Page 7 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)
“Don’t…” I started, but it came out more breathless than I intended.
“Don’t what?” Matt rumbled, his touch drifting higher in a blatant tease. “This?”
I swallowed hard, trying and failing to dredge up some semblance of resolve as his fingers continued their torturous exploration. “Can you at least let me grab some clothes and essentials from my place? I’m not exactly planning on streaking through Vegas.”
Matt’s hand stilled but didn’t retreat. “My men will handle it,” he said with an infuriatingly calm tone.
“There’s no rush,” I insisted, tamping down the sudden flare of panic. “I’m not going to run off.”
One dark brow quirked upward. “Then why’d you leave in the first place?”
I huffed in exasperation. “Because it’s your place,” I muttered. “I’m not going to stay somewhere that has your stench all over it.”
“And what’s wrong with my place and my stench?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a seductive purr, his eyes glinted with mischief. “Or do you prefer a dingy dungeon-like cell? Is that your kink? If so, I’d gladly oblige.”
My face flamed hot as his words conjured all sorts of unbidden images. “No, that’s… definitely not my thing,” I managed, struggling to keep my composure. “It’s just… you make me… uncomfortable.” I hated how lame that sounded, but it was the truth.
Understanding flickered in Matt’s eyes, quickly replaced by a knowing look that made my stomach twist. “You’ll get used to it,” he said nonchalantly. Turning his attention to the driver, he added, “Let’s get going, Rudd.”
The engine rumbled to life as the car pulled away from the curb. I sank back into the plush leather, my mind reeling as I tried to process everything that was happening. One thing was abundantly clear—Matt Caine wasn’t going to make getting out of this easy. Not by a long shot.
I sat quietly, my skin prickling with the awareness of Matt’s presence beside me.
As the car navigated the neon-drenched streets, my heart sank when I recognized the familiar opulence of the Maxwell Hotel Resort looming ahead.
Dread coiled tight in my gut at the prospect of parading through that lavish lobby, half-naked and clad in nothing but a flimsy towel.
Rich folks in their designer clothing would gawk, whisper, and judge.
I could already feel their eyes on me, a burning sensation that had nothing to do with reality—yet.
I turned to Matt, my voice low but firm as I clutched the towel tighter around my waist. “I’m not leaving this car like this.”
Matt sighed, as if my request was some great inconvenience. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. “There you go, princess.”
I snatched the jacket, scowling at the smug bastard.
The fabric was still warm from his body heat, and I tried not to think about how it carried his rich, masculine scent.
Slipping it on, I felt like a kid playing dress-up—the sleeves dangled well past my fingertips and the hem nearly grazed my knees.
But it covered more than the skimpy towel, so I supposed I should be grateful.
As the car rolled to a stop, Matt didn’t wait for me. He exited with the same easy grace he did everything, leaving me scrambling to follow with as much dignity as I could muster while wearing a towel and an oversized jacket.
The second I stepped out onto that immaculate driveway, I wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow me whole.
Hundreds of eyes turned our way, drawn by the bizarre sight of a young man in such a state of undress.
My face burned hot enough to fry an egg as whispers and pointed stares followed our every step across that gleaming marble lobby.
I kept my gaze trained on the floor, striving to become one with the expensive Persian rugs as we strode through the heart of opulence. Matt, damn him, seemed utterly unfazed by the spectacle, strolling with his usual unflappable confidence.
“You’re going to pay for this,” I hissed under my breath, shooting him a venomous glare from beneath the safety of his jacket’s upturned collar.
The smug bastard actually chuckled—a deep, rumbling sound that should not have sent a shiver racing down my spine. “I look forward to it, sweetheart.”
By some miracle, we made it through the lobby and into the privacy of the elevator without any further incident. As the doors slid shut, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding, sagging against the mirrored wall in relief like a deflated balloon.
Matt watched me with undisguised amusement, a twinkle in those eyes that made me want to punch the smirk right off his stupidly handsome face. Bastard was enjoying this way too much.
As soon as we stepped into his lavish penthouse, I peeled off Matt’s jacket with a shudder. The damn thing reeked of him—rich cologne and something distinctly Matt. It was like wearing a second skin of arrogance and power.
