“I was to return to the ballroom,” she said.
“And then?” I coaxed.
“I was supposed to host the guests and their wives and make a good impression.”
“Correct.” I gestured for my father to continue. “She knows her part.”
My father gave a nod. “Should you disobey us in any way, Pandora, I’m afraid you’ll leave me no choice but to choose a different candidate.” He gave Brenan a knowing look.
Pandora drew in a deep breath, trying to hide her panic. She didn’t look her father’s way…she didn’t need to. Brenan’s anger radiated toward her like a brewing storm, the air heavy with his disappointment.
My father studied her carefully. “You never leave an event without your fiancé by your side. Appearances are everything. If you have a grievance, you discuss it later with him in private. Understand?”
Beads of sweat spotted her brow. “I won’t disappoint you again, sir.”
“You are Damien’s property, Pandora.” He shrugged with the ease of a man who expected as much from his own wife. “You do as he says.”
“She understands,” I said quietly.
Dad gave a nod of approval. “Let’s go spread some rumors, Brenan. Let them know you’re my first choice for Foreign Secretary.”
Brenan gave a sigh of relief. His political career was still on track…for now.
I stepped forward and shook Brenan’s hand. “Congratulations, Mr. Bardot. You must be thrilled.”
“I’m overjoyed with this opportunity to serve your father,” he said. “And the country.”
My father approached me. “Damien, correct her behavior whenever necessary. She’ll eventually learn the complexities of politics. Make me proud.”
His approval meant so much. I’d always admired him for what he’d achieved, but what he stood to accomplish was remarkable. My father was a historical figure in the making.
I felt a fevered rush of anticipation at the thought of flying Pandora off to Seascape later, my body responding to the idea of us finally having the privacy we needed. I was like an addict craving his forbidden fix.
Finally, she’d become more to me.
If I could just learn to tolerate her cultivated snobbery.
Brenan followed my father out of the room without even acknowledging his daughter’s discomfort or throwing her a look of reassurance. Her own mother would be harsher, a fact that almost made me feel sorry for the brat.
What had set her family apart from the other contenders for a place in my father’s kingdom was her.
A female icon in the making.
If she ever realized the power she had over us all, she’d be dangerous.
The Sikorsky helicopter set down on the helipad.
From the air, I’d admired the impressive house perched on a cliff above the ocean—the place we’d be staying for the entire weekend. We were in the middle of nowhere, and I was glad I no longer had to mingle with a room full of strangers obsessed with politics.
Before opening the aircraft’s door, Damien shrugged out of his black jacket and placed it over my shoulders, his heady masculine cologne wafting just enough to remind me why I’d fallen for him. His chivalry gave me hope for the rest of the evening. Maybe here, away from the stresses of Washington, he’d relax.
He helped me climb down from the helicopter and once we’d escaped the heated blast of air from the chopper blades, Damien accepted the two suitcases—one of them I recognized as mine—pulled out of the side panel by the pilot. My mom must have directed a member of our staff to pack mine.
With a nod of thanks, Damien strolled confidently toward the cliff-top home carrying the suitcases, all alpha swagger and boldness. From behind me I heard the sound of blades cutting through the air as the helicopter ascended back over the water.
Into Satan’s home it is, then.
He left the suitcases in the foyer. I followed him farther into the home, trying to become acclimated to my new surroundings.
Damien turned as though sensing my gaze on his back. He gave me a devilish grin in response to my wariness. Or maybe he was glad to show me his secret hideaway.
We stepped into the open plan sitting room and I admired the spectacular view of the endless ocean. I wondered if we could walk along the beach in the morning. The expanse offered one the optical illusion of a house floating on water, the sky a blanket of dusky clouds shading the horizon.
I knew what would soon be expected of me, but I still couldn’t get there in my head.
I tore my eyes from the mesmerizing view and went off to find Damien, noticing the home’s artwork was all modern, and none of it appealing. If the art reflected the owner’s personality, Damien had serious issues, though I’d already sensed this.
He was busy in the kitchen. I watched as he pulled a bottle of chilled champagne out of the chrome fridge and then searched the cupboards, finding two flutes. He placed the glasses on the marble central island.
“I’m not allowed,” I said.
He uncorked the bottle and it popped and fizzed as he poured the bubbling liquid into the two glasses. “No one will know.”
Secretly, I couldn’t wait to drink the champagne. I licked my lips with anticipation.
I admired the oak fitted cabinetry and marble island. This was the kind of spacious setting a family would feel comfortable hanging out in. If my infatuation with Damien hadn’t faded, I imagine being here would have brought me some contentment.
Damien handed me the glass.
I brought the crystal flute to my lips and took a few sips to garner more confidence, the fizzing bubbles tickling my nose.
A chime went off.
Damien fished around in his pocket and withdrew his Smartphone, his expression turning to one of surprise when he glanced at the screen.
Moving closer, I asked, “What is it?”
