by Zoe Blake
“Don’t be long.”
She nodded and left our table. I watched as she approached a server, presumably to ask directions to the loo. Just as the server was pointing in the wrong direction, a board member from one of my many companies blocked my view.
“Richard! So nice to see you, old chap. You disappeared off the planet a few months ago. Where have you been?”
Rising to shake his hand, I looked over his shoulder. Elizabeth was not in the dining room. Assuming they had given her the proper way, I turned my attention to the blowhard who was trying to curry my favor.
After several minutes of him droning on about an upcoming board vote that would not go his way, primarily because I had decreed it wouldn’t, I realized Elizabeth hadn’t returned.
Giving no apology, I turned my back on my companion and went in search of her.
After checking the ladies’ room, I finally found the server she had spoken to several minutes earlier.
Grabbing the smaller man by the shoulders, I demanded to know what they had said.
The man stammered, “I’m… I’m… so-sorry, sir. She didn’t ask about the ladies’ loo.”
“What did she ask?”
“She asked for the nearest back exit out of the restaurant,” he stammered as he raised an arm to point in the direction he had sent Elizabeth.
Tossing the server aside, I dashed across the dining room. Pushing the levers of a pair of partially hidden double doors in the absolute back of the restaurant, I saw they opened onto a deserted hallway.
She was gone.
Chapter 10
Lizzie
I couldn’t breathe.
The mirrored walls of the lift wobbled and swirled like distorted fun house walls as the lift careened toward the ground level. Clutching at my stomach, I tried to quell the rising hysteria that threatened to boil over.
Gripping the handrails, all I could hear was the blood pouring in my ears as I waited for the doors to open, certain I would see a furious Richard on the other side.
The lift stopped. The pause nearly drove me mad. Finally, the enormous metal doors slid open and I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding. All that was waiting for me on the other side was a small group of tourists.
Shifting my shoulders, I squeezed past them as they excitedly clambered into the elevator. Hitching up my dress, I was careful not to slip as I ran in heels across the slick, polished floor of the lobby. Pushing through the heavy glass door, I felt a rush of frigid, bracing air hit my heated cheeks.
Casting a fearful glance over my shoulder, I didn’t wait for the doorman to assist me. Running toward the street with my arm held high, I screamed for a taxi. The familiar round headlights of a black cab sprang to life as the car pulled forward.
“St. Pancras Station,” I demanded as I crouched low in the back seat, afraid to look at the entrance to The Shard in case I saw Richard chasing after me.
Clutching at my stomach again, I rocked back and forth.
“OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod.”
What the hell have I done?
Maybe it wasn’t too late? I could tell the cabdriver to turn around and take me back. I hadn’t been gone that long yet. I could tell Richard I had gotten lost trying to find the restroom. He would understand. Sure, because he had shown himself to be such an understanding man when it came to me.
“Are you all right, miss?” asked the driver as he peered into the windshield mirror to stare at me in the back.
No!
“Yes, thank you.”
Streetlights illuminated the massive brick Victorian structure as soon as it came into view. Tossing the driver his money, I ran into the station.
The ticket agent gave me several odd looks while processing my order. Can’t say I blamed him. He probably didn’t get many women dressed in full-length evening gowns demanding passage on the last train heading to Paris. There was also the matter of my not having a passport.
I hadn’t really planned this well at all.
Fortunately, a few hundred-pound notes slipped across the counter were sufficient for him to look the other way. I’d worry about the Paris side of the trip later.
Before heading one level down to catch my Eurostar train, I stopped by the shopping arcade and bought a cheap black scarf from one of the tourist stands. Shoving the rather conspicuous pink and white diamond brooch into my purse, I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders, hoping it would help conceal the dress a bit.
As I made my way deeper into the train station, I passed The Meeting Place sculpture. I had never really liked the massive bronze statue before, but now I looked at the two lovers embracing and could only think of Richard.
What the hell have I done?
Making my way to platform seven, I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the boarding announcement for my train. I don’t think my nerves could have taken a single minute of waiting to board. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and looking around the platform, expecting Richard or one of his men to jump out at me at any moment.
