The Bad Guy

by Celia Aaron

  I fired off the text, quite pleased with myself for including the rare plant reference. Continuing through her messages, I kept up the ruse.

  Veronica Singer: Any hot guys on the expedition? I miss you. If there’s a hot one, bring him home with you. And where are my pics? You promised pics of exotic shit. Pay up.

  Camille Briarlane: I dropped my phone and cracked the lens, so I can’t take any pics. Everything here is great. I miss you too.

  Link Stewart: I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I can’t wait for you to get back. You’ve only been gone a few days, but it feels longer. Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit, but without you, I’m not feeling it. Send me some pics when you can. I’d appreciate something a little more risqué than plants, though. I love you.

  Camille Briarlane: I don’t sext. We’ve set up a Christmas tree in the main tent here. Very festive. I’m really feeling the Christmas spirit. In fact, this may be the best Christmas ever. The expedition is going deep into the forest over the next week, so communication will be spotty.

  A smile crept across my face as I fired off that little missive to Link the prick.

  “Why are you smiling like you just drowned a kitten?” Camille sipped her coffee as Rita bustled around us with plates.

  I shrugged as Rita set a glass of orange juice in front of me. “That creeper sloth meme gets me every time.”

  She arched a brow. “Sure.” She muttered something like a curse under her breath, then spoke up, “Are you going to work tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” I fucking hated it. The thought of leaving her was like a burr under my skin.

  “I’m going to stay here?”

  “Yes.” I took a vicious bite of bacon as I imagined her here without me.

  “That’s a relief.” She settled into her chair and gave me a sassy smile. “A whole week without you sounds great.”

  “Oh, darling Camille.” I returned her smile. “I’m taking the helicopter to and from the city all week. I’ll be home in time for dinner. And certainly in plenty of time for bed.”

  Her smile faltered as Rita placed a plate of apple streusel pancakes in front of her. “Maybe you could take me to the city with you.” Her hopeful tone played like sweet notes in my ears.

  I drained my coffee. “No.”

  Her eyes fell, and she retreated inside herself.

  The heartburn kicked up a notch, but I pushed past it. “Eat up. I have something else to show you today.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She pushed her plate away.

  “Don’t be that way. Rita made those pancakes special for you.”

  She canted her head to the side and stared at the plate. Realization bloomed across her face. “These look just like Friar’s pancakes.”

  “Your favorite.” I pushed the plate closer to her. “Give them a taste.”

  “You can’t buy me off with my favorite foods.”

  “I don’t intend to. I just want to make you happy.”

  Her brow crinkled as if my words were distasteful to her. Yes, I understood that letting her go would make her the happiest at that moment. But what she didn’t understand yet was that I was the only one who could make her happy for the rest of her life. Why was that so hard for her to see?

  “At least try them. For Rita.” I shot a look toward the door to the kitchen.

  “You can’t keep using Rita against me.” Despite her words, she picked up her fork and ate a bite. Her eyes closed as she chewed. “These are so good.”

  Rita pushed back into the room, a fresh carafe of coffee in her hand. “Everything all right?”

  “Perfect.” Camille took another bite. “Thank you.”

  “I’m so glad you like them.” She poured fresh coffee. “The recipe called for Granny Smith apples, but I used the sweeter Ambrosia variety. I hope that didn’t throw it off.”

  “They’re better than Friar’s.” Camille said and wiped her mouth with her napkin in her singularly adorable way.

  Rita beamed. “I’m glad.”

  After Camille ate almost all her pancakes and finished another cup of coffee under Rita’s watchful eye, she declared herself full and thanked Rita again. She turned to me. “What did you want to show me? The well where you keep the lotion?”

  “Your knowledge of movies starring psychopaths says more about you than me.” I reached out to brush a crumb from her chin, but she smacked my hand away and did it herself. “Just show me already.”

  “As you wish.” I stood and offered to help her up.

  “I got it.” She rose and tested her ankle.

  When she winced, I stepped closer. “I’ll carry you.”

  “No. I’m fine. I need to use it for it to feel better.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

  She gave me a strange look. One I couldn’t quite place. Confusion, perhaps, given the vein in her right temple pulsed a bit more quickly than usual. “I’m fine.”

  “Can I at least help you—”

  “No. Just lead on. I’ll follow.” She gestured toward the hallway.

  “All right.” I sauntered ahead of her, walking slowly so she wouldn’t struggle to keep up. I wished she would have just let me carry her. If she hurt, I wanted it to be from my hands—the sort of hurt she’d enjoy. She wouldn’t admit it, but I could feel the heat in her touch, the warmth in her gaze. I recognized a piece of myself inside her, and thankfully, it was a piece with darkened edges.

  We passed Timothy coming from the back hall.

  “We good?” I asked.

  “Everything’s ready.” He nodded and flattened his back to the wall as we passed.

  “What’s ready?” Camille shuffled along next to me.

  “You’ll see.” My palms turned clammy and began to sweat as we turned down the corridor that ran along the back of the house. What if she didn’t like what I had in store?

