He's Captured My Heart (Captured Series Book 1) (5 page)

I grab two towels, wrapping one round my body and the other round my hair, which I’ll do once I’ve put on my makeup and clothes. When I leave the bathroom, I hear
bang…bang…bang
.

Whoever is banging on my bloody room door better have a damn good reason. I look through the peephole, and standing there is Mr. Mathews. I can’t open the door like this.

“
Hold on,” I call out. I grab my dress and quickly put it on.

“Mr. Mathews! What can I?—” I say as I open the door for him.

I don’t get to finish my sentence. He’s pushed his way into my room. What the hell does he think he’s doing?

I stand by the open door as he pushes past then turns and comes towards me, still not saying a word. I close the door—I presume he is staying. He pushes me up against the door, bouncing my head off it. Shit. He’s pinning me in place with his body, one arm up against the door. He lifts my chin with his other hand and leans his face down to meet mine. I’ve thought about what it would feel like to kiss him since I first clapped eyes on him, and now he’s here, and I’m about to find out whether I want to right now or not.

“I am used to getting what I want,” he whispers. I bet he is.

His lips meet mine, but there is nothing passionate or romantic in the way he kisses me. Hunger and need come to mind. Bloody hell. My body starts to respond, but my mind is telling me not to let this happen. His grip on my chin is getting tighter, and his other hand has moved from the door and found its way to my backside; the grip is getting tighter there too. He’s scaring me. I can’t stand here and let this happen. I need to do something and quick.

Think, Libby. Bloody think
.

Just because I find him attractive doesn’t mean he can do this. He shouldn’t be forcing me…and wouldn’t have had to if he had only asked. Both my arms are still free. I run one hand up the front of his shirt—I can feel the well-defined muscles of his abs and his chest—and he stops kissing me to lean away
and look at me with a knowing smirk, not at all surprised that I am touching him back.

But he is very surprised when I slap him right across the face and push him away.

He takes a step back, rubbing his cheek. God, I’ve surprised myself. I didn’t think I had the nerve to do that. I hope it bloody hurt. Who the hell does he think he is? Forcing his way into my room, forcing himself on me? Was that why he volunteered to change rooms, so he’d know what room I was in? I can’t let him stay in the hotel now. What is my dad going to say when I tell him I’ve had to throw him out for his bad behaviour? What a mess.

“Why the hell did you do that?” he shouts.

Is he serious? “Why? Because when someone kisses me, it’s because I want them to. Not because they attack me like a fucking animal. I don’t know any woman who enjoys a man forcing himself on her. I should call the police. Now you have exactly five seconds to get out of my room before I call security.”

“You wanted that as much as I did. Don’t kid yourself,” he snarls, shaking his head. He looks puzzled as he leaves my room.

I’m puzzled too. I would have said earlier that he seemed to be a bright man. If so, he’s certainly stupid about human nature. What an arrogant bastard! I slam the door shut and sink to the floor, letting the tears flow down my face.

3

Kirsty: Where R U? You’re late X

Libby: On my way X

I TEXT KIRSTY
as I rush down the hall. I’m twenty minutes late, but at least I look presentable. I’ve thrown on a different dress to the one I had put on when Alex appeared at my room and put on sandals and pinned my damp hair up. I wasn’t in the mood to fuss over it. I rushed my makeup, so even though it’s less obvious that I’ve been crying, no doubt Kirsty will notice. I swoop through the hotel corridors towards the bar, offering up a polite greeting and smile to everyone I pass.

She’s sitting at the bar, obviously flirting with my staff. I can tell. She sits twiddling her fingers through her long, blond hair, as always. She’s like that; she’s been a flirt since the very first day I met her. Even
then she was flirting with one of the uni tutors. She doesn’t see me enter—too wrapped up in a conversation with the bartender.

Kirsty and I met at uni. She’s been more than a great friend to me these last few months when I’ve needed her, even if she’s just been at the other end of the phone, with her words of comfort. She decided to take a year out after graduation, and I’m not sure if she has any intention of ever looking for a job. She’s more than happy to live off the bank of her mum and dad. Me, on the other hand, I enjoy and need my independence. Sounds silly, I know, considering it’s my dad I work for.