He turned the screen of his phone toward me, showing me an article on the New York Times website:
WASHINGTON QUAKES WITH THE ANNOUNCMENT OF
TWO DYNASTIES MELDING
Presidential candidate Senator Gregor Godman’s Son, Damien G. Godman, to wed Pandora Aria Bardot, daughter of Brenan Bardot of Bardot Petroleum.
Damien tucked his phone away.
That was it.
My future was set. Extracting myself from this betrothal now written in stone—or the newsy equivalent—would be impossible.
“Weren’t we going to wait?” I shot Damien a look of confusion. “Who sent you that?”
“Welcome to my fucking world.” He reached into his pocket and threw a shiny object onto the countertop. I watched as it bounced across the marble toward me, settling near the edge. The ring glinted in the moonlight—a vivid green emerald surrounded by a cluster of diamonds.
It was beautiful, but…
He’d not opened a velvet box to reveal it. Or gotten on one knee to officially propose. There’d been no confession of love…just a gaudy gesture of contempt thrown my way. I counted the cluster of diamonds surrounding the stone to take my mind off its meaning—a stamp of ownership.
Maybe he’d say something soon. Maybe he’d share his feelings for me. With my breath held, I waited for Damien to say that despite all of his questionable prior behavior toward me, he did love me.
But Damien merely pulled open a drawer and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He peeled back the wrapper and tapped one out, then went on another hunt and fished a lighter out of a small ceramic bowl on the counter. With a flick and a spark, he used it to light up his cigarette.
He took a long drag and blew out a spiral of smoke that snaked toward the ceiling. He flicked an ash into the ceramic bowl.
Acrid smoke reached my nostrils. “Is that ring for me? Or are you leaving it as a tip for the housekeeper?”
“Try it on.” He reached for his bowtie and worked it loose until it dangled from his neck.
I set my champagne glass down, my lips quivering with a bitterness that was impossible to hide. I wished i
t was a sapphire. Petty thought, I admit, but I’d wanted to be there when he chose the ring.
“I’m never going to get down on one knee and propose.” He flicked ash from the end of his cigarette into the ceramic bowl. “If that’s what you’re expecting.”
I reached for the emerald and slipped it onto my left ring finger, as though I were perfectly willingly to be bound to him. It fit too well, like it might stay there. It was pretty. Striking, really, but this wasn’t the way I’d imagined this moment.
He read my reaction. “I’m a victim just as much as you.”
“Victim?”
“People like us don’t get to decide. We’re told who our match will be, that the world will be a better place for it.”
“But I thought—”
“You thought I wanted to dance with you at your Debutante Ball?”
Six months ago, he’d made me believe that it was his choice when he took my hand and led me onto the dance floor, slow dancing with me in his arms all night. Gliding me around the floor as though he was a prince who’d come to rescue me from my monotonous existence.
“You’re not my type, Pandora.”
His words hit me like a bullet to the chest. My heart shattered into a thousand pieces. “Why would you say that?”
“We should at least be honest with each other, right?” He took another long drag.
“What’s your type, then?”
“Certainly not a spoiled little brat of a girl.”
“I’m a woman.”
“You’re twenty.”
“And I’m not spoiled.”
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe we’ll grow to like each other.”
“I thought you already did—like me, I mean.”
He snubbed out his cigarette in the ceramic bowl.
“They’re making you marry me?” I asked softly.
He stared at me like I’d just asked a stupid question.
I held my breath for a beat. “Maybe you should forget about me and find a woman that’s your type.”
“That door’s closed.”
“I’m still holding out for my one true love.” It was cruel, but he’d been crueler.
The air chilled and the weight of his accusatory stare squeezed my heart.
“Maybe my father can help us, Damien. Help us break apart. Release a statement that lands well.”
“Your father has an agenda.” His expression softened. “This is how it’s done.”
“They want to see me happy—”
“Yet you’re standing in my fucking kitchen.”
I let out a long sigh. “What if I refuse to marry you?”
“Have you any idea how many people’s lives will be affected if you disobey?”
“My mother—”
“I’m not talking about your family. I’m talking about years of decisions that all led to this moment—” He gestured to me and then himself. “We’re standing here with our future set.”
I shrugged off his jacket and threw it over a barstool. “How about you call that helicopter back so I can leave?”
“And now you bore me.” He slid another cigarette out of the packet.
“You should know I can’t stand smoking.”
He tilted his head with an arrogance I was accustomed to and then lit the end of his cigarette, blowing out another stream of smoke. “Why did you run out on me at the party, Miss Bardot?” he asked, making my last name sound like a curse.
“Your mother doesn’t like me.”
“That’s not what I asked.” He rounded the counter to get closer.
Raising my head high, I stayed silent.
“Okay, then.” Damien towered over me. “What did she say? She’s entertaining when in full bitch-mode.”
“Maybe it was the champagne that made her say those things.”
“What things?”
“Your mother hinted you might take a lover. Is it true?”
The tip of his tongue moistened his upper lip. “When did she say that?”
“Tonight.”
She, too, could be a spinner of words that cut to the bone.
