Dark Captor (Dark Syndicate 2)

“Really?” Curiosity fills his blue gaze.

“Yeah.”

He walks up to me and my heart stills. He gets close and I’m not sure what he’s going to do to me. Purposely, he leans a breath away from my lips, and heat streaks through my body.

He’s going to kiss me, or… at least that’s what he wants to make me think because he doesn’t. Tristan sees my reaction and reaches past me to grab a hand towel that was draped over a stand.

I didn’t see it there before and the cocky smirk on his face suggests he’s aware of the effect he has on me.

He moves away but we’re still close. Running the towel through his hair he dabs at the sweat that dampens his locks, but keeps his gaze trained on me.

“What did you want to see me for Isabella?” he asks. The deep baritone of his voice is smooth and as enthralling as his stare.

“I wanted to say thanks for allowing me to speak to Sacha.” I might have originally wanted to do that yesterday, but it feels weird saying it now even if he is protecting Sacha. Sacha wouldn’t need protecting if not for him.

I know there’s more to it than that though. I also know what kind of man I’m talking to. He’s not the kind who shows mercy easily.

“You didn’t have to thank me for that.”

“It was good to hear his voice.”

“I thought it might be.” Again, he looks me over.

This is the part where I should leave. I’ve said thanks and seen him. If I stay here another second, it’s going to become evident that I wanted to do more than say thanks.

It’s going to be clear that I want to see him, even after everything that’s happened, and outside of the fact that he’s still my captor.

The second passes and I experience that need to hold on for a little longer. That pull of attraction and raw chemistry that enticed me to continue with something, anything to prolong this meeting.

The magnetism I feel now is so strong I’m sure he must feel it too. I don’t know how he couldn’t.

“What were you doing?” I ask, my voice thick with emotion.

“Tai Chi. Calms the soul and helps me to direct my energy so I can focus,” he explains.

Since I know the only thing he was focused on before was a plan to kill my father I’m assuming it’s the same focus he’s seeking.

“You do it well.”

The corners of his lips arch into a sensual smile. “Thank you. It’s something I’ve done for years.”

“Does it work? I mean to help you focus.”

“Yeah. It’s either that or music. Music is a little hit and miss though. You have to find the right mood and time to play it.”

I actually can’t imagine him listening to music. When I try to think of what he might like nothing comes to mind. I realize that’s because he’s a closed book. One I’m not supposed to open but I’m curious about.

“What kind of music?”

He chuckles and narrows his eyes. “You sure you want to know that Bellezza?”

“Yes.” I nod.

“Old music. Classic jazz. Anything from the forties or earlier.”

I’m actually quite surprised to hear that. “That’s what you like?”

“Yes, and don’t you dare start criticizing.”