Possessed hearts - стр. 29
– Go to the hotel. You're freezing," Adam said.
– Good night," I smiled sweetly. – And what a beautiful name you have.
– Biblical. Like yours.
We parted ways. Strangely enough, I felt good. Even though my plan had gone wrong, Adam had turned the evening into something sublime.
That said, there was only one thing I wanted to do – sink headfirst into a tub full of water and not breathe. Just lie at the bottom like a corpse. It wasn't me. It was someone else.
***
Eight zero seven. Evening.
I knew Brandon was here: the windows of my suite faced the road. His black Bentley was parked in the guest car park. As ravenous and lustrous as its owner. Brandon's a Bentley nut.
He was waiting for me at the restaurant. But I was in no hurry to show up. Let him wait like kids wait for Christmas. If Grayson wants his purchase, he'll wait as long as I deign not to show up. It's my whim. Oh, damn it. Who am I kidding? Myself? No, it's not wanting to see Brandon, talk to him, sit at the same table with him. My fear. I was scared. Being alone with him. Trying to remain cold and ironic while a fire burned in my soul, burning everything around me.
I looked in the mirror: big, perfect, even. My reflection. Perfect, too.
But no. I am not embraced by the flames burning inside me. I am calm. My lips are tighter than usual. I adjust the pearl bracelet on my left hand, run my fingers over the contours of my face. My hair lay in perfect order. So beautiful, well-groomed, shiny. Curling like sea waves. It was a waterfall, covering my narrow back with its luxury. A tight black skirt, a palm above the knee. A translucent white shirt with tapered sleeves. Three-quarter. You can see my beautiful white bra through the fabric. New, bought today, white shoes with a high thick heel. I look like a secretary. An angelic, devilishly seductive, cunningly beautiful secretary.
No. I will never be a submissive. My role is to command. Always. Life. Death. Peace. Feelings. But, alas, not my own. Alien. With my own, I fought a bloody, exhausting war. And so far, for so many years now, they've been winning.
It's time.
Grabbing my blue leather clutch, I slowly headed for the door. Then the walk to the lift. A minute in the lift that felt like an eternity. And then, I appeared in the huge bright foyer, like an angel of the lord before sinners. I am as cold as a fallen angel carved from snow-white marble, guarding the grave of a beautiful princess. I am a princess myself. A Madonna.
But with each step that brought me closer to the distant table where Brandon sat, an unpleasant, creepy, uncomfortable feeling enveloped me more and more. Hate. Fear. Contempt. My blood is full of this poison. But I walked firmly, beautifully, slowly forward. I will stop at nothing. No one. Especially him.
I, and only I, rule the ball. And he's just a guest.
"Give him the flash drive and leave," it suddenly popped into my head. The voice of reason. Or fear. Or my insanity.
Brandon looks at me with a white-toothed smile. And it's so disarming. He doesn't often show up in public without his jacket. The jacket is him. He's the eternal stern, elegant jacket. But tonight, this Englishman is wearing white shirt. Classic. No tie. Dark blue trousers. Black shiny shoes. Dark hair laid back one to one. Wide, beautiful eyebrows. And icy, piercing blue eyes.