, he wrapped a strong hand around my upper arm and tugged me, like a naughty child as he took big, long, purpose-filled strides back toward the massive house.

I dug in my heels. “Wait. I’m confused. Who are you?”

“I am the one you must obey for the next six days.”

The way he said that word, obey, rankled my nerves. He was so abrupt and domineering. Nothing like what I’d expected when I first saw him. Nothing like what I’d expected when I agreed to go on the blind date. And nothing like the uber-sexy, alpha heroes in my books. If this guy was my billionaire, Señor Ramos, then he should treat me with respect. It was a date, after all. I hadn’t signed up to be any man’s whore. “Fuck you. I don’t have to obey you. Or anyone.” I jerked my arm, expecting it to break free from his grip. It didn’t.

A shiver of fear raced up my spine.

What the hell was going on?

No man had ever touched me like this, as if he owned me. What kind of bastard was he?

“Let me go!” I shouted, anger seething.

His mouth twitched. Something sinister sparked in his eyes. “Ah, there is the fight. I love it when they fight.”

This time a huge wave of cold terror rushed through me. What was this? “Wait!” My toe caught on something buried in the sand and I stumbled. He yanked me up and, twisting, caught me to him, crushing my body against his.

The air left my lungs in a rough huff.

Holding me against his big, hard, bullying bulk, he glared down at me. His eyes delved deep, his gaze so penetrating I felt stripped, vulnerable. I jerked my gaze away, but he fisted my hair and pulled, forcing my head back. “Look at me.”

“Fuck you.”

His lips twitched. “Hmmm. You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

My face flamed. So did a few other parts of my anatomy for some reason I couldn’t understand. “No, I would not!” I did not want to fuck this man. No way. I’d held onto my virginity this long because I remembered what my mother had said so long ago, about poor girls and sex. I had no intention of having sex with any man until I was sure he was the right one, the man I would marry. Despite the fact that this wasn’t the eighteenth century anymore, I knew the value of my innocence. I would not give it away to just anyone. Certainly not a billionaire who probably bought women on a regular basis.

“I want to talk to my chaperone right now!” I demanded as I clawed at his hands. “I didn’t sign up to get manhandled, raped, or held against my will!”

He pulled harder, forcing my head back farther. “I paid a lot of money for you. You will do as I say.”

“Like hell, I will.”

“Then you will suffer the consequences.” Half hauling, half dragging me, the bully continued to the house. Him walking, me scrabbling, fingers hooked, nails raking over his hands and arms, we circled around the pool and plunged into the relative chill and darkness of the house.

Growing more frantic with every step we took, I abandoned my attempt at breaking free and instead screamed and thrashed my arms, hoping the noise would summon someone. When that didn’t produce any results, because he managed to keep me out of reach of anything that would make a loud noise, I resorted to kicking my legs at anything and everything while he, with a thick arm circled around my waist, carried me down a dark corridor.

At last he stopped at a heavy wooden door that looked eons old. With his free hand, he pushed it open and flung me inside. Stepping in, he closed the door before I was able to scramble to my feet. It slammed with a heavy bang, the sound echoing through the room and through my body.

He lifted a key and smiled. “We will remain in this room until I decide we will leave.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner!” I shrieked, unable to contain my terror and anger. Every cell in my body was on fire. Adrenaline surged through my veins. My heart thudded in my ears. I hated this man. I hated Fallon Franchot. I hated Spain. I hated everything and everyone. What the hell was this? “Who the hell are you? Who do you think you are?”

“You are not a prisoner,” he stated, voice calm, eyes icy.

“If I’m no prisoner, then why did you lock me in this room?”

He crossed thick arms over his chest. “Because I paid for the right to lock you in any room I please.”

“No, you did not.”

“I most certainly did.”

“You paid for a date. This is…” I spun around, motioning at the room and seeing it for the first time.

A large wooden table in the center.

A big x-shaped wood structure bolted to a wall.

A huge steel cage.

Oh, fuck.

I had never been in a place like this. But I had read a book or two about D/s--research, for my books. I knew what kind of room this was. I also knew what kind of things happened in rooms like this in my stories...and in real life. “…ohmygod.”

My head spun.

My knees softened.

My heart stopped for one split second as realization struck me like a fist in the gut.

“I am Kace Ramos. Your master. I own you.” The dark gleam of evil sparking in his eyes made him look even bigger and more threatening than ever. “For the next five days you will do as I say. When I say. How I say. You are mine.
Mi esclavo
.”

Esclav
o
.

That word sounded an awfully lot like…slave?

Things had started out so well, so predictably. She fought. And I conquered. It was the same every time. But then something happened. And everything went to hell. Who the fuck was this woman? Why was she different?—Kace R.

I was in shock.

How could this have happened?

Three weeks ago I’d been told I was going on a blind date with a billionaire.

A
. Date
.

Now it seemed I’d been sold. To this man. This stranger.

Ohmygod.

I was a slave. His slave. For the rest of the week. Correction, at
least
the rest of the week. Who knew, maybe he would keep me longer.

Maybe he would keep me forever.

Ohmygod!

Another ice-cold wave of terror crashed through me.

Somehow I had to make him understand. He had to listen. “There’s been a mistake, Kace—er, Señor Ramos. I’m not—“

“Silence!” my so-called owner said, his voice as cutting and deadly as a medieval executioner’s blade.

“But the agency told me I was coming here for a date,” I jabbered, ignoring the threat in his voice. If there was any chance I could talk myself out of this insanity, I had to try. I couldn’t just sit here and let this…happen. “You know, dinner. A boat ride. Dancing. That kind of thing. I don’t know anything about—“

“I said, silence.” Moving quickly, faster than I could comprehend, he jabbed out an arm, wrapped his hand around my neck and tightened his fingers enough to cut off the air.

Reflexively, my hands flew to his. I clawed and pried at his fingers, desperate to break his hold. My stomach muscles flexed, trying to force air past the blockage. As my terror swelled, my world narrowed to a pinpoint. Blackness closed in on me.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice slicing through my blind panic.

My gaze snapped to his.