“Kirsty!” I call out. “I thought we were having lunch, not a night on the tiles,” I say, laughing halfheartedly. She’s wearing a short dress and killer heels, and she looks stunning, but more for a night out clubbing than a lunch date with a friend.

“Libby, it’s great to see you.” She kisses me on both cheeks. “Let’s have a look at you.”

I stand back, and she twirls me round.

“You can tell me what’s wrong over lunch. And I mean it. I know something’s wrong.” She has a concerned look on her face.
God, she’s good…too bloody good
.

“Just one of those mornings so far. I thought we could have lunch out in the terrace,” I say, changing the subject. “What do you think? Too nice to be stuck indoors.”

“Sounds good to me, although your barman here is rather dreamy. Will he attend to us outside as well?” she says with a smirk.

“If you can behave yourself, I might let him. Have you looked at the menu yet?” I ask.

“I already know what I want, but I’m sure he’s not on the menu,” she laughs. She would chew him up and spit him out. The poor lad wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Kirsty, Kirsty…whatever are we going to do with you?”

We order our food at the bar and then head outside with our drinks. It seems everyone is taking advantage of the gorgeous, unseasonable weather. Most of the tables on the terrace are occupied. There are also some folks having picnics on the grass, with kids running about. Kirsty and I find a table in the sun and sit down.

“So what you been up to the last few weeks?” I ask.

“Well, where should I start? I’ve been to a few social engagements with my parents—you know, the ones that can be quite boring at times and very interesting at others?” she says, giggling.

“When you say ‘interesting,’ I can only presume it involves the male species.”

“Ah, Libby, you know me too well.”

“So do tell! I want details.”

“Okay. Two Saturdays ago I met a guy called Thomas—I think that was his name anyway—and we
had a great night dancing and laughing and talking. And as you know, I don’t do much talking with guys,” she says. “He was really good-looking and a great kisser, so we swapped numbers. I was going to call him on the following Wednesday—really, I was—but then Dad asked me to go to a business networking event that night, so I didn’t get round to calling him. Anyway, there was this really cute guy called Jay at
that
event, and I’ve seen him a few times since. You’ll love him when I introduce you. That is, if I don’t start dating your barman before then.”

I laugh.

Kirsty has always been the same. She drifts from one guy to the next. I don’t remember her ever having been with the same man for longer than four weeks. I wish I were more like her—carefree, always happy. I’m happy, but I’m not carefree. My last boyfriend was Jeff; we split up just after Lindsay died, when he couldn’t understand my need to be with Ethan and my family.

He was heartless. I ended it, but it wasn’t all about Lucy. I suppose I had been looking for an excuse even before that. He was a bit of a bore, pushy at times and not very romantic. He was quite happy to spend most nights in front of the TV, and he didn’t like me going out with my friends without him. “Controlling” springs to mind, although I didn’t see it at the time. And he couldn’t stand Kirsty. Me, I like to go out and enjoy
myself, although I’m not quite the life and soul of every party, like Kirsty.

“So, Libby, are you going to tell me why your eyes are so puffy? Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” Kirsty really doesn’t miss anything. So do I tell her the truth? I’m a terrible liar. Before I get a chance to talk, the waiter arrives with our food.

“Miss Stewart, how are you today?” he asks.

“Very well, thank you.”

“Okay, so who is having the smoked salmon?”

“Me,” Kirsty says.

“That means the king prawn is for you. Can I get either of you anything else?” he asks, placing my lunch in front of me.

Kirsty shakes her head. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Some more water would be great. Thanks,” I say.

“Now where were we? Ah, you were just going to tell me why you’ve been crying.” She gives me that look that only Kirsty can do so well—the look that says,
you ain’t getting away from this conversation that easily
.

“It’s…it’s nothing, really. We have a troublesome hotel guest I’ve had to deal with this morning. And that on top of the sale of the house and everything with Ethan…I just let it get to me. But you know me; I’ll be fine. I always bounce back,” I say, hoping that the shortened version of the truth will do.

