Virtue and Vice

Chapter Five

A/N: This was pretty fast, I know, but I'm posting this chapter as promised to AriRocks because she was the first to finally comment on this book. I'd really like to know what you think. Where do you stand with Sebastian? Do you like him or do you hate him? 

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I carried the breakfast tray up the stairs, hoping the cheese omelette I’d made wasn’t going anywhere but Sebastian’s stomach.

It was almost ten in the morning and I’d been up for hours already but I decided that Sebastian wasn’t going to appreciate being yanked out of bed early.

I’ve seen off the rest of the staff before setting down to make breakfast and finally brave Sebastian’s room.

I set down the tray on a side table outside of his door before doing a couple of perfunctory knocks.

When there was no answer, I started rapping on it a little more aggressively.

“Go away, damn it!” 

I cringed at the hoarse shout before picking up the tray with one hand and twisting the knob open with another.

I’ve never seen Sebastian’s room before.

It was huge with a sitting room of some sort, a small bar, a writing desk against a shelf of books and cozy dining area by the french doors that opened to his ocean-view balcony.

The walls were a deep blue-gray, the furniture and accents that of rich, gleaming wood, dark, muted colors and luxurious textures.

It was also closed off from sunlight, oppressive and smelled strongly of whisky, probably wafting from the half-empty glass and open bottle sitting by the bar.

I set down the tray on the coffee table by the sitting room and slowly rounded my way to an alcove where I spied the massive four-poster bed.

“Jennison, you better get out of here if you don’t want to your nose broken,” came the hard, angry voice. “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed and there’s no other interpretation for it!”

“Sebastian,” I said quietly, standing by the foot of the bed, staring at the mass of midnight blue silk sheets and the unmistakably naked male form they covered from the waist down.

With swift movement, Sebastian flipped over to his back and sat up, the sheets pooling down by his hips, his bare chest and stomach rippling with muscle.

“Cassandra,” he said slowly and darkly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely company this morning? I thought you’d left.”

I gazed at his face—the harsh lines on his forehead, the scowl that knit his brows, the dark stubble that now covered his chin and jaw, the taut line of his mouth and the angry, accusing glare of his emerald eyes. 

“I never said I was leaving,” I said, trying hard not to fidget in the face of his furious scrutiny. Sleep hasn’t done a darn thing to improve his disposition.

“Well, it’s not like I ever got to ask you considering you were nowhere to be found when I got back last night,” he said acidly, his mirthless smile making him look decidedly sinister.

I refused to tremble. “I didn’t expect your arrival. I haven’t gotten anything from you since last Sunday.”

Instantly, Sebastian’s eyes glimmered with pain, raw and sharp, but it quickly shut itself away in an instant.

“Leave me alone, Cassandra.”

I took a step forward. “Sebastian, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry—”