And she just kept coming back for more.
Fucking woman.
Just like all the rest, wanting to fix me, to help me, to fucking talk to me when all I wanted was silence. I had enough voices screaming in my head. I didn’t need another one carping on from the outside. Her unwanted presence was a source of constant irritation, like a stone in my shoe, one I couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard I tried.
There was one thing different about her, though. She was the first one to ask me what I wanted. Only took her five goddamn weeks. Then again, if the others had stuck around as long as she had, maybe they’d have realized how offensive I found it when people made assumptions they weren’t entitled to make.
I found myself in the living room and I put on some music which usually soothed me when I got in one of my low moods. Not today. My skin itched, not physically like a rash, but deep down, almost as if the poison of guilt roared through my veins.
Why did you get those fucking tickets?
I’d asked myself the same thing a million times. A pointless question, but one I couldn’t stop, no matter how much my therapist told me it wasn’t my fault. I’d ended his visits in the end because nothing he said helped, and I came away from every session feeling more desperate and alone than I had before he’d arrived.
I turned off the music and plodded upstairs to take a quick shower. Antonio would be here soon with his regular—and frankly pointless—performance update. Every few weeks, regular as clockwork, he’d turn up all excited about the latest profit statement. I only humored him because Antonio was a nice guy who didn’t deserve the cold shoulder, but in reality, I didn’t care how ROGUES was performing or what the plans were for the next expansion of the telecoms business, or the hotel chain, or Ryker’s baby Poles Apart, his stupid string of exotic dance clubs.
I gave up caring when Jenna’s heart stopped beating.
As I crossed my bedroom to grab fresh clothes from my closet, I passed by the large picture window that overlooked the backyard. I skidded to a halt, my heart tripping.
Sweet fucking Jesus.
Izabelle sauntered across the patio from the pool house in a sunshine-yellow two-piece that coordinated perfectly with her butterscotch hair tinged with golden highlights. The bikini top pushed her breasts together, giving her a cleavage that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the heterosexual men on the planet would offer a kidney just to have a chance to bury their face in for five goddamn seconds. My gaze traveled south to her flat stomach and flared hips, and her slim, shapely legs that would look fucking perfect wrapped around my neck.
Shit.
Nope.
I tried to tear my gaze away. Really, I did, but damn, every single time, my eyes snapped back to her like they were attached to a piece of elastic. She tested the water with her toe, then dived in. Her strokes were smooth and true, and she cut through the water with ease.
I lost track of how long I stood there with my feet glued to the carpet, watching her swim. When she raised herself out of the water and walked over to a nearby lounger, then lay down, droplets of water glistening in the sun, I couldn’t help it. I unfastened my jeans and shoved my hand inside my boxers. The second I gripped my rock-hard dick, a tortured groan sounded in my throat. I pumped hard and fast, and when she stood and bent over to pick up her towel, giving me the perfect view of her perfect tits, I orgasmed. Thick ropes of semen stained my shirt and coated my stomach, and I didn’t care. I didn’t give a shit because, man, the tension that had been riding me all morning finally fucked off.
I yanked my shirt over my head and wiped my hands on it, then tossed it into the laundry basket and made a mental note to start a laundry load this afternoon. The last thing I needed was for Barbara to find a polo shirt crusted with sperm. She might’ve been with me for years, and prior to Jenna’s passing, she’d probably seen her fair share of shocking sights given the number of women I used to bring back here. Multitudes of them. Not any longer, though. I hadn’t had sex in over a year. Women didn’t interest me any longer.
Until now, a voice whispered.
No!
So I’d masturbated while watching an attractive woman sunbathe. Big fucking deal. It didn’t mean I found her the slightest bit attractive. I didn’t. I’d used her, that’s all. Used her for my own sexual gratification. Same as if I’d bought the latest copy of Penthouse and jizzed all over the centerfold.
A meaningless orgasm. A necessary physical release for a man my age.