“You sure that’s all?”

I would question me too, but I give her a nod just as the waiter comes back with a jug of water.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Stewart, but Sally has asked if you could phone her at reception. She says she knows you are busy but that it’s urgent,” he says, handing me the phone he has in hand.

I press one for reception, and at the same time, I mouth
sorry
to Kirsty.

“Sally, its Libby. What’s wrong?”

“Libby, I am so, so sorry. I really didn’t want to disturb you—I know you’re having lunch—but I didn’t know what else to do.” Sally is upset again. Why did I even bother to ask the question? Especially when I could put money on the answer.

“It’s fine. Just tell me what’s wrong, and I will sort it out,” I say, trying to calm her down.

“It’s Mr. Bloody Mathews again. He’s called several times looking to speak with you, and he’s also been down in person. I keep telling him the same thing—that you are unavailable at the moment and that you will contact him as soon as possible. Even Kieran tried talking to him, but he insists that he will only be dealing with you during his time with us. The other man with him—is it Mr. Smith?—he looked a bit embarrassed about the whole thing. Again, I feel bad having to interrupt you, especially since you’ve already had to change plans for this ass. Oh, excuse the language, but…well, that’s not even really what I would
like
to call him. The words I have in mind are
much stronger,” she says. She’s almost babbling, being really apologetic, but she has no reason to apologise. She’s only trying to do her job.

I knew it. Mathews. “Sally, its fine. If he calls or comes by the desk again, simple tell him that I have received the message and that I have promised to see him as soon as I am available. And try not to let him bother you,” I say, although I know it’s not that simple. “Why don’t you get someone to cover reception for you, and take your break a little early?”

Sally agrees to go for her break to give her a chance to compose herself again. I give the phone back to the waiter and just shake my head. “Sorry, Kirsty. It’s the troublesome guest I mentioned. I’ll have to deal with him straight away after lunch. He’s upset my staff again. I wish he’d be more patient. I really wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with you.”

“Don’t fret, Libby,” she says. “We can have a good catch-up on Sunday.”

“So you’re still coming on Sunday then?”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Why don’t you come here early, and we can get ready together. I have the hairdresser coming to do my hair, and perhaps she can do yours too. We’ve not done that in such a long time.”

“Sure that sounds like a plan.”

We continue talking whilst eating our lunch. I don’t dawdle, but neither do I rush. I am not in that
much of a hurry to see Mr. Mathews again. What is his problem? Although at this moment, I really don’t want to know. I don’t even want to think about him. I fill Kirsty in on how Ethan and Lucy are doing and let her know that he will be here on Sunday. I remind her again
not
to flirt with him; I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. We both laugh at that.

Kirsty stops talking mid conversation. She’s just sitting there staring into space over my shoulder. It must be the view; it does that to me as well. It’s something about the clear water going on for miles and seeing all the way over to the rolling hills on the other side. Even with the sound of boats and Jet Skis, the loch still has a calming effect on me.

“Oh my god, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Kirsty says, her head tilted to one side, her mouth open, and her eyes sparkling.

I laugh. “I presume you’ve just seen the man of your dreams.” As I finish saying it, I cringe. An icy shiver runs all the way down my back. I really wish I hadn’t said that, as I have a feeling I already know whom she’s looking at. I slowly turn. Alexander Mathews.

“Who is that?” Kirsty asks.

“
That
is my ongoing problem. Could you excuse me a minute?” I say, pushing my chair back quietly to get up from the table. I draw in a deep breath and try to mentally prepare myself for this confrontation.

“No way! How could a man like that be a problem? Look at him; he is sex on legs. He can be my problem any day,” Kirsty says, all smiles. “Introduce me. I’ll deal with him for you.”

“I’m sure you could. But no.”

I walk over to where he stands, looking tall and confident. Michael had been standing with him but has just walked away shaking his head. I’m a lot more confident about this brief meeting with him; since we’re in a public place, I probably won’t need to slap him again. I hope.