Page 18 of Wicked Throne

He was so close I could smell his cologne. Sure, he made me nauseous but he smelled like pure seduction. Thierry was the man your grandma warned you about, the fuck you and leave you type. Not that I wanted to fuck him. I detested him too much.

But...that cologne smelled divine. I loved a good-smelling man, even if he was Satan.

"I'm not your Detective," he said and I flinched. "But I've never had a woman complain about me in the bedroom. When it happens sweetheart...you'll beg me to never stop."

Frowning, I stepped into my waiting room and then turned back to face him. "You will never get inside this pussy."

The door slammed in his face and from the other side I heard him laugh and say, "Promises, promises."

Exploring the room, I found it done up in soft pinks and greens. There was a queen-sized bed, a vanity, and a personal bathroom off to the side. A few moments later there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and half expected to find Thierry but in his place stood one of the men who had grabbed me.

He said nothing and shoved my stolen wallet and cellphone in my face. With a speed I didn't know I had, I snatched it out of his hands.

"Thanks, fucker," I murmured.

He sneered and I closed the door once again, but this time I locked it. Theirry may have been in charge but I didn't trust a woman alone in a house full of men. Walking around I tried to get a signal and found there was wifi in the place but I didn't have the password. Eventually, fatigue wore me down and I peeled back the covers ready to slip into the waiting bed.

As my head made sweet tender love to the pillow beneath it, I made up a plan. I was going to figure out where I was and make a grand escape when Thierry wasn't watching.

Chapter 11

Diamond

By the time I woke, it was in the early parts of the morning. Thierry hadn't bothered me at all; he hadn't so much as pecked on my door to wake me. I had been so tired that I hadn't even thought about the fact that I'd been kidnapped and didn't have a change of clothes.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I looked for an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste, fresh towels, washcloths. I needed to figure out my next plan of action so I could at least buy fresh panties. It wasn't as though while being kidnapped that I had screamed and raved about needing fresh clothes. Nope, I'd just been screaming to be returned.

Ugh,I thought.

Once I finished up, I was just about out of the front door when a young girl came rushing in. She had a tan-colored toboggan on, a warm winter coat, and snow boots. She was in a flurry of excitement as she semi-took in my appearance.

"I'm so sorry," she said, and there was a strong Italian accent that followed along. "I tried to get here before the mistress of the house woke..."

"Mistress of the house?"

She turned from hanging her coat up and took me in. Her hand went to her mouth and a scarlet blush crept up her olive features.

"Well, ma'am...that would be you...Mr. Scarpetta's new bride," she slowly lowed her face.

I raised an eyebrow. Me....mistress of the house? God how long would it be until I was back on my side of the Atlantic and tucked away in my house

"Please, call me Ivy," I stuck out my hand.

She looked at my hand before shaking it.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Sofia Patrillo," she smiled and stepped back.

"Like the Golden Girl?" I asked immediately. Anyone who knew me knew I loved that show.

However, the housekeeper just frowned, and finally I just let it go. I was an American in Italy somewhere. I should have just felt grateful that she even spoke English as well as she did. I took her in again and once again noticed the snow boots.

"Sofia...what size shoe do you wear?"

After figuring out that I needed clothing she told me how she'd gotten here and it'd been on a bike. Sophia had then shown me to a closet where I'd found a few old snow boots and even a coat that fit. The next thing I knew, I was on a bicycle in the cold but fresh Italian air. At the bottom of the hill was a little village with a few items I might be able to procure for myself.

The bike rumbled over huge rocks and I eased down the hill. My ungloved hands gripped the handlebars sending vibrations up my arms. Behind me, I heard a car reeve its engine and then swerve around me. Someone had their window down and screamed at me in harsh Italian.