The train car was empty when I first entered. Making my way down the narrow aisle past the royal blue and dark grey seats, I found my assigned window seat. Sitting down, I shifted my shoulders toward the window and tried to look as small and unassuming as possible.
As I looked out the window, all I could really see was my reflection staring back at me.
What the hell have I done?
Leaving for London after a nasty fight was one thing… this time I was leaving the country! I would admit that when I stole that footman’s phone earlier, I had fantasized about looking up flights to America, but I hadn’t honestly thought I would go through with it. It’s like when you write a nasty email to a friend after a fight, but then delete it. It made you feel good to think about it, but you never really planned on sending it.
By the time we were ready to go to dinner, I had convinced myself I was overreacting about the dead bird. It had probably been some dumb prank, and I was reading way way way too much into it. Then when I’d found the bloody feather in my purse and overheard his conversation with Harris… something inside of me just broke. I went numb.
I should have gotten out of the car that instant but hadn’t.
I had stayed by his side.
Then we’d fucked in the lift… and I’d known I was lost.
How could I be so in love with a man who I suspected was about to kill me and yet still get wet for him… in a fucking public elevator no less?
I was sick in the head. Twisted. Messed up beyond redemption.
And it was all Richard’s fault.
Ever since I had met that man, my life had been a spinning kaleidoscope of dizzying colors and flashes of light. It seemed wonderful at first but eventually if you stared into the narrow shimmering tunnel too long you became disoriented. You could no longer tell what was real and what was imaginary.
He was toxic for me, of that there was no mistake.
My problem was I had become addicted to him, to the way he made me feel. I now craved that dizzying lightheaded kaleidoscope feel he gave me every time he touched me.
If I was ever to be able to sort out my feelings and reactions to him, I needed space… far away from him.
I would travel to Paris and plead with the authorities to take me to the United States Embassy. There I would get a replacement passport, and then pawn the brooch for money to get back home.
Home.
The United States didn’t feel like home anymore.
Richard felt like home.
What the hell have I done?
The train car slowly filled with the murmurings and shuffles of passengers, as one by one people found their seats. Tapping my foot, I anxiously waited for the train to pull away from the station. The moment the bar car opened, I was getting a double of the strongest liquor they had. Something that would burn and scar its way down my throat. Something that would uncoil this knot of dread that had tightened in my stomach.
Playi
ng with the cheap frayed end of the scarf, I tried to let the hum of conversation about me soothe my nerves.
I would call Richard from the Embassy and let him know I was okay and that I just needed time away to think.
Yes.
That’s what I would do. Everything would be fine.
Looking down at my purse, I remembered the bloody feather that was still tucked inside.
What was I thinking?
This wasn’t some lover’s quarrel or a misunderstanding. This wasn’t me needing space. This was Richard plotting to kill me. I had heard it with my own ears.
Fuck. I couldn’t even think straight.
What really upset me was that, in this moment, I wanted Richard.
I wanted Richard to hold me and tell me it would be okay.
I wanted him to promise that he’d take care of everything.
I wanted him to step in and take control.
I wanted his strength and the feel of his arms around me.
Damn him!
It took me a moment to realize the train car had fallen silent.
All the bustle and conversation about me had stopped. It suddenly felt tense and unnaturally quiet. Leaning up in my seat, I hazarded a peek over the top of the seat in front of me.
Oh. My. God.
Richard.
It was as if by wanting him here I had conjured the devil himself to appear.
There he was standing at the end of the car, surveying the passengers, who seemed to know instinctively that they were in the presence of someone powerful.
“Everyone out.”
He hadn’t yelled, in fact he had barely raised his voice.
He had no authority over these strangers. Some of them probably didn’t even know who he was. And yet, en masse, they rose and exited the car. Just by his mere presence, Richard was a man who demanded to be obeyed.
As they quickly filed out, Richard stood there, clenching his hands and cracking his knuckles as if he was keeping himself from punching something.
I knew better than to try to sneak out with the rest of the passengers. Besides, if I knew Richard, there would now be guards posted at either entrance just like the time he came to my apartment.
