Chapter 2 Busted

Sophia's POV

His jaw tightens, eyes brooding darkly. His grip around me gets even tighter.

Perspiring and trembling, my eyes stay locked to his.

I've not breathed since. His piercing gaze suffocates me.

My legs dangle above the ground, exposed and itchy. My skirt is rolled up and stuck somewhere between us. My top-also rolled up, his arms literally press against my skin.

He lifts his eyes to the wall I just jumped off from, and slowly returns them to mine. "Trying to get yourself killed?"

My lungs shrink, my chest swelling from still holding my breath.

"You can breathe..." he says in my face.

I choke, still holding, but it gets harder by the second.

He keeps his eyes fastened on me, waiting, lips slowly quirking up.

Unable to hold it any longer, I release a deep breath in his face.

He smiles now, seeming to inhale it all.

My cheeks flame. Air continues to stutter out of me, uncontrolled.

"That's some heat." He mutters, pulling me closer against him.

I gasp, forced to throw my hands on his shoulders. My stacks of bracelets clatter, adding to my embarrassment.

The man I'm marrying is Alexander Thorne?

An engine suddenly roars a short distance away.

My eyes flick over his shoulder to see a black jeep reversing. Layla's friend?

Oh, no.

Alexander pokes my ribs, grabbing my attention fast.

My lungs freeze, my body jerking in reaction.

My eyes return to his, and an inexplicable heat spreads through me. Memories flood into my brain. Memories from New Year's Eve-the second time I met Alexander.

"Look at you, all sweaty and breathless..." he begins, gripping me with one arm again as he peels damp hair off my skin. "All because you don't want to marry me."

His grip gets tighter.

But the heat and feel of his body against mine sends my brain buffering at 2% capacity. I shut my eyes and open them. Pretty, dark eyes are still staring into my soul.

"Put me down." I croak, surprisingly finding my voice.

"So, you can keep running?" He replies softly, as if my action hurt him. As if we mean anything to each other.

I curl my ridiculously adorned fingers, softening in his grip. My determination and resolve seem to have crashed when my brain buffered.

Layla's friend drives off, leaving me on our lonely street with a lethally beautiful man. 6'3 tall. A CEO. Billionaire. 8 years+ older. Mysterious. Charming. Very, very charming. It's inexplicable.

Last year, on December 31st, I fell under his spell.

And I'm only just realizing that the spell hasn't worn off.

He starts to move.

My breath catches.

"Put me down, Alexander," I protest, wriggling in his grip.

My stacks of jewelry clank noisily around my wrists. But he scoffs, looking ahead, still walking.

I exhale in defeat, turning my head to see a man in a suit opening the rear door of a dark gray Mercedes-Benz G-Class.

When we get to the car, Alexander carefully drops me on the back seat.

More clanking of designer bracelets as I shift uncomfortably.

The other man hands him something. My shoes.

"Running away in heels? Really, Sophia?" He raises a brow before tossing my shoes into the car.

I'm going to go with option 1 after this encounter-bury myself somewhere in the backyard.

"Give us some privacy, Garvey," he instructs, taking the door from the man. He pushes it wide, then comes to stand between my legs.

I draw in a nervous breath, eyes locked onto him. He comes closer.

He touches my thigh suddenly, and my breath hitches. I flinch, moving toward him.

"You hurt yourself." He says, matter-of-factly, with his jaw clenching.

Words elude me.

"Let me see..."

He gently takes my bare feet. Dirty. White manicured nails stained dark brown.

I watch him inspect with an attentiveness I knew not about, feeling butterflies and a subtle heat.

His eyes slowly travel up my thigh.

I pinch the ends of my skirt, tugging and wishing it could cover more skin. I should have worn pants. But there was no time to think my outfit through.

"Who flees in a mini skirt and heels?"

"It's not a mini-"

My words get stuck in my throat when he grips my thigh.

A buzz of something trickles up my legs. My chest rises.

He slowly tilts his head to inspect.

"A-Alexander ..." I exhale, reaching for his hands.

He meets my gaze.

My heart stutters.

I realize I'm holding him and let go quickly.

He shows no reaction. Instead, he says, "You've got some minor cuts and scratches..."

I wince when his fingers brush one of the cuts.

He drops my legs and steps back, then slips his phone out of his pocket.

"It's your father calling,"

My stomach sinks.

I stare at his screen, and my pulse sprints into chaos.

At the same time, my phone starts vibrating behind me. I reach for my purse and pull it around. I take my phone out fast.

My mom is calling, too.

My throat tightens, a sickening twist of frustration and defeat pooling in my stomach.

How am I this unlucky?

Minutes ago, I was running away-a well-planned escape-burning with determination and fury. Now, I'm seated inside the car of the very situation I was running from, looking homeless, dirty, and injured.

Not just that, I'm finding out that the man my parents set me up with is none other than Alexander Thorne. The first man to ever seduce me in the most unusual way. An acquaintance. Not a stranger as I'd expected.

I'm doomed if I walk into the house looking like this, caught after attempting to flee.

I lift my head, looking to him for help, suggestions, anything.

Alexander suddenly turns off the screen of his phone. He snatches mine from me and does the same.

"Get your legs in, Baby girl," he commands, gently pushing my legs inside.

I blink.

"Garvey?" He calls, snapping his fingers. "We're leaving."

Huh?

His chauffeur moves with speed.

Alexander reaches for my seat belt. My breath stops as I fall back on the seat. He buckles me in in a flash and shuts the door.

I whip around when the other door opens. Garvey holds the door.

My chest is pounding.

In five seconds, Alexander appears, entering beside me. Instantly, the car fills up with his scent and presence, overpowering.

The door shuts, and his chauffeur finds his place behind the wheel.

The engine roars to life.

My heart jolts.

What's happening?

He turns my vibrating phone to me, showing me the caller ID.

"The love of your life?" He chuckles. "I'm gonna have to work hard..."

What?

"Turn it off," his voice dips as he drops my phone in my lap. "That's rule One-O-One when running away: Be unreachable."