  I pushed through the music room that ran under the opposite wing of the house and stopped. “This next thing is…” I coughed. “It’s my best approximation of what you would want. Don’t expect excellence right away. But with your guidance on what you’d prefer, I will make it perfect for you.”

  A soft look passed across her eyes again before her jaw tightened and she shook her head. “Just show me already.”

  “All right.” I took a deep breath and pushed the heavy mahogany door open.

  She stepped inside and gasped.

  19

  Camille

  Glass reflected high overhead, the panes joining in a peaked roof two stories above us. Clear walls rose to create a cathedral of sunlight and blue sky above. Four long rows of tables sat on a floor covered in small river rocks. Each table was equipped with misters and fans at intervals, and almost every inch of space was taken up by some bit of life—greenery, flowers, fruits, and vegetables. Fertile earth, the scent that made my blood sing in my veins, met my nose as I walked forward.

  The sun streamed in from the right, but the air inside remained cool. Large vents ran along the back of the greenhouse, and huge fans hung along the four corners of the massive structure. My mouth dropped open as I took it all in.

  “Like I said, it’s not perfect, but they just finished construction yesterday, and it was a rush job.” He walked past me. “These are some samples from your classroom. And I had these taken from your section of Trenton’s greenhouse.” He pointed to a line of pots with various green shoots sprouting through the dark soil. “The ones along the outer wall are all special varieties that I had flown in from the Amazon. The heaters”—he pointed to smaller fans along the back of the row—“keep the temperature optimal for them, or so I’m told. Also, they have a misting timer that functions more often than the others.”

  I hadn’t moved, could only stare at the walls of glass and the long rows of plants.

  “The entire place is customizable any way you’d like. My groundskeeper, Gerry, will be at your disposal. Anything you need, he’ll get it.”

 
I walked down the long row of plants, right down the center of the greenhouse. The smooth rocks settled under my feet with each step, and I trailed my fingers along the waxy tropical leaves, then the softer stems of the young vegetables. The mister next to me kicked on, spraying a long row of young tomato plants with a fine sheen of water. Rainbows fanned into view as the sunlight had its way with the moisture. I’d never seen a more beautiful greenhouse.

  “I know it’s not what you’re used to…”

  If I were honest, it was far better than the dinky greenhouse at Trenton that I’d been trying for years to revamp. Funding had never come through, despite my repeated requests to the headmistress and our board. My mind vibrated with the possibilities laid out before me, the experiments I could perform, the sheer variety of the materials arranged on the tables. Some of the plants in the room were nearly priceless, harder to get than precious jewels.

  I turned and peered up at him, his emerald eyes highlighted by the greenery surrounding us. “You did all this for me?”

  “Yes.” His gaze didn’t leave mine. “I’d do anything for you. Except let you go.”

  “This is insane.” I was falling, yet standing still. He made me feel things I didn’t want, awakened my senses even as I shied away from him.

  “No.” He moved closer, heat coming off him in waves. With the scratches I’d put along his face and neck the previous day, he was more wild animal than man. “This is exactly as it should be.”

  I swallowed hard and took a step back. He followed, looming over me with those strange, intense eyes that seemed to miss no detail.

  “When did you start building this?” I feared his answer, though I already knew it. Something like this would take time and forethought.

  “I called my designer for a builder recommendation the night of the gala.”

  I flattened my palm on the table to my right. “You planned all this starting that night?”

  “Yes.” He shrugged. “I knew it was you. I saw you.” He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. “And you saw me too.”

  Pulling my hand away, I shook my head. “We had one dance. One dance.”

  “That was all I needed.”

  My ire rose as I tore my gaze from him to stare at the rows of flowers. “It wasn’t all I needed.”

  “In time—”

  “Time?” I stepped back. “Time to accept that I’m a prisoner and what, fall in love with you?”

  “Love?” He followed me again, refusing to give me any distance. “I don’t know what that means.” His eyes darted to my lips, and a hungry glint flashed in his eyes. “I just know you’re mine.”

  Something sparked in my chest, an echo of his madness finding a match inside me and striking it. I glanced to his mouth and, for just a moment, pondered how well he’d kissed me in the library. How amazing his hands had felt on me. Disgust roared to life in my heart, though I didn’t know if it was for him or me.

  I took a deep breath and pushed my disturbing reaction down, burying it deep and hoping it wouldn’t sprout and grow when I turned my back. “I’m not yours.”

  “You are. You always have been.”

  “Stop saying that!” I swiped my hand along the table in an arc, sending pots and plants cascaded to the floor where they shattered among the rounded stones.

  “You’re mine.” He advanced and grabbed my upper arms, his palms sending a jolt through my system. Bending down to me, he hovered at my mouth. “I’ll say it as many times as I need to.”

  I shuddered, but not with revulsion. What was he doing to me?

  He smirked. “It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it, but you want this. Us. You know it’s true.” Pushing me back, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me close, his hard body bending my soft one to his will.

  I clawed his arms. “Get off me.”