In less than a few minutes the car was empty, except for the two of us.
I waited. Shoulders hunched as I crouched low in my seat.
The silence stretched.
I wanted to scream.
The sudden shrill beep of the train doors closing caused me to start and clasp a hand over my mouth.
There was a high-pitched whistle, then the hiss of the engines. Slowly the train shifted forward. With every turn of its wheels, it gained more momentum. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the platform of St. Pancras give way to the cold, black darkness of outside. The silent train car felt isolated from everything and everyone in the world.
Finally, he spoke. “You’ve been a very bad girl.”
Oh. My. God.
Chapter 11
Lizzie
Keeping my gaze averted, I could hear the ominous scrape of his shoes against the rubber aisle mat as he made his way toward me.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Closer and closer.
Then silence.
My chest seized as I held my breath, afraid to look up.
Strong fingers wrapped around my upper arm, dragging me from my seat.
“No! Stop!”
Richard clasped his hands just below my shoulders and yelled, “Look at me, Elizabeth.”
Craning my neck, I turned my head to the far right, refusing to look up.
“I said look at me,” ground out Richard through his teeth as he gave my whole body a vicious shake.
With a cry, I looked up, and was shocked to my core when I saw fear and worry instead of rage.
“Do you have any idea? Any idea at all of what I have been through this past hour? How worried I was? I nearly tore this city apart trying to find you.”
My mouth dropped open. I had no response. This was not the Richard I was expecting.
Driving his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck, he pulled me in close. Wrapping his arms tightly around me, he pressed my face to his heart. “Don’t you ever fucking leave my side again. Do you understand me? Ever.”
None of this made sense. He wanted to kill me. I had heard him tell Harris so.
Game over.
That is what he’d said, game over.
Pushing away, I took a few steps back. “No. This is just another one of your games, like the dead bird. You’re just trying to mess with my head.”
His brow creased. “You know about the dead bird?”
I threw my arms wide, dropping the scarf I had wrapped around me. “You mean the dead bird you left for me to find? Yes, I know about it!”
Richard ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated breath. He paced a few steps away, then turned and swiftly approached me. “Why would you even think I would do such a petty thing?”
Now that he was asking the question, it suddenly made sense. The dead bird was a petty gesture. Richard was a man of dramatic, all-consuming gestures. He didn’t do petty. Still, I was in too deep to turn back now.
“I saw you! I saw you walking away from the car on Bond Street right before I found it.”
Richard rubbed his jaw as he listened to me. Shaking his head, he responded, “Whoever you think you saw, it wasn’t me. I was across town, stuck in an endless board meeting.”
Crossing my arms over my stomach, I shook. “What about that conversation I overheard with Harris?”
“You mean the conversation where Harris informed me of the threat against you, that I should have heard about from you the very moment it happened? You mean that conversation?” he barked.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I had gotten this all wrong.
Fuck!
Grasping at my last straw, I pointed to my Jimmy Choo purse lying next to my abandoned train seat. “The bloody feather! What about that?”
Richard stretched his arm over the seat and snatched up the small gold clutch. Opening the metal clasp, he dumped the contents on the seat. The bloodied grey and white feather floated down to rest on top of my brooch and lotion.
“Goddamn it,” he rasped as he stared at the bloody threat before returning his gaze to me. His dark eyes glittered with rage. “Are you fucking kidding me with this, Elizabeth?” he roared as he started toward me. “Do you have any idea how much you put your life at risk by keeping this from me?”
Stumbling backwards, the narrow aisle gave me no room for escape. My back slammed against the frosty glass and metal door that separated the train cars. Richard raised his arms to cage me in.
His breathing was as labored as my own. Resting his forehead against mine, he asked, “Do you enjoy torturing me like this, my love?”
Leaning back, I scanned his face to see any sign he was joking. His jaw remained rigid, his gaze steady. He was serious. “Torturing you? How am I torturing you?”
His hand wrapped around the top of my neck, under my jaw. “You like playing these games, don’t you?”
His body pressed into mine. I could feel the hard ridge of his cock against my stomach. Almost without thