Chapter 6

When Dolores entered the room the next day, I was already awake. I had barely been able to sleep for most of the night, the kiss flashing in my head every time I closed my eyes.

After taking me to my daily shower, Dolores took me back to the room, where some new clothes were waiting for me on the bed.

"Espero que estén de tu tama?o," said Dolores with the brightest smile on her lips, proud of herself.

"Thank you, Dolores. I"m sure they will fit."

I couldn't help but get a little excited at the prospect of changing clothes more often. It made me feel like I was still a person. It made me feel like I still had some control over my life.

I started trying on the jeans and the shirts once Dolores left. Two pairs of jeans fit me perfectly. It was easier with the shirts. I settled for a yellow shirt with delicate hand-embroidered straps covering my shoulders. The shirt had a tight fit around my breasts and was a little wider as it got closer to my hips.

This was perfect as it meant I did not need to wear a bra, which was a relief, considering I only had the ripped one I was abducted with. Dolores had brought me some sandals in my size as well. I was starting to be in a much better mood after putting the clothes on. I was starting to feel like a person again, and I wanted to hold onto that sensation as long as I could.

Dolores was trying to make me feel safe and cared for, I realized, but still, I was not any closer to understanding why I was in captivity, all the way in Mexico, with no return date in sight. It was also frustrating because, for however nice Dolores was, I couldn't get her to share any more information with me. Dolores clearly loved Alejandro very much, and for some reason, she wanted to convince me that Alejandro was a good man, despite appearances.

Dolores knocked and entered the room again an hour later.

"It's time for breakfast," she said. "Let's go."

"I am not eating with that man again."

Dolores pleaded, but I would not have it.

"Okay," accepted Dolores. "You eat in the kitchen, then?"

"With pleasure," I replied, relieved that I would still get to go out of the room even if I refused to eat with Alejandro.

Dolores took me to the kitchen. It was an enormous space, with dark-oak and glass-window cabinetry, complemented by an enormous kitchen island. On the right side, by the window, was a six-person, round table. I took a seat as instructed, but when Dolores proceeded to make chilaquiles, I got up to help her.

Dolores refused my assistance at first, but eventually accepted my help—just like Martha, my nana, had when I was fifteen.

She was the house manager, as I called her, responsible for a good part of my education and making sure the house ran without any issues. Together, Dolores and I set the table.

As I was getting ready to sit down, I noticed Alejandro leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, observing my every move. His dark-black hair was not combed as usual. Rather, it looked like he had let the wind play with it, or perhaps he had run frustrated fingers through it. He was wearing a light pair of khaki pants and a black polo shirt. Dolores seemed as surprised as I was to see him.

"Hola, se?or," greeted Dolores.

"Buenos días, Dolores. Me sirves el desayuno aquí, por favor," he said as he took a seat next to me.

Of course, he asked her to serve him breakfast in the kitchen.

Dolores hurried, setting some plates and cutlery in front of him. She quickly put the food and the drinks down. I was hoping she would stick around, as I did not want to be alone with Alejandro, but Dolores guiltily avoided all eye contact with me and left the room in a rush.

"I didn't know you cooked," remarked Alejandro.

"Every now and then."

Why would he know? We weren't friends. But perhaps he and his team of degenerates had been watching me for a while before taking me. That thought sent a shiver down my spine. I shook myself a little bit.

"It seemed like you knew what you were doing," he said with an air of surprise on his face.

What did he want?

"How long were you lurking in the background for?" I snapped.

"Long enough," he said with his usual mocking smile.

He was staring at me, his eyes tracing every curve of my body with a brief focus on my shoulder bruise. I shifted in my seat, aware of the slow heat rising through me, unnerved that, for some reason, his inappropriate gaze made me wonder what it would be like for him to touch me.

I couldn't look away for too long, not just because the man looked like some sort of Greek god, but it was more so the primal, angry look he had in his eyes as they ran over my body and my face that scared and captivated me. I felt naked in his presence, and while I wanted to look away, I was also fascinated. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

"I assumed you always had someone to assist with your every need," he mocked, interrupting my reverie.

I took a deep breath, trying to find it in myself to be cordial. This man knew how to rile me up in just a few seconds. I bit my lower lip to resist the urge to retort. I could point out that, from what I could tell, he had resorted to crimes and who knew what else to amass his fortune, considering the size of the mansion he used for kidnapping purposes, but it wasn't worth it.