“Got any clothes I can borrow? Preferably something newly washed and less… you?” I asked, holding the jacket away from me like it might bite.
Matt chuckled, nodding toward a door on the far side of the room. “Check the walk-in closet.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Practically sprinting over, I threw open the door and was greeted by a wardrobe that would make any fashionista weep with envy. Rows upon rows of designer suits, shirts, and trousers, all meticulously organized by color and fabric.
I rifled through the options, bypassing anything that screamed “billionaire playboy.” Finally, I settled on a dark silk pajama set. The pants and shirt were both too big on me, but at least they were clean—and mercifully devoid of Matt’s overpowering scent.
When I reemerged, Matt was on the phone, deep in some business conversation that sounded like it involved large sums of money and even larger egos.
I plopped down on the plush sofa, waiting for him to finish up.
Eventually, he hung up and sauntered over with that irritating smirk still plastered on his face.
“So,” I began, eyeing him warily. “Where am I supposed to sleep? There’s only one bed.
If you think for one second I’m bunking on that pathetic excuse for a couch, you’ve got another thing coming.
” I sniffed disdainfully, letting my gaze roam over the pristine space with thinly veiled distaste.
“Honestly, I expected better accommodations from a supposed billionaire.”
Matt threw back his head with a rich laugh that had absolutely no business making my pulse kick up like that. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rumbled, his eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “We can share the bed.”
I leveled him with a flat stare. “Yeah, no thanks. I’d sooner sleep in a ditch.”
As if on cue, my traitorous stomach chose that moment to let out a pitiful growl. I flushed, silently cursing my empty gut for betraying me like that in front of this arrogant prick.
“Hungry?” Matt asked, his lips curved in a shameless grin.
“Starving,” I bit out, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm.
He chuckled again, low and far too indulgent for my liking. “I’ll order something in.”
M att left to shower after ordering some food for me.
I sprawled on the plush sofa, flicking through the channels with reckless abandon.
The remote control felt alien in my hand, its sleek design screaming wealth and sophistication.
Every channel oozed with extravagance—fine dining, exotic travel destinations, luxury yachts.
It was like a continuous slap in the face, reminding me of just how out of place I was in this opulent prison.
My stomach protested loudly, reminding me of its empty, neglected state. I grimaced, silently willing food to arrive before my gut ate itself from the inside out.
“Come on,” I muttered to myself. “How long does it take to whip up some grub in a palace like this?”
Just when I thought I might have to resort to gnawing on the designer furniture out of sheer desperation, a knock sounded at the door.
I leaped up, nearly tripping over the stupidly long pant legs in my haste to answer it.
Swinging the door open, I found an attendant standing there, a serving cart laden with silver-domed dishes before him.
“Your meal, sir,” he announced with a practiced smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Thanks,” I grunted, dragging the serving cart inside before he could offer any more polite platitudes.
The moment the door clicked shut, I tore off the silver domes.
My eyes widened as I took in the spread—steak so tender it practically melted under my fork, lobster tails dripping with garlic butter, a medley of vegetables that looked like they’d been plucked straight from some fairy-tale garden, duck confit with a crispy skin and rich port wine reduction, and some sort of insanely gooey, molten chocolate creation for dessert.
I didn’t waste any time diving in, shoveling bite after bite into my ravenous maw, unable to remember the last time I’d eaten something so utterly divine.
The first bite of steak sent me into culinary heaven—juicy, perfectly seasoned.
Next came the lobster; it was pure decadence, each mouthful a burst of flavor that made me almost forget my predicament.
I was halfway through a particularly succulent piece of steak when the bathroom door swung open. Out sauntered Matt in nothing but silk pajama pants clinging to his hips and a towel draped over his shoulders to catch the beads of water dripping from his damp hair.
Nearly choking on my food, I had to gulp down some water to clear my throat. My eyes betrayed me by tracing every sinewy muscle of his torso—water droplets glistened on his skin like tiny diamonds under the soft light.
Matt looked like he’d been carved from granite by the gods themselves. His powerful chest and rippling abs seemed to mock the very laws of physics with their sheer, sculpted perfection.