“You insulted her by walking out on us. I imagine she was waiting for an apology.”
“She’s had a long wait.”
He buried his tongue in his cheek, finding my anger amusing.
“Your mother upset me,” I said. “The thought of us not having a proper marriage was too much. I went out to get some air.”
“In my BMW?”
“I needed to sit somewhere quiet to think.”
He reached around and cupped my ass, dragging my body against his. “I adore your feistiness. You know that, right?”
“The way you treat me…”
“Think you can change me?”
The sensual pressure from his fingers and the bulge in his pants that rubbed against my belly sent an erotic shiver through me.
“The rumors about you are true, then?” I asked, sounding breathless.
“Keep going. I feed off your hate, Pandora.”
Actually, the rumors of him had been favorable. He was the bachelor to bag, apparently. I wasn’t going to tell him that and bolster his already inflated ego.
My lips pressed together, defiantly refusing a kiss.
His eyes lit up. “Seeing you like this arouses me.”
I turned my head, refusing to look at him. “I don’t like it here.”
“Want to go back to my father’s place?”
“When hell freezes over, maybe.”
He pulled away from me, his cigarette dangling from his mouth as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing muscled forearms that flexed. Moving to the sink, he washed his hands with his back to me.
I let my admiring gaze roam over his form. I could see the hint of a muscled back underneath his pristine white shirt and a tight ass beneath his pants. Closing my eyes, I imagined what it would be like to walk up and press myself against him, pretending we liked each other. Then again, his touch felt like sin; tainting the only good that was left in me.
He brought out several packets of crackers and chips and set them on the counter, then withdrew a cheeseboard from the fridge and set the dish beside them.
“You haven’t eaten anything tonight,” he said. “This will make you feel better.”
“I thought you didn’t care about me.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Let’s agree to be polite.”
“I am hungry,” I admitted.
Damien beckoned me closer as he buttered a few crackers and then placed brie on top of them. A minute later, he slid the plate my way. It was the kindest thing he’d done for me in quite a long while.
I tentatively lifted a cracker and took a bite, tasting the tanginess of the cheese and savoring the crispness of the cracker.
“I’m more of a cheddar man myself.”
“I hate cheddar,” I lied.
He speared a slice of cheddar off the board and brought the knife to his mouth with the cheese impaled on the end, his tongue tasting it before devouring the delicacy. “That finishing school of yours would throw a fit at half the things I do.”
I finished chewing. “More than half, probably.”
“You don’t ever want to break the rules?”
“Why would I?”
“You’d probably enjoy rebelling.”
“I tried to escape tonight. That was rebelling.”
“Ah-ha!” He sounded triumphant at my confession.
“I wasn’t brought up that way.” Nor was I taught to eat off a knife like some kind of caveman.
“You have to feel some sense of rebellion to truly enjoy sex.” He set the knife down. “Or you’ll never be able to come.”
I blushed wildly. “If you’ve quite finished schooling me, I’m going to have a look around.”
He raised his champagne glass. “Enjoy.”
Asshole.
I turned back to face him before leaving the kitchen. “Want to know the whole truth?”
“
Oh, good, schoolgirl games. As if I’m not being tortured enough.”
My jaw clenched. “Your mother told me you already have a lover put up in an expensive high-rise.”
“The fuck I do.”
Relief washed over me that he’d denied it. “That’s why I tried to leave.”
“I share a place with Theo Tamer in the city. No one lives there permanently. We had a mutual friend stay there because she was moving into a new place. That was months ago.”
“Did you date her?”
He studied me for a long time. “Ten years ago, yes.”
“Was her name Madeline Rhodes?”
“You’ve discovered Google, bravo.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“I was twenty-two.”
That didn’t answer my question. “Are you seeing anyone now?”
“You mean other than you?” He dragged his palms over his face in frustration.
Bastard.
He could have answered no.
Pivoting, I hurried out of the kitchen, my heart freezing over because he didn’t care about me. Not really.
I could find another lover and cheat—if this was going to be an open marriage. Or I could just give up on finding love altogether. Give up on the chance of happiness.
Climbing the carpeted staircase to the top floor, I began searching for a landline.
I’d call my parents and beg them to extract me from this place. The Godmans weren’t the only ones with a fleet of helicopters.
What looked like the master bedroom was lavishly decorated. Gray and white bed linen covered a king-size bed. Window drapes hung from the ceiling and kissed the floor, giving this room a warmer feeling than those downstairs. More modern artwork hung on the walls. It was impossible to make out what the artist was trying to achieve.
Godman’s eldest son had a favorite artist or maybe this had been picked out by his designer. She probably hated him, too, and this was the only way she could secretly show it—by framing pretentious art that reflected his personality; dead-hearted imagery.
In the bathroom en suite, there were no prescriptions in the cabinet. No heart tablets hinting of a health issue to give me hope. Unfortunately, he looked like he was in prime shape.
I stepped back into the master bedroom with its oceanfront vista, a moving painting that went on forever. I’d get to wake up to this.
Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Page 3