I slipped off my jeans and boxers, entered the bathroom, and flicked on the shower. I’d almost cleaned myself off when a sixth sense made me glance over my shoulder. Standing in the doorway, a look of complete horror on her face, stood Izabelle.
Blind rage flushed through me.
What the fuck is she doing here?
I reached for a towel and slung it around my waist, then turned the water off and stormed into my bedroom.
“Get out,” I growled, my voice dangerously low, my scowl enough to scare the toughest of men into retreat, let alone a mere woman. “Get the fuck out of my bedroom, my house, my goddamn life.”
Izabelle held her hands up, palms facing me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy.”
“No,” I bit out. “You shouldn’t have. Now get out.”
She shook her head. “Not when you’re like this. Talk to me, Upton. I can help you if you’ll just let me.”
I picked up the first thing I laid my hands on. A marble lamp sitting on my nightstand. I threw it.
Not at her.
Maybe at her.
It smashed against the wall to her right, sending jagged shards reminiscent of the network of scars all over my body falling to the floor. Izabelle ducked, covering her head.
When she straightened, the hurt expression she wore would have given the hardest of souls pause for thought.
Not me, though.
I grabbed another object, a harmless book this time, and launched it in her direction
She caught it like a basketball pro, her hand snatching it from the air.
“Fuck off, Izabelle!” I hollered, expelling all the frustration that had built up over the past five weeks when my cold, silent approach and occasional barbed comment hadn’t scared her off. It’d worked with the others. Why not her? “Fuck. Off. Leave me alone. Stop trying to save me. I can’t be saved. Just let me be.”
“I can’t do that,” she said gently.
I hung my head, not in shame for my angry outburst, for throwing the lamp and the book. I hung it out of desperation. She had to go. I’d seen the shock on her face from seeing my scars. I didn’t blame her. They were hideous. But now, whenever I looked at her, I’d get an action replay of that expression. I’d suffered through a lot of pity over the last year, but somehow, seeing her face flood with sympathy was worse than all the others added together.
“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. Triple it. I’ll do anything to make you leave.”
She twisted her lips to the side. “Bad luck, handsome. Your friends already anticipated that move. I admit, I expected that offer much sooner. You lasted five weeks. Well done.”
Handsome? Bullshit. Not any longer. Not with my ruined body and hideously scarred face.
“Did they pay you to lie, too?” I asked, my lip curved in a sneer. “There’s nothing handsome about me, angel of mercy. Not on the outside, and certainly not on the inside. Now do yourself a favor and leave before I really hurt you.”
She stared at me for a split second, then spun on her heel and left the room. I sagged in relief. Finally, fucking finally, I’d gotten through to her. I should have lost my shit weeks ago, rather than giving her the silent treatment. If I’d known all I had to do was yell at her and throw things, I could’ve saved myself a whole lot of trouble.
The sound of her footsteps padding downstairs reached me, and I sagged onto my bed, letting my head fall into my hands. If I wanted her to go so badly, and I’d gotten my wish, why did I fee
l as if I’d suffered a huge and important loss?
The creak of the second-to-top stair reached me, and when I looked up, Izabelle reappeared holding a trash bag and a broom.
A fucking broom.
What. The. Ever-loving. Hell?
“What are you doing?” I gritted out, my jaw clenched so tight, I was at risk of grinding my teeth to dust.
“Cleaning up,” she answered as if picking up the shattered remains of a Tiffany lamp was an everyday occurrence. “Unless you want to do it. In fact, you probably should. You caused the mess.”
She thrust the wooden broom handle at me and dropped the trash bag at my feet. I stared at her, unmoving.
“No? Didn’t think so.”
She bent down to pick up the bag. My eyes locked on to the valley beneath her cleavage, and my dick jerked beneath the towel.
I sprang upright and snatched the bag from her hands, tossing it over her shoulder. “Leave the goddamn lamp. Just get out.”