  “No.” He still hovered right above my mouth.

  I leaned up and bit his bottom lip hard, but when I drew blood, he moaned and crushed his mouth to mine. Copper teased along my tongue as he kissed me with a rough intensity I’d never experienced. My nails dug harder into his arms, but I was trapped in his embrace.

  His tongue pushed between my lips, slid along my teeth and pressed entry deeper inside. Opening my mouth to protest was a mistake, because he pushed his tongue against mine. A groan rumbled from his chest as he devoured me, every stroke of his tongue like a delicious poison from an exotic bloom. My eyes fluttered closed. This kiss was even more insistent than the first, like a tidal wave bowling me over despite my attempts to stand tall.

  He ground his hips against mine, his erection hard and thick between us. Our tongues warred as his grip tightened on my hair, and he bent me back even farther, leaving me completely at his mercy. It was so wrong, but I couldn’t deny the heady buzz that shot through my body like electricity through a power grid. He lit me up—his mouth, his hands, his taste.

  But I was his prisoner. What are you doing? I stiffened and fought to turn away from him.

  He kept me facing him, but backed up far enough to peer into my eyes. “Where’d you go?”

  I tried to shove him off. “I went crazy right along with you for a minute there, but I’m back now, so get off me.”

  Frustration furrowed a crease between his eyes, but he leaned back and released me. “You were there. We both were.”

  “No.” I brushed the dirt off my ass and stared at the mess I’d made.

  He let out a frustrated sigh and cocked his head. “When you make that face, I can’t tell what the appropriate response is.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “What?”

  “Most of the time, you’re so expressive.” He reached out to touch my face, but I backed up a step, the dirt squishing between my toes. He frowned even more. “But when you’re like this, I can’t tell what’s going on in your head or what my reaction should be.”

  “What are you talking about? Is that what your robot brain tells you to do?”

  “No, not as simple as that. It’s just that people like me—”

  I let out a harsh laugh. “I’m pretty certain there is no one like you.”

  “See, that’s easier. You’re angry.” He backed up a step. “I should give you space.”

  “I was angry a minute ago, and you didn’t give me space.” I couldn’t contain my confusion. It was as if he were speaking in a programming language, but it didn’t quite match up to his actions.

  “I know.” He scrubbed a hand down the light shadow on his jaw. “But you’re different.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Now he was the frustrated one. “I can’t explain other than I just know.”

  “You know what, exactly?” I tried to keep my tone even. Maybe if I could figure out what drove him, I could short circuit his programming. “That I was destined to be your prisoner?”

  He shrugged. “Not in so many words.”

  “Then what?” My insides twisted as I said my next thought out loud. “Love? You think you’re in love with me?”

  “I told you I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You’ve never loved anyone?”

  “Love is an emotion.”

  “That isn’t an answer.”

  “I don’t have emotions, not like that.”

  “What does that even mean?” My head swam.

  “It means that you are right where you need to be.”

  Fury boiled up inside me, and I shoved him as hard as I could. “You don’t get to decide what I need!”

  He barely moved. “Definitely anger. I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out.

  20

  Sebastian

  “Is there something you’d like to ask me?” I flipped through a proposal on my tablet for 300 acres of timber along the edge of the Yakama Indian Reservation in Washington State. Camille had been sitting on our bed, staring at me, and chewing on her thumb nail for almost three minutes straight.

  “Yes.” She hugge
d her knees to her chest and wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wanted to tell her it was all right that she was angry, wanted to hold her in my arms while she talked to me about nothing and everything. But her withdrawn air told me I’d best keep my distance.

  “Ask away.” I wrote a notation on the map, pointing out where we could illegally cut timber on the reservation without garnering notice.

  “Why did you build the greenhouse if you’re going to keep me in this room all day?”

  “The greenhouse is a reward.” I made another notation.

  “For what?”

  “Good behavior.”

  She scowled. “Are you going to use it against me in some sort of deal?”

  “No. I just want you to be you. You don’t have to act in any way to please me, because when you’re being yourself, you already do. I don’t need a deal for that. But I’m sure there will be plenty more of those.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t be so shortsighted.” I dropped the tablet in my lap and stared at her. “My world runs on deals. I make an agreement to get what I want. You do the same. You wanted your books, so you made a deal for them.”

  “Can we make another deal?”

  My heart jumped at the prospect, but I kept my game face on. “What for?”

  She leaned forward, her eagerness whetting my appetite for her even more. “If you let me go—”

  “No deal.” I returned my attention to the tablet.

  She fisted her small hands. Delightful. Though I was curious what she’d trade for that, it was out of the question. We were forever.

  “What does good behavior entail?” She spat the words as if they were bitter.

  “You follow my rules. Don’t try to escape. It’s quite simple. Once you’ve accepted that this is your life, a whole new world of opportunities will open up to you. The greenhouse, visits to the city, travel, anything you’ve ever dreamed of. I’ll give you everything. I want to give you everything. But I can’t do that till I trust you.”

  “No sex?”