Dark Captor (Dark Syndicate 2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Isabella

It’s too late for me to be outside. It’s bordering ten.

I might have lost my mind with this idea of mine but since Tristan seems to be avoiding me again, I felt compelled to try and see him.

Maybe it’s the worse idea ever, and I should just roll with what’s happening and be avoided. However, that thing that draws me to him enticed me out of my bed and beckoned me to head out here.

I don’t know where his room is, and I haven’t asked. I’m not going to because I’m sure my permission to walk around doesn’t extend to it suddenly being okay to be with me.

I’m still the enemy’s daughter and I doubt it was okay to sleep with me so I’m keeping my mouth shut in that respect.

Where I’m going is the greenhouse.

I caught a glimpse of him inside there earlier when I joined Candace for dinner. She said sometimes he’s out here for hours.

This is me hoping he’s still out here.

When I get down the steps that lead to the greenhouse, I see him.

It’s dark in the majority of the house except for where he is.

Quietly, I make my way closer but hang back behind a fan palm tree where I can watch him and decide whether or not I should disturb him.

He’s shirtless again and looks focused as he rolls his arms in and out in graceful movements. He surprises me. He looks so controlled and disciplined.

I’ve seen my father’s men train, but they don’t look like Tristan. They’re more into boxing.

Whatever Tristan is doing looks like a martial art form that has a beauty to it. A beauty he owns and combines his strength to make it look exceptional.

It’s fascinating to watch. But so is he. The other day when I saw him shirtless, I had to resist the urge to stare. I did a good job although he wasn’t shirtless for long.

I’m seeing the masterpiece of him again. Now I have the chance to look, I allow myself to think of him as a man. The instant I do my damn mouth waters and I remember how ruthlessly he took me up against the wall last week.

My gaze runs over his wide, powerful shoulders, the sharp definition of muscles lining his arms and the ridges of muscles running down his abs. It’s perfection. What adds to the perfection is the tasteful Celtic swirls and Arabic characters inked into the ridges.

One of the tattoos disappears beyond the waistband of his pants. It looks like a pair of daggers. It’s the only object he has on him. That’s possibly the only one I would have seen when we had sex, but he had his clothes on and I never even got a glimpse.

Not that I would have been taking any time to look at him that day. I was so terrified.

He stops moving and straightens. With his back turned to me, he glances over his shoulder.

“It’s a little late to be sightseeing, don’t you think?” he says and my nerves scatter.

I didn’t realize he could sense my presence. I didn’t think he’d even know I was here.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize quickly as he turns to face me. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. And yes, it is late for sightseeing.” I’m sure he knows I’m not sightseeing in the conventional sense.

The flush in my cheeks also gives me away, ratting me out that I’m not just thrown off kilter for watching him, but also for outrightly ogling his body.

He rivets his gaze to mine and looks me over slowly like he’s trying to assess my motives for being here. He’s also looking at me the way I was with him. He’s just not trying to hide the fact that he’s openly looking at my body.

“What are you doing out here so late?” he asks tilting his head to the side.

I bite the inside of my lip. There is no reason for me to be out here, and inside this greenhouse other than to see him. This isn’t a man you lie to, or trick. He’ll see straight through the shit. So, I decide to come clean just like I did at the club. This feels like that, but we’ve come a long way since.

“I just came out here to see… you.” Nerves fill me. I can’t help it. He makes me nervous and I’m still scared. He’s unpredictable and I don’t know him enough to try and guess what he might be thinking after hearing my answer.