She crossed her arms, a look of fierce determination on her face. “I will. As soon as you apologize.”
I widened my eyes. “What?”
“Apologize. For yelling. For throwing the lamp. For being an all-round grouse. Say you’re sorry and I’ll go.”
A rush of adrenaline fueled my blood, and I acted without thinking. My fingers gripped her chin, and I smashed my mouth on hers, forcing her lips apart with my tongue. Need for her, urgent, desperate, new, swamped me, and I reveled in the loss of control.
Seconds passed, and I realized she hadn’t moved. Like a block of stone, she stood there, arms hanging loosely by her sides, letting me kiss her but refusing to participate, to kiss me back. I released her as fast as I’d come on to her and took several steps back. Heat rushed to my face, and I dropped my gaze.
Knee deep in silence, I eventually tilted up my chin to find her green eyes trained on me. I tried to get a read on her feelings. She greeted me with a blank stare.
“You have a visitor,” she finally said. “I’ll let him know that you’ll be with him in a few minutes.” She turned to walk away, then stopped and came around to face me once more.
“If kissing me was your attempt to force me to leave, Upton, then I’m sorry to disappoint you. But let me make one thing crystal clear. If you touch me again without my permission, you will find yourself slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”
With her back erect, she walked to the door, closing it quietly behind her. No anger. No drama. Just pure class.
Shit.
8
Belle
I made it as far as the library before my legs gave out. I covered my face with my hands as I collapsed into the plush leather sofa. Upton kissed me. He kissed me. The sheer effort it had taken not to wrap my fingers in the tendrils of his damp hair at the nape of his neck and plaster myself to his taut, firm chest sapped every ounce of energy I had. His lips were hard and demanding, and the way his tongue stroked mine…
If I’d believed for one second he’d kissed me because he wanted to, I wouldn’t have held back. But he hadn’t wanted to kiss me at all. I’d pissed him off with my refusal to leave, to obey his barked-out orders, to bend to his will. The kiss had been his final shot at getting me to go, to leave him alone, and if I’d relented and kissed him back, he’d have won the war.
I refused to let him win. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. All he’d achieved by kissing me was to make me even more determined to stick this contract out to the bitter end.
My fingers hovered over my lips, and I touched them and let my eyes fall shut. More than a year had passed since I’d felt a man’s lips on my own. I’d loved Marin, heart and soul, but he’d never kissed me in rage, and I hadn’t expected to find it such a turn-on. Marin always treated me like a china doll, one he must revere and take care of. He always put my needs first, never his own, and not once in the six years we were together had he ever raised his voice in anger.
Upton’s ferocious kiss and the way he’d entered my mouth using brute force, taking no prisoners and asking for no apologies, had aroused feelings in me I’d never experienced. If he could make me this wet with one kiss, then what could he do if I allowed him to go further?
Wait. What are you talking about?
Why would I want to allow Upton Barrick to touch me again? My heart broke when I buried Marin, smashed to smithereens. Unfixable. I wanted to help Upton, not screw him. I still hoped that fixing him might just be the catalyst to help me move on with my own life. A sort of retribution, of paying a debt that could never be fully settled, but if I could help Upton get past all this, I might at least make some inroads into making peace with myself.
Deciding that I’d pulled myself together enough to show my face in public, I went to tell Antonio that Upton would be along shortly. As I exited the library, I shot a quick glance up the stairs in case Upton was a fast dresser and already on his way down. Fortunately for me, he wasn’t.
After speaking with Antonio, I headed for the kitchen, but when I found it empty, I grabbed my bag and wandered outside and took a seat in the shade. Might as well read for a little while. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do.
My grumbling stomach sent me inside shortly after, and this time, Barbara was there, standing over the stove stirring a pot of something that smelled divine. I peered over her shoulder and sniffed.
“You’re a culinary marvel,” I said. “What is it?”
