His Holiday Prohibition

Chapter 5

THE DESCENT

~MAYA'S POV~

2:14 AM.

The numbers on my bedside clock glowed a mocking red in the darkness.

I looked at them, my eyes hurting, my body buzzing with a restless energy that felt like electricity under my skin. I shouldn't be awake. I should be asleep, dreaming of exams, or snow, or literally anything other than the man sleeping in the West Wing.

'Don't lock your door.' His voice played in my mind over and over. It was a smooth command, like a quiet warning.

I rolled over, kicking off the heavy down duvet. The air in the room was chilly, but my skin was burning. I was wearing a slip of silk....a nightgown I had packed because it was pretty, not because it was useful.

Now, the thin fabric clung to my sweat-dampened skin, offering zero protection against the cold or my own thoughts. I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.

My eyes drifted to the door handle.

I had locked it. Of course I had. I was a reasonable human being. I was Chloe's best friend. I was a guest in this house. But as I stared at the brass lock, it looked flimsy. Pathetic. A piece of metal trying to hold back a tsunami.

'He's waiting.'

The thought wasn't mine. It felt like it had been planted there, a seed taking root in the darkness.

I stood up. My bare feet sank into the plush carpet. I started to pace. Three steps to the window, three steps back. My heart was beating against my ribs, a hopeless beat that drowned out the howling wind outside.

I replayed the scene by the fire. The way his eyes had darkened when I almost kissed him. The way his hand had clamped onto my wrist, possessing me, claiming me without saying a word.

He hadn't come to my room. Part of me was relieved. The other part....the dark, twisted part that I kept buried deep down....was disappointed.

"Water," I whispered to the empty room. My voice sounded jagged. "I just need water." It was a lie. We both knew it. But it was the excuse I needed to turn the handle.

I walked to the door. My hand shook as I unlocked it. The click was deafening in the silence, I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The house felt like a graveyard. The storm outside had us trapped. The hallway was totally dark, like the throat of some monster stretching out.

I crept forward, my hand trailing along the wall for guidance. I passed Chloe's door.

A soft snore drifted out.

I froze. The sound of her sleeping….so innocent, so ignorant….hit me hard. She was dreaming of boys and ski slopes. She trusted me. She trusted her father, and here I was, creeping through the dark like a thief, stealing something that would destroy her world if she ever found out.

‘Go back, Maya. Go back to bed.’ I took a step backward.

Then, I saw it, at the bottom of the floating stairs, in the dark entryway, there was a soft line of golden light. It was coming from under the big oak door of the wine cellar, It looked inviting and made you want to go closer.

I stopped breathing.

He wasn't in the West Wing. He was down there. Waiting.

I felt a strong pull at my belly, and without thinking, my body started to move. I ignored the kitchen and the safe main floor, and went down the stairs. The stone steps were cold on my bare feet. As I went down, the air got colder and thicker. It smelled like wet dirt, old money, and wooden barrels, like a spooky place below.

I reached the bottom. The heavy door was cracked open just an inch, I placed my palm against the wood. My pulse was thudding in my ears so loudly I thought it might wake the house. I pushed, the door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

Silas was there.

He wasn't sitting down. He was leaning on a big wine barrel in the middle of the room, with his legs crossed, looking very relaxed in the dark underground space.

He had shed the "Dad" costume. His tie was gone. The top three buttons of his white shirt were undone, exposing the tanned skin of his throat and a hint of his chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing those thick, corded forearms that I had fantasized about touching for months.

In one hand, he held a crystal glass filled with dark red liquid. He didn't look surprised to see me. He didn't jump. He just lifted the glass to his lips, his blue eyes locking onto mine over the rim.

He took a slow sip.

"I was wondering how long it would take you," he said.

His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the stone floor and straight up my legs.

I stood in the doorway, shivering in my thin silk slip. "I... I was thirsty."

"Were you?" Silas lowered the glass. His eyes raked over me, devouring the way the silk clung to my curves, the way my n*****s peaked against the cold fabric. He didn't apologize for looking. He looked at me like he had paid for the view.

"There is water in the kitchen, Maya," he pointed out calmly. "This is the wine cellar."

"I got lost," I whispered.

"No." He pushed off the barrel, standing to his full height. "You got found." He moved then.

He didn't walk toward me. He walked around me, giving me a wide berth, like he didn't trust himself to get too close yet. He walked to the heavy oak door I had just entered.

I turned, watching him. "What are you doing?"

He placed his hand on the door and pushed it shut, then, he slid the heavy iron bolt into place.

‘CLICK.’ The sound bounced off the stone walls like a loud bang. It felt definite and complete.

My breath hitched. "Silas..."

"We can't be interrupted," he said calmly, turning back to face me. "Chloe wakes up for water sometimes. We wouldn't want her to see this."

"See what?" I breathed. "We aren't doing anything."

"Not yet."