"I started learning when I was a teenager. I decided to take it more seriously when I was in college in New York," I admitted. "Richard was paying for part of my studies, and I didn't want to owe him any more than I already did."

"Why don't you call him Dad?"

"Because he is not my dad," I snapped back at him.

"I see," he said, deep frowns forming on his forehead, eyes glancing in my direction, a look of confusion in them.

I stopped paying attention to him and focused on my food, doing my best to ignore his persistent questioning gaze. Perhaps letting my disdain for my stepfather be known wasn't the right approach. Maybe I had made a tactical mistake.

"What did you study in college?" he continued. I was glad for the change in conversation.

"Hotel management and English at NYU. And I got my MBA a month ago from Stanford."

"Impressive, and here I thought you were just your father's little wallflower," he teased, leaning back into his chair to face me better.

"You know nothing about my life," I snapped back. "You shouldn't make assumptions about people you don't know—especially when it makes you, I don't know, a sexist for assuming that my goal in life is to stand around and look pretty."

He clenched his jaw and got up from his chair slowly. "Enough with the name calling Amelia," he warned.

"Enough with the stereotypes, then," I retorted, standing up, as he was getting too close.

I took a few steps back, trying to get as far away as I could but suppressed a gasp when I felt my back hit the cold wall.

He grunted, closed his eyes, and shook his head, both hands on his hips. He slowly looked at me, as if running out of patience, and took a step in my direction.

"Let"s try this conversation again, shall we?"

What was perhaps meant to sound like a pleasant optional invitation to converse sounded more like a threat to me. He paused, as if waiting for me to consent, but he proceeded anyway as I remained silent.

"Why hospitality management?"

I was baffled. What was his game exactly? Was he trying to get to know me? Or was there some information about me or Richard that he was after? I couldn't read those dark eyes.

For some reason, he seemed to always be trying to befriend me, and none of this made any sense. But I couldn't think of anything related to my career that I should hide, so I decided to go with the truth.

"I enjoy customer service, and I enjoy managing a team to achieve excellence. I love the idea of participating in people's lives as they spend a few days or a week in a transient location, being able to contribute to a wonderful experience and a seamless process as they proceed with their lives."

"Do you want to work at a hotel or for a restaurant chain?"

"I think a hotel. It's the job I have lined up, anyway. I would love to manage a chain but would then want to proceed to management of the company, participate in the decision making of where to open hotels, what the brand is supposed to be about and all that."

I felt myself relaxing a bit. Talking about my dreams calmed me. It reminded me that my life was still a possibility as long as I was alive.

"It's such a great experience to get to observe people's behavior, try to grasp their wants, their needs, and package that for them in different locations around the world. Life is short, and I want to participate in making it pleasurable for people, but I also want to be one of the strategic minds behind the process."

"Where do you plan to work?"

"In New York."

"Interesting."

"Why?"

"I'd assume you would want to learn the ways from your family business in California."

"No, I don't want to work with him."

I stopped myself before saying too much. He didn't need to know that working for Richard was the worst thing that could happen to me, both personally and professionally.

He stared at me, as if expecting me to say more, but I kept my lips shut.

He turned around, went to the cupboard, and grabbed something I couldn't see. I held my breath, afraid that he was going to hurt me. But when he turned around, I saw a box that looked like a first aid kit in his hands. He put it down on the table, opened it, grabbed some alcohol, some cotton, and a Band-Aid. He saturated the cotton ball with alcohol.

He then slowly walked toward me, his gaze never leaving mine. Despite him looking like a predator getting closer and closer to his meal, I didn't feel fear, just a weird anticipation. I stood stiffly, my arms down by my sides, unable to make a move, anticipating his touch.

With a frown on his face, he dabbed the cotton ball between my neck and my shoulder.

"You are bleeding a bit," he explained.

I winced from the cold liquid sending a bit of pain coursing through me. I hadn't realized I was bleeding from the cut. It had been closing, so I had left it alone.

"I'm sorry about this. I never meant for any of this to happen." He seemed sincere, but I couldn't even think of a clever retort on how he was at fault in all of this.