“Prawn jambalaya.” She held up a spoon, her hand underneath to catch any drips, and held it toward me. “Here, taste.”
I blew on the food, then closed my mouth around the spoon. “Oh, that’s yummy.”
“I made enough for you to take home. I’m sure your mama would appreciate a night off.”
I hugged her. “Thank you, Barbara. I’m sure she would.”
“Stealing my food again, Miss Laker,” a gravelly voice behind me said.
My gaze went to the entranceway to find Upton standing there with his arms folded across his chest, his shoulder propped against the doorjamb. I searched his face to read his mood, but his expression gave nothing away.
“Barbara, can you see Antonio out, please? He’s in my study packing up his things.”
“I can do it,” I offered. Anything to escape Upton’s blank stare.
“No. You stay exactly where you are, Miss Laker.”
Barbara shot me one of her ‘Oh no. What’s wrong now?’ looks, then scuttled off.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Upton strolled into the kitchen. He bent over the stove and smelled the jambalaya. “She’s a great cook.”
“I agree,” I said. “I didn’t ask her for the food. She offered. But if it offends you that much, I’ll decline.”
He turned around and leaned back, crossing one foot over the other at the ankle. “I’m sorry.”
My eyebrows shot north, and my mouth popped open by at least an inch. “For what?” I eventually asked.
He raked his fingers through his hair, and I guessed it must still be damp from the shower when it stuck up at all angles. He’d never looked more stunning with his amber-gold eyes and five o’clock shadow, and the square jaw that often locked with irritation whenever I was in the vicinity.
Jesus, Belle. Quit it, okay.
“I shouldn’t have thrown the lamp, and I shouldn’t have kissed you. It won’t happen again.”
My gut lurched. Why did that promise never to touch me again make me feel as if I’d lost something when it wasn’t mine in the first place?
“You were mad.”
He nodded. “I still am.”
“At me?”
He breathed out heavily, and his eyes filled with despair. “At the world.”
Almost as if there was an invisible tether between us, and Upton tugged on it, I advanced toward him, my feet moving without my approval. I had to tip my head back to look up at him, despite his slouched position against the counter. “I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but I do understand. I’m
not the enemy, Upton, whatever you might think. If you ever change your mind and decide you might like a friend to offload on…” I did a pretend curtsey. “I’m your girl.”
His lips twitched at the corners, the first sign I’d seen that I might have a chance of reaching him. He pushed himself upright, and I held my breath, wondering what his next move might be.
If I’m not interested, why is my heart racing and why are my fingers itching to run through his hair?
“Take all the food you like. Barbara always cooks too much anyway.”
He brushed past me and left.
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear and, finally, the soaring temperatures had fallen to more manageable levels. I rolled over in bed, stretched, then got up. I looked forward to every weekend—not least because it gave me respite from Upton. After our mini breakthrough in the kitchen, I’d thought he was thawing, at least a little. Instead, these past few days, he’d retreated back into his shell, although when he did emerge and our paths crossed, his comments weren’t quite as cutting.
This weekend, however, was more special than normal. A friend of mine ran an animal rescue shelter, and occasionally she asked me to help out when holiday season hit or staff were off sick. She’d called me on Thursday to ask if I had time to go down this weekend and walk some of the dogs for her. I’d jumped at the chance of doing something worthwhile and hopefully take my mind off Upton. These days, I thought about him a lot.
Too much.
Especially the kiss.
And that chest, and those abs. And his broad, muscular shoulders leading to defined deltoids and arms strong enough to protect any woman.
Guilt roared through me. I had no business thinking about another man. I still loved Marin. I’d always love Marin, and somehow, it felt as if I was betraying him by fantasizing about Upton.
I shook my head of unwelcome thoughts, showered and dressed in record time and, pinching a slice of Zak’s toast—much to his chagrin—I set off for the bus stop.
Enchanted: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 4) Page 5