I look up into his face, and the scars and his fathomless dark eyes are beautiful in a way I can’t explain.
“Yes. I understand.” But I don’t.
“Good.” He turns abruptly, strides down the hallway and takes the stairs two at a time. Like he can’t wait to get away from me.
I squash the feeling of disappointment, because for an evening that was a nightmare, it’s really done a switch.
How did I get so lucky? I’ve fallen into a dream.
This room is unbelievable.
Sometimes people say that about a cake, or a pair of jeans, or a news story. But those things aren’t unbelievable. They’re usually exactly what you’d expect.
But this… No. I can hardly trust my eyes. There’s no explanation.
It really is baffling.
The kingpin of Richmond has a suite of rooms—not just one room, oh no—that are stuffed full of everything I’ve ever wished for. It’s almost as big as the house I share with Granny.
I recognise the rug from something I pinned on social media. The acres of bookshelves hold the contents of my online wish list. The curtains are the fabric I admired on a website last week, and the bed covers are from a shop I browsed in just two days ago.
Several laps aren’t enough, I can’t stop.
There’s a mini-library, with shelves in a deep-blue that reach floor to ceiling, and there’s a ladder. With wheels. I give it an experimental push, and it glides over the wooden floor perfectly. I step onto it, and climb right to the top, where there are pretty, hardback editions of classics. Lower down, there are rows of fantasy romance paperbacks, and at the bottom, reference books and key psychology texts that I’ve been reading for university. Stepping back down, I leave my foot on the bottom rung. A little shove and the ladder rolls across, and I’m grinning like a loon as I do it again.
This is… Look, it’s so good it’s definitely an illusion. But I’m obsessed with it.
I slip books off the shelf and run my fingers over cushions. There’s a perfect little reading sofa that I liked a post of something similar recently.
There are three missed calls and four messages from my grandmother when I pull out my phone. It went into “sleep” mode hours ago, which I suppose was considerate of it. Letting me party—and be sort of kidnapped—uninterrupted.
“Taggie, where are you?” Granny answers on my second ring.
“Safe,” I tell her. “Everything is fine. I’ve ended up…” I consider how to phrase this in a way that won’t make her worry. “Going back to someone’s house.”
I cross my fingers behind my back, even though there’s no one to see.
“Who is he?” Granny asks after a beat of silence.
Uh. She’ll flip out if I say he’s a mafia boss twice my age. And it doesn’t matter, as I’ll be home tomorrow, I acknowledge with a pang of regret. I glance around the room that has all my favourite things, and think of the man I’ve just met, who feels so familiar I’m really wondering if he were deliberately following me.
Absurd.
So I confess the simplest part of the story. “I was having a bit of trouble at the club—”
“What sort?” she interrupts me. “Was it the Essex cartel?”
“It was just some guys, I’m not sure who they were exactly.” Essex is a bogeyman in London, and Granny has always been bordering on paranoid about the mafias. I don’t want my ageing grandmother to freak out, given I’m perfectly safe now. “And this other man came to my rescue.”
“A stranger?” she demands.
“I’ve seen him around.” I press my crossed fingers tighter together.
“That’s fine.” She sounds relieved. “Someone from university then, and it’s late. You should stay.”
I’m grinning before she’s finished the sentence, and kicking my feet with glee. I get to spend the night in this amazing bedroom, and play at the idea a hot, older man wants me! Whoever said reality was better than fiction doesn’t have as vivid an imagination as me, and so much to feed it.
A squeal of excitement must escape me, as Granny laughs.
“Someone is happy,” she comments.
“I like him,” I admit impulsively, thinking of Dom. My dark saviour. The man who cleaned me up with such deliberate care. Who shot three men for me without a second thought.
“Well.” I hear a smile in her voice now. “I take it you’re calling me to tell me you won’t be home tonight. Have a lovely time.”
Ooff. My reality is getting further and further from this white lie I’m telling.
“Thanks,” I say, hiding how pathetic I feel. “Good night.”
We hang up, and I look around the room again. I wonder who it’s for? A girl with more courage than me, that’s certain.
On impulse, I search online for Dominic Richmond. There’s no mention of a girlfriend, or daughter. But I remembered correctly—he’s hard and dangerous. His whole family was killed in a mafia dispute with an Essex Cartel member, and Dom “miraculously” was the only one who survived, and “conveniently” took over his family’s mafia. There’s a lot of scepticism about the timing of those circumstances.
Whatever he did in the past, today he saved me. I look for a long time at a photograph of Dom at one of the London social events. He’s wearing a tux and appears as handsome and serious as when I’ve seen him in the last week. Following me? I still can’t believe that.
There’s something wrong with me that it doesn’t put me off him that I saw him kill three men, and that he might have been complicit in his family’s murders. I’m oddly certain I’m safe with him, despite his clear lack of ethics.
He told me to lock my bedroom door so I feel secure.
In an instant, I’ve made a decision. I’m at the door, and I’ve turned the key, unlocking it.
Despite what happened tonight, I’m determined to be brave.
I don’t need to feel safer in Dom’s house. He’s a tiger, and I want to run my hands through his fur, have his paws maul me, feel his sharp teeth on my neck. I like that he’s dangerous, and all that banked power as he crouched at my feet, ready to pounce.
There are some clothes left out, and I have a shower and then put them on. The bed is perfectly comfortable, and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m dreaming.
Dom
Pining. I’m fucking pining for this girl. Saving her, speaking with her, has only convinced me more that she’s a perfect match for me. And she’s a world away, safely behind a locked door.
That should satisfy me. She’s in my house, and no one can harm her.
So why do I want more? Why do crave forbidden, unspeakable things? She’s been through enough tonight without discovering that I’m obsessed with her.
I tell myself I’m going downstairs to make a cup of something to help me sleep. And I do. But I drink it in the kitchen, and trudge back upstairs with longing in my heavy heart.
I just need a reminder of the limits. All that’s required is to be clear why she’s not for me. A nudge that says, this girl cannot be yours tonight or ever. She’s too young, innocent, and good for a man like me.
Feeling the resistance of her locked door, the evidence of her fear, will do it.
I make silent footsteps to Taggie’s suite and stop before her bedroom door. She’s scared, I tell myself. She locked her door because I told her to if she needed to feel safe. This will be the evidence I need that I have to keep my distance.
I reach out and grasp the handle. Turning it… and… The door swings open.
Oh. Shit.
I am a good enough man to stay away from a frightened girl. I know I am. A girl who locked her door to protect herself.
But a brave girl who left her door open to me?
God help her. I cannot resist.
Taggie
In the dream, I’m reading a big hardback book. The story is about… I don’t know. The pages are turning too fast. I can’t read it.
“Taggie,” a man’s voice says. “Taggie.”
The pages turn faster and faster, the rub of them frantic.
“You’re so beautiful. I can’t help it. I want you so much.”
The pages flick, but they’re wet. It sounds wet now, like the paper is slick.
A low groan vibrates through me, coming from the book.
I open my eyes, and in the darkness, I could swear I see the silhouette of a man, standing over me, black eyes glistening like onyx.
I blink.
And then he’s gone, a dream. And my eyelids are heavy, so I drift back into sleep.