Glen Cove

Chapter 1: May I?

Tension wells in the pit of my belly. Siting up in the chair, I take in the unfamiliar surroundings. A large leather couch stretches across one of the four walls encrusted with red and gold-leaf wallpaper. The room oozes a steampunk vibe and exudes a sense of power that makes me shiver.

Overhead, an antique light fixture houses several converted kerosene lamps mounted on an asymmetrical frame that is attached to a sloping ceiling. A large oval desk sits in the far corner of the room, with neatly stacked files strategically placed on the left-hand side of the sleek reflective surface. To the left of where I'm sitting is a closed pocket door with a scrolled-brass handle.

The contents in my right hand slip through my fingertips. They land on the tile floor with a heavy thud, which makes me jump. The rental car keys, spread out on the cold, hard surface of the stone floor.

Reaching down, I wrap my fingers around the keychain. My hand trembles, shaking the keys, which clank. I tuck the retrieved keys into the middle zipper of my black handbag.

My mind races in different directions and I'm torn between fleeing the confines of the office and staying seated in the plush leather chair I'm sitting on.

Shaking my head, I huff then rise.

What was I thinking? I need to do research, sure, but this is a little extreme. Well, actually, really extreme.

I pull my laptop bag and purse off the adjacent matching leather chair, sliding the straps over my shoulder. Taking hold of my waist-long hair, I pull it free of the straps, allowing it to cascade down my back.

My shaky legs carry me a portion of the way to the open door on the right, which leads to the hallway I used to enter the room.

The brass knob behind me jiggles and makes my stomach somersault. My eyes widen, and I freeze in my tracks.

Oh, great, someone's in there.

Turning around, I face the closed pocket door and draw in a deep breath. When the door opens, a tall blond man steps into view, his presence all but engulfs the room.

He walks out of the adjacent bathroom and closes the door. Black slacks hang off his trim tan waistline. The smell of coconut and aftershave wafts in the air.

Without saying a word, he strolls past me, bare-chested. His thick damp hair glistens under the light. He stops next to the leather-padded computer chair at the desk.

The muscles of his abdomen ripple and contract each time he moves. He clears his throat, breaking the silence in the air.

Looking up into his smoldering gaze, my face heats up, flushing a bright shade of red, which makes his lips curl upward into a slight grin.

"Miss Rita Wright, the writer, correct?" he asks sternly in a heavy French accent.

Leaning over, he takes hold of a long-sleeved black shirt draped across the back of the computer chair, and then slides the garment on and over his sculpted chest.

"Yes." I manage to push the squeaky single-syllable word from my lips. Drawing in a deep breath, I regroup. "You may call me Rita."

"My name is Alexandre De La Fontaine, but you will call me Master Alex." He appraises me with a keen eye. "You were not expected for another forty-five minutes." Meticulously, he buttons his shirt from top to bottom. "Are you always this punctual?"

"Uhm, my flight arrived early." I fidget with the strap of my bag. "Where's the owner, Mr. Mathis, Alexandre?"

His brow arches upward. "Master of Arms, Master Mathis, is indisposed at the moment with a prior appointment."

A wolfish grin spreads across his lips.

"I will give you a tour of the facility. You will leave your belongings in my office, and ma petite chere, you are to address me as Master Alex or Sir."

I pull the strap of the laptop bag closer to my body.

"Thanks for the offer, Mr. De La Fontaine, but I think I'll keep my things with me."

His eyes rake up and down my body. I squirm under his probing gaze and feel my cheeks warm, once again.

"That is against club policy, ma chere." He approaches me with cat-like movements. "You will leave your items here."

I swallow hard and grip the strap of the bag tighter. "All of my work - my life is on my laptop, Alexandre, so I can't just leave it anywhere." I take a step back to counter his forward movement.

"You can either leave it in my office, locked up, or you may place the items in a locker inside the check-in station. It is your choice. However, you will not carry anything out onto the floor, ma chere." His eyes are dark and formidable. "May I?"

There's an underline predatory vibe to him, one that intrigues me but also makes me uneasy.

Alexandre extends an arm. He brushes his hand along the strap of my laptop bag. The tips of his fingers lightly caress my skin.

Goose bumps erupt up and down my arm at his touch, which it seems, I'm more than hyper-sensitive to. My eyes narrow and I look down at his fingers.

I shake my head. "No, you may not." I tighten my hold on the straps.

He advances forward and I take several steps back until my legs are pressed against the front of the desk. My hands instinctively rise in front of me, fanning out over his shirt-covered chest.

Drawing in a deep breath, all I can smell is him, sand wood and coconut swirl around in my nose. He's so close, the warmth of his body permeates my clothing.

His lips curl upward, and he gently strokes the side of my bare arm, which makes my body erupt in goose bumps all over again.

I shiver, and my heartbeat quickens. And in that moment, I'm lost in those piercing blue eyes of his.

"You will not need these where we're headed." He lifts the straps from my shoulder.

My eyes follow his smooth, steady movements. Carefully, he sets the laptop bag and my purse down on top of the desk.