CHAPTER NINE

NATALIE

Do I test the boundaries of his sanity or play along with his delusions? Who would ever imagine this happening to them? I’m a vet tech, not a crisis therapist. I don’t know what the right way is to handle this so I’m just going to have to do what feels right.

Swallowing hard, I take his hand in mine. “That’s so sweet, Ambrose. But what about my home and my things?”

Frowning, his hand tenses in mine.

“I just moved in two weeks ago, remember? And-”

He cuts me off with a smile and a wave of his free hand. “Ahh… don’t be concerned. I’ll have all your belongings brought here.”

My mind goes blank at his calm, matter of fact answer.

His smile grows as he turns his hand over, pressing his palm to mine, and linking our fingers. Why must he be so deranged and so sweet at the same time?

Life isn’t fair!

I blow out a breath and force another smile. “I’d prefer my belongings to stay at my house. My house that I’m going back to.”

Puzzlement fills his face. “But why?”

It’s a struggle to hold onto my temper and keep my tongue from saying all the things I really want to say. “Why? Because it’s my house. Where I live,” I grit out from between clenched lips that tremble with my efforts to hold onto that smile.

The twin black arches that are his eyebrows lower. “Here is so much nicer,” he argues. “You’ll see.”

Considering I have no phone, no purse, no keys and am wearing a flimsy nightgown and nothing else, I really have little choice at the moment but to stay here until I can get things figured out. Such as where his house is. And how he got me here without me knowing. I wasn’t drugged, at least I don’t feel like I was.

The opened door beckons me, and I scoot away from Ambrose.

Suddenly, the tray is there in my lap again.

“You haven’t finished breakfast.”

Despite my mouth watering at the sight and smell of the plump, red strawberries, I lift the tray away and set it to the side. “I’m not hungry,” I lie, getting off the bed.

Standing, I take stock of the room. It’s much bigger than any bedroom I’ve ever been in. Besides the warlock-sized bed, there’s a fireplace, a couch and two chairs, and even a towering bookshelf stuffed full of books. Not to mention the dark hardwood floor can only be seen in small patches thanks to intricate and colorful rugs taking up much of the floor.

Stepping on one, my bare toes sink in, and a soft moan escapes me. It’s heavenly. No wonder Ambrose went a little crazy and has at least four of these thrown around the room.

At the sound of his chuckle, I look over my shoulder. He’s still lounging on the bed, but there’s no sign of the tray again.

How odd.

I’m tempted to look under the bed and see if he stashed it there, but I have more important things to worry about at the moment.

I stride toward the door, trying to project an aura of nonchalance when my hand is caught by his.

Letting out a gasp, my feet freeze in place while I whip my head around to stare up at him. He smiles cheerily and tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, the same as last night.

He then proceeds to give me a tour of his house, or rather ‘our home’ as he keeps stressing.

Honestly, I could only dream of ever owning a house this nice. It’s three stories, with the top floor being more for storage, Ambrose tells me. The kitchen is large and looks straight out of a magazine. It’s also so neat I doubt anyone has ever cooked in it.

In fact, the entire house is clean and tidy, leading me to believe Ambrose employs a housecleaner or he’s an extreme neat freak.

Then we come to his study and that blows my neat freak theory away. He suddenly seems shy as he opens the door with far more hesitancy that he did with any of the others.

“This is my study. You can change any other room in the house except for this one.”

My eyes grow large as I step into the study and take it in. “I wouldn’t change a thing,” I breathe.

For a moment, I forget that I’m being held here against my will and walk around this fantastic room in awe.

The high ceiling soars into a dome-shape that is made up of stained glass. A riot of colors brings to life the flowers of the glass and I crane my neck, staring in wonder at the beauty of it. When I can finally pull my gaze away, I take in the cream-colored walls with dozens of paintings in ornate gilded frames and the huge fireplace with logs crackling merrily and giving off both warmth and a tangy scent that instantly has the tension leaving my body. Several towering bookcases are off on one wall and plants of every shape and size are scattered about.

From out of nowhere a large, gray cat strolls out into the open, his tail high and his green eyes aimed right at us.

“Is that Tom?” I ask, forgetting the fact that I’m a prisoner in my date’s house and instead determined to pet the cat. I slowly approach Tom and hold out my hand. He sits back on his haunches and silently observes me before his eyes turn to Ambrose and he winks.

“Did that cat just wink?” I blurt out.

Ambrose chuckles. “It seems he approves of my mate. Not that there was ever any doubt.” He gestures toward the door. “Tom, you can spend time with Natalie later, right now we’re busy.”

I swear it almost seems like the cat understands him. Tom’s green eyes narrow and he gets up and walks at a much more leisurely pace to the door where his head turns, and he gives Ambrose a slow hiss.

“He certainly has personality,” I remark.

Ambrose shakes his head. “That he does. How I ever got saddled with such a snippy familiar is beyond me.”

I’m smiling vaguely at his wording when I spot it. Unable to believe my eyes I immediately dash over. It’s a fainting couch. A purple velvet one.

Dramatically, I press the back of my hand to my forehead and fall backwards in a fake swoon onto the couch. My eyes open and I grin up at the otherworldly ceiling.

Ambrose’s face comes into view and blocks out everything else. His long hair falls around his face, the ends so close they brush my cheeks and as my eyelashes flutter closed, his lips claim mine.

His hard and lean body joins me on the couch, and we’re stretched out, my legs tangling with his much longer ones as our lips and tongues cling and stroke.

Need builds within me and it’s insane how quickly this man can turn me on.

He tugs at the thin straps of the nightgown, lowering it and baring my breasts. They’re only exposed to the air for a moment before the heat of his mouth encompasses one while his palm covers the other.

As he sucks on my nipple, I arch and writhe beneath him. With a groan, Ambrose rolls fully on top of me, the hot, hard length of his erection pressing through his pants and into the flimsy material covering my pussy.

I tunnel my fingers through his hair, holding him to my breast as he sucks hard on my nipple. I’ve never dated a man with such long and incredible hair before, and I can’t stop running my fingers through the silky strands.

When his dick grinds into me, my fingers clench in his hair and he lets out a muffled groan around my nipple. So I tug again, letting out a moan of my own when his hips thrust his dick harder into me.

“Ambrose,” I pant as he switches his attention to my other nipple, drawing the erect bud into his mouth. His tongue swirls around as he sucks deeply.

Each pull of his mouth on my nipple sends an answering ache through my clit. My channel clenches around nothing, desperate for the thick, satisfying heft of him.

He shifts, the weight of him leaving me as he moves to the side and I want to protest when his hand sneaks between my legs, his fingers easily spreading my folds and delving into my eager opening.

I’m so wet, his finger glides inside with no resistance and I yank on his hair, moaning my want and need.

A second finger joins the first, gliding in and out at a steady pace. I twist, my pelvis flexing upwards as pleasure wars with greedy need. It feels so good, but it’s a different type of penetration that I crave.

“Your dick,” I gasp. “Fuck me, Ambrose,” I beg.