We stood there in silence, my hands still locked by each side of my body, unable to move even an inch. He walked away, threw the cotton in the garbage can, then turned back to me with the bandage open. He placed it on my neck, his fingers lingering on my collarbone, lightly caressing my neck. I tensed a bit further, unable to look away from his eyes.

Barely breathing, I stood there, my lips shaking, anticipating his. My heart was beating faster and faster as his face came closer and closer to mine. With the tips of his fingers, he lifted my chin. I could now feel his breath on my face, warming up my body and accelerating my heart rate.

He seemed undecided. As he got closer, I felt the edge of his lips starting to brush mine. I moaned slightly as he suddenly was pulling away from me.

He brusquely took a few steps back, his eyes wide. I still couldn't move, immobilized by the rush he had caused inside of me. I felt ashamed, angry at him for playing with me, leaving me wanting more, wanting what I shouldn't even be thinking about, what shouldn't be happening. He walked out of the room in a hurry.

The way my body responded to him was overwhelming. I had never experienced such physical attraction and pain before just from the proximity of a man. A dangerous man, no less, who barely touched me and yet activated all my senses, making me pulse between my thighs.

"What happened?" asked Dolores as she entered the room. "He looked sick."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just stared at my feet, trying to hide my flushed cheeks from Dolores. I felt sick.

"Is it time to go back to my room already?" I asked, dreading being locked away again in that windowless bedroom, alone with my thoughts, but I still wanted to escape and be able to close my eyes and pretend I was safe.

"Yes, come." Dolores smiled.

I obediently followed but quickly realized that Dolores was heading in a different direction.

I gave her an inquisitive gaze, but Dolores just kept smiling. Instead of heading to the back of the kitchen where my room was, she was taking me through the rest of the house. We got to the foyer where a big, thick, hand-carved mahogany table carried an amazing centerpiece with the most beautiful wildflowers I had ever seen, but there wasn't much time to observe as I followed Dolores up the wooden staircase. Where was she taking me?

We walked through the warmly lit, light-taupe-colored hall until Dolores opened a wooden door and gently pushed me inside. I held in a gasp as I walked into a dream bedroom. It looked like it was taken straight from the 20th century and upgraded to meet the comfort of the current time.

The room had a king-size bed on what looked like a cherry-wood bed frame, a gorgeous oatmeal-colored ottoman, a chaise by a gigantic glass door that was currently opened to a small balcony. There was an amazing glass chandelier providing a lot of the light in the room.

My gaze trailed on an exquisite reclaimed-wood vanity on the other side of the room as well as a full-size mirror. There was a door leading to a bathroom, as well as a decently sized walk-in closet. I couldn't believe it.

"This is your bedroom now, miss," said Dolores with an even wider grin, her eyes shining as she saw the excitement on my face. "El patron's orders. I already moved your clothes into the closet for you."

"Thank you, Dolores!" I said almost in tears.

I would now have my own bathroom and, more importantly, an amazing amount of natural light. Who knew that having light and my own bathroom would cause me to be emotional? Sometimes it"s the little things we take for granted that get to us when we no longer have them.

I walked to the gorgeous bouquet of pink and red Dahlia's on the nightstand.

"These are so beautiful!"

"From don Alejandro" she said, a small smile on her face. I didn't know what to think of this gesture.

Dolores stepped out of the room. I wiped the tears off my face. A window! I went straight to the small balcony where there was a table and two chairs on which I could sit. My view was of a beautiful yard. I could see a big pool and a gorgeous stone-paved patio. The sun was out, droplets of water from the rain the night before shining as the heat evaporated them. I could still smell the rain on the wet grass, the slight scent of eucalyptus creating a Zen atmosphere.

Perhaps some fresh air was all I needed to bring some sense of reality back into my head so I could stop the tingling sensation that coursed through my body every time I was in the same room as Alejandro.

I could see a bit of how far the property went as the huge backyard was surrounded by thick and tall trees. I could see the tops of other mountains a little bit past it. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sound of the birds and the heat bringing some calm back to me. I looked down, trying to gauge how far up I was. I wouldn't be able to climb down this balcony; it was a bit too high for that.

I hated Alejandro for keeping me captive and making me experience sensations I had never felt before, even with George, but I was very thankful for the new prison. I was a prisoner in the middle of paradise.