Chapter 4

Groaning inwardly, I stare at my bare feet and skimpy dress and realise I’m not going anywhere unless I want to sample New York living in practically no clothes when snow is moving in. I’m not brave enough to walk around the club barefoot, let alone the streets. This was such a dumb move on my part.

I had to throw my shit at him, didn’t I? Good move, Camilla, fucking epic.

“Arghh,” I growl out, pissed at myself, slamming a hand between the doors as they almost shut on me, leaving an inch, and push them apart with a little more vavoom than is necessary. Seething inwardly that I have foiled my escape by impulsive throwing. I don’t hesitate to pull myself as tall as possible, jutting my chin out and pulling out my stubborn side.

Wanker can fuck right off; I’m only getting my things and walking back in here.

I march right past him, and his bewildered look towards my bloody bag, intent on grabbing what I need and leaving him for good. If I’m planning on hightailing it into the night, shoes are a must… a bag with money is a second. Maybe even a jacket or a bra now that I’m no longer hurtling out, so he doesn’t see me go. I can pack properly and throw him a big ‘fuck you’ as I stroll out.

He can’t keep me here, and I may as well grab some heavy objects to throw at him on my departure, you know, to ensure he won’t block the lift doors again. Maybe that massive, heavy stone vase thing outside my bedroom door. Confident that might knock him out.

“Don’t look so pleased… I needed that, and I’m only coming in to get them.” I snap at him as I stalk past, head up and not caring one bit that my boobs are bouncing around unsupported in a very loose dress. I never dressed for a great escape, and as I storm in, I think I might need to rethink my running attire. Possibly a suitcase on wheels to yank behind me. Maybe trousers and some flats. It’s cold out there, after all.

As I stoop to pick up my scuffed Louis Vuitton bag, I realise I’m no longer quaking in my boots. I’m upset, seething, and furious, but my fear has dissipated. The inner terror that he would morph into some demon and chain me to his bed has completely evaporated around me. I guess him trying at round two of fucking with my head does that; pulls my self-preservation back into the forefront. It’s weird to suddenly stop trembling and realise I still have much fight left.

Camilla isn’t dead. Not really.

As I turn, I catch Alexi standing idly inside the apartment behind me, watching me with that deadpan expression, and I realise there has been an almighty shift in him. No intimidating me with scowls and deathly stances. No coming at me, restraining me or manoeuvring me to bend to his will. Instead, he is casually standing, waiting to see how I’ll proceed, almost unsure about what else he should do. It’s obvious enough that I take note.

Suspicious of this behaviour, I keep one eye on him as I look around for my discarded items, but he stays put and watches me in that silent predator’s way of his. Seeming more like the man of the last few months than the sadist of pre-shooting myself in the face days.

I know it’s been there all along, and I was oblivious to how far it went. The little niggles that something had changed were all dismissed, and now staring at him silently observing me, I can see the uncertainty in his demeanour is very real.

If he isn’t lying and means what he says, it explains much from the past few weeks about his change. I don’t understand why, though.

Nothing happened that made him suddenly grow feelings for me. Nothing at all to sway how he saw me. I left, and he found me; we carried on.

“I’m not good at this.” He blurts it out in an almost painful rush of words as I glance at him again. That broad set of shoulders on that powerfully large body sags slightly, the drop of his chin as he looks at the floor hesitantly again. He seems so much tamer than how he usually is.

“Good at what? Losing games? I’m not playing, so there’s no win or lose about it.” I blanch at him sarcastically, pushing my thoughts aside as nonsense and searching for one of my shoes, bewildered that it’s vanished from sight and venture further into the apartment to find it. I didn’t think I threw it this far. Then again, I threw with venom and probably much harder than I realised. It’s not lost on me that I’m fast regaining my composure and feeling a little light-headed and not quite here. I guess it’s the adrenaline wearing off, and I’m beginning to calm down.

“Feelings… talking about this shit.” He follows me, gaining distance fast and a little too close to where I am, sounding exasperated with me. He hems me in with his looming presence, a little too close to my danger zone behind me, and I spin on him. Still prickly enough to react when threatened by his closeness.

“That’s not what this is. It’s you annoyed because you can no longer manipulate me. And stop coming so close to me from behind; you know I can’t stand it!” I throw a raised eyebrow and ‘fuck you’ look at him and turn back to head off, but he catches my hand in his and pulls me back sharply. That warm searing touch of his skin on mine is a little too familiar, triggering my fear response.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I yelp in reaction and slap his hand away. Hating that his skin on mine stirs so many unwanted feelings and hopes. Too familiar, too inviting. I bloody hate that amid all this, my body yearns for him the second he lays a finger on me. He’s the devil incarnate with his stupid charms and devious spells.

“Then stop being a pig-headed, stubborn diva and listen to what I’m fucking telling you, woman!” He barks right back with the infamous Alexi temper. Still in there, after all.