The room suddenly felt very small. We were surrounded by thousands of bottles of vintage wine, trapped in a stone box beneath the earth. He began to walk toward me. Slowly, predatory, I backed up until my shoulder blades hit the wooden racks of Cabernet. I had nowhere left to go.

He stopped two feet away. Close enough that I could smell the scotch on his breath. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body like a physical wave.

"Why did you come down here, Maya?" he asked softly.

"I told you," I stammered, my heart racing so fast I felt dizzy. "I couldn't sleep."

"Tell me the truth."

"I don't know."

"Liar." He took another step. One foot away. "I brought you to Aspen because I wanted to see if you were brave enough to handle me. I sent the staff away so I could have you without interruption."

My eyes widened. "You... you planned this?"

"For two years," he admitted. His jaw clenched, and for the first time, I saw the war raging inside him. "Do you know what it's like, Maya? Watching you grow into this... this beautiful woman, and hating myself for every thought I had?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the composed mask cracking. "I told myself I was protecting you. That I was being a good man. A decent man."

He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "But good men don't lie awake at night imagining what their daughter's best friend tastes like." He stepped in. He was in my personal space now. He loomed over me, blocking out the light, blocking out the world.

"You think I'm the villain, Maya? You have no idea. A good man would unlock that door and send you upstairs with a pat on the head. A good man would respect the boundaries."

He placed one hand on the wine rack beside my head, leaning down until his face was level with mine. His eyes were black pits of hunger, but underneath….underneath I saw fear. Desperation.

"I am not a good man," he whispered. "And I'm so f*****g tired of pretending I am."

I whimpered. It wasn't a sound of fear. It was a sound of need.

"I'm going to give you a choice," Silas murmured. His voice dropped to a rough growl that made my toes curl. "I'm going to unlock that door. You have ten seconds to leave. If you walk out, we will never speak of this again. I go back to being 'Mr. King.' You go back to your safe little life."

He leaned closer. His lips were inches from mine. His breath was hot against my mouth.

"But if you stay..." He let the threat hang there. A delicious, terrifying promise. "If you stay, Maya, you don't get to say 'stop' later. You don't get to pretend this didn't happen. If you stay, you're choosing this. Choosing me. Choosing all the darkness that comes with it." He pulled back unexpectedly. The loss of his heat was painful.

He reached over and slid the bolt back. ‘Clack.’ He pulled the door open wide. The hallway light spilled in. Freedom. Safety. Morality.

He stepped back, clearing the path. He looked at his Rolex.

"Ten," he counted.

I looked at the door. I could run. I could run upstairs, lock my door, and pretend this never happened.

"Nine."

I looked at Silas. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides. His knuckles were white. The veins in his forearms stood out. He looked like a man barely holding himself together.

"Eight."

‘Run, Maya,’ my brain screamed. ‘He will ruin you.’

"Seven."

I looked at the scar on his chest peeking out from his shirt. I looked at the raw hunger in his eyes. The vulnerability he was trying to hide. I didn't want to be saved. I didn't want to be safe.

I wanted to burn.

"Six."

I took a deep breath.

"Five."

I reached out. I grabbed the heavy iron handle of the door. Silas flinched, his eyes squeezing shut for a bit of a second, bracing for rejection. I slammed the door shut.

‘BOOM.’ The sound shook the bottles in the racks.

I didn't lock it. I didn't need to, I turned back to him. Silas stared at me. The air left his lungs in a rush. The careful disguise he'd been wearing shattered completely. What was underneath was raw. Desperate. Almost broken with relief.

"Zero," I whispered.

For a moment, he just stood there. Frozen. Like he couldn't believe I'd actually stayed. Then something inside him snapped. "You beautiful, reckless fool," he growled. He crossed the distance between us in two strides.

He didn't be gentle. He slammed into me, pinning me against the wine rack. The wood dug into my back, but I didn't care. His hands came up, framing my face. His thumbs traced my cheekbones as if he was memorizing me. As if he couldn't quite believe I was real.

"Tell me again," he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Tell me you're staying."

"I'm staying," I breathed.

"Why?" He searched my eyes, desperate for an answer. "Why would you choose this? Choose me?"

"Because I'm tired too," I admitted. "Tired of pretending I don't want this. That I don't want you." Something broke in his expression. Relief. Possession. Devotion.

"Good girl," he rasped. "My good, brave girl.” And then his mouth crashed down onto mine.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a claiming. It was brutal and desperate and absolutely devastating. He tasted like scotch and sin and something uniquely him that made my head spin.

He kissed me like he wanted to devour my soul. I moaned into his mouth, my hands clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer even though there was no space left between us.

His hands were in my hair, tangling in the strands, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss. His tongue swept into my mouth, and I opened for him, surrendering completely.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. His forehead pressed against mine.

"Now," he whispered against my lips, "let me show you exactly what you've gotten yourself into."