Page 28 of Wicked Sinner

Caesar steps back, closing the door, and a ripple of unwanted heat runs down my spine.

Since the night he kidnapped me, he’s seemed almost like a different man than the one who seduced me the first night—colder, more focused, an arrogant, single-minded criminal that fits my image of a man in the mafia.

But for a second there, as he shut my door, I got a glimpse of that man from the first night again—the cocky, sexy, smirking man who talked me down onto my knees faster than anyone else ever has.

And that got me here, I remind myself grimly, trying to banish the tingling heat that runs over my skin as Caesar slides into the driver’s seat. The Ferrari smells of warm leather and his citrus cologne, and my stomach flips at how close he is to me in the small space of the sports car’s interior.

It shouldn’t be so hard to remember that I’m here against my will right now. But somehow, having him so close, with the reminders of what we did all around me and the scent of him in my nose, I feel an inexplicable pull to lean closer to him, to breathe him in, to touch him.

I stiffen in my seat, twisting my fingers together in my lap, and do my best not to look at him.

The car purrs to life, and Caesar pulls out of the garage, turning onto the Miami streets.

We ride in silence, with me staring stubbornly out of the car window and watching the city slide by.

The drive itself is short—before long, we’re pulling up in front of a gorgeous white-stone building on the water, a valet coming around to take Caesar’s keys as he gets out and walks to open my door.

I step out, the warm night air brushing my cheeks as Caesar takes my arm. I half-wonder if it’s an attempt to keep me from running off, but in this particular moment, I’m too busy taking in the view in front of me to even think about making a break for it.

Stupid, I castigate myself as we walk toward the entrance. I had a chance while Caesar was handing over his keys. I could have slipped out and run, and I was too overwhelmed by the beauty of the city at night to remember that I’m supposed to be getting the fuck away.

I tell myself that I’ll have another chance as we walk inside, straight to the hostess’s stand, where Caesar gives his name to the lovely brunette standing there.

She leads us through the restaurant, and I can’t help but stare a little at my surroundings.

The lights are blue-tinted, washing everything in an oceanic glow, and the interior is all white and dark wood, with stone tiles covering the floor.

We’re led to a back portion of the dining room that overlooks the water, the walls and ceiling entirely glass to give a gorgeous view of the bay and the night sky overhead.

Caesar pulls out my chair, and I sit down, narrowing my eyes at him as he sits next to me. “You’re trying to pretend to be a gentleman, but it won’t fool me.”

He clicks his tongue, chuckling as he reaches for the wine list. “I can be a gentleman, Bridget. You just choose not to see it.”

“Gentlemen don’t kidnap women.”

His mouth twitches. “You must not read many historical romance novels.”

I snort at that. I can’t help it. “Do you?”

“My mother did.” He raises an eyebrow, and I can tell he’s trying to get a rise out of me. “I might have peeked at one or two, as a teenager. Although I largely got my sexual education in a more… hands-on way.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you did. Are you going to choose what I’m going to drink for me, or do I get to look at that?”

“Be my guest.” He hands over the booklet, and I quickly peruse the non-alcoholic options, of which there are a lot more than I would have expected. When the waiter comes around, Caesar orders a glass of white wine, and I ask for a non-alcoholic version of a spritz.

“I’d recommend the caprese salad for an appetizer,” Caesar says, giving the menu a cursory glance, as if he’s been here before. “Their lobster pasta is excellent as well, as is the filet, if you’re not a fan of seafood.”

“I live in Florida. Not being a fan of seafood is a crime, I think.”

“It’s not. If it were, I’d know about it.” He grins at me, and I realize he’s trying to make a joke. He’s treating this as if it’s a date—a real date, and I stare at him, wondering if he can possibly be that obtuse.

“You realize I don’t want to be here with you, right?”

Caesar presses his lips together, waiting to respond until the waiter has dropped off our drinks and taken our appetizer order—crab bisque for me, and shaved truffle salmon carpaccio for him.

“You could enjoy the evening, Bridget. I’m trying—” he draws in a slow breath.

“I’m trying to give you something you wanted.

A night out. Fresh air. A dinner at one of the most beautiful and exclusive restaurants in Miami.

Why does everything have to be a fight?”

“Because I didn’t ask for any of this,” I hiss quietly between my teeth, before reaching for my drink and taking a sip. It’s far better than it has any right to be, and I see Caesar watching me, a glint of amusement in his eyes when I can’t fake not enjoying it.

“You could try,” he says quietly, before dropping his gaze back to the menu. “The salmon here is also good.”

I look at my own menu, but I’m not really thinking about what I’m going to eat.

Instead, out of the corner of my eye, I’m trying to look for exits, where the restrooms are, figuring out if there’s an escape route out of this place.

The best plan I can think of is to, at some point in the meal, go to the ladies’ room and then try to run from there.

By the time he realizes, I will have put some distance between him and me. After that—

After that, I don’t know. I don’t have a cell phone or money for a cab. According to Caesar, if I go to the nearest police station, they’ll send me back to him. Maybe a hospital would help me.

I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I just need to get away as soon as I can.

"Bridget?" Caesar's voice cuts through my reconnaissance. "You seem distracted."

"Just taking it all in," I say sweetly, looking back at my menu. "It's not every day a kidnapping victim gets taken to dinner at a five-star restaurant."

His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't rise to the bait. "Order whatever you like."

I end up deciding on the king salmon, while Caesar orders the lobster pasta. The waiter refills his wine and brings me another spritz after our appetizers are dropped off, and Caesar glances at my soup as he scoops up a paper-thin slice of fish with a small fork.

“Good?” he asks as I take a bite, and I can’t force myself to lie.

It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. Creamy, velvety, with chunks of crab that are delightfully sweet, and spices that I don’t recognize but somehow turn the entire thing into such perfection that I’m pretty sure grocery store spaghetti will never be good enough again.

I take a breath after I swallow, and look at Caesar.

“It’s fine.”

He rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his raw fish.

We eat in silence for a few moments—honestly, I’m so focused on my food that I don’t think I could answer anything if I wanted to. Finally, Caesar looks over at me, reaching for his glass of wine.

“How long have you worked at the garage?”

I almost drop my spoon. The question is startling. I hadn’t expected him to ask something so personal, and I take my time swallowing before I set my spoon down and look at him.

“Maybe that’s none of your business.”

Caesar’s nostrils flare as he draws in a slow breath, and I can tell that I’m testing his patience.

Good. Maybe he’ll start to find me so irritating that he’ll question why he wanted me in the first place.

Maybe he’ll give me and the baby up because he just simply can’t handle having me around any longer.

“I’m trying to get to know you better, Bridget.”

“The time for that has passed, I think.” I take another bite of my soup, but some of the pleasure in it has faded, which makes me resent Caesar a little more.

“The time for that was before you kidnapped me. Actually, it was before you insulted me by suggesting that I should agree to being your mistress while you married someone else.”

“But you don’t want to marry me.”

“That’s because of the kidnapping.”

We stare at each other over the place settings, Caesar’s pulse visible in the hollow of his throat, and my hand curls in my lap to resist the urge to reach out and touch it.

I’m still drawn to him, despite myself, and I can feel myself fighting the sparks between us that haven’t ceased, regardless of how I now feel about him.

Our food comes, and Caesar is quiet again as he begins to eat. The salmon is incredible, soft and flaky with a lemony cream sauce, and I’m fine with eating in silence until he speaks again.

“You still didn’t answer me.”

I huff out a breath and look up at him. The expression on his face tells me that he’s not going to let this go.

“Technically, I guess I’ve worked there since I was old enough for my father to teach me the difference between wrenches and get me to hand him tools.

” My eyes burn suddenly, and I drop my gaze to my plate, swallowing hard.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now. ”

I expect Caesar to push, to demand more. But to my surprise, he just nods. “Alright.”

We continue to eat in silence until I can’t take it any longer. I swallow a bite of my salmon, drop my napkin on the table, and stand up. “Excuse me.” I try to sound as calm as I can. “I’m going to go find the ladies’ room.”

I’d half expected him to suggest that he show me the way, or follow me there, but Caesar just nods. My stomach flips—he can’t possibly not expect that I’ll try to escape while I’m not under his watchful eye, can he?

Maybe he really is just that arrogant. Maybe he’s that sure that no one in this city will help him. But he was gone for a long time. Can everyone who might help really be in his pocket?

I force myself to walk at a normal pace—just another diner heading to the ladies’ room. I don’t know if Caesar is watching me, but I don’t want to give him any reason to suspect, any reason to think that I’m doing anything I shouldn’t.

Heading down the hallway, I slip into the nearly-empty ladies’ room. I go into one of the stalls long enough to calm my breathing down, but I can’t stay in here for long. Every second that ticks by is one less before Caesar starts to wonder.

I step out after a moment, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, grateful that I’m wearing flats instead of heels.

I’ll be able to move faster. I’ll try going to a hospital, I tell myself, slipping out of the bathroom and turning down the hall toward a side exit.

Surely they can’t be in Caesar’s pocket, even if the police are—

I'm almost to the end of the hallway when a hand closes around my arm.

"Going somewhere, Miss Lewis?"

I recognize Marco’s voice before I turn around and see him. He’s just behind me, his hand firm on my arm—hard enough to keep me in place, but not enough to hurt. His expression is impassive.

“I—” I swallow hard. “I got lost. I was looking for the ladies' room."

“Of course you were.” He doesn’t so much as blink. "Let's get you back to your table."

His hand doesn’t tighten—he’s careful with me—but it’s clear that just like that, my options for running tonight have ended.

Marco walks with me back to the table, measured and casual, his hand on my arm in a way that wouldn’t alert anyone else that anything is wrong.

When we reach the dining room, I see Caesar watching us with an expression that's hard to read.

"Everything all right?" he asks as I sit back down. Marco walks away without a word, and I know that even if I were to try to go to the ladies’ room again, he’s probably watching it.

"Fine," I say tightly. "Just got turned around."

“The layout of this place can be confusing,” Caesar says it as smoothly as if he’s agreeing with me, but there's something in his eyes that tells me he knows exactly what I was trying to do.

The rest of the dinner passes in silence.

Caesar tries to start up small talk a few times, but I’m in no mood.

I order another spritz, desperately wishing I could have something with alcohol in it, and pick at the dessert that he orders to finish off the meal.

All I can think about is how thoroughly trapped I am—how even in a restaurant full of people, I'm still completely under his control.

When we finally leave, I feel like I'm walking back into a cell.

Caesar glances over at me as we drive back. The mood in the car is heavy, even from him—I can tell that the night hasn’t gone the way he’d hoped. “Did you enjoy dinner?”

"The food was excellent," I say neutrally. I’ve barely looked at him since we got into the car. I stare at the passing lights, wondering what he’d do if I opened the door and flung myself out of the car. I can’t, because of the baby.

I can’t, regardless. I glance at the locks and see that he has them engaged. He doesn’t trust me at all, then. Fine by me.

"But?"

"But it doesn't change anything," I tell him flatly. "You can dress me up in expensive clothes and take me to fancy restaurants, but I'm still your prisoner. You can't buy my cooperation with pretty things."

"I'm not trying to buy your cooperation.” Caesar sighs. "I'm trying to show you what your life could be like. What our child's life could be like."

“No, you’re trying to manipulate me," I correct. "And it's not working."

He's quiet for the rest of the ride, and when we reach the penthouse, he walks me back to my room without another word.

I wait for him to say something, to start another argument, but he just walks right back out, locking the door as he goes.

The room is still and silent, dark except for the glow of the Miami skyline, and I feel my heart inexplicably drop as he leaves.

I don’t understand why. I don’t want to be around him. But I feel lonely the moment the door closes behind him.

I sit on the bed, still wearing the expensive dress and diamond necklace, feeling more trapped than ever. Tonight was supposed to show me what I could have with him, but all it did was reinforce how completely he controls every aspect of my life.

Even dressed like a princess, I'm still just a prisoner in a very pretty cage.

And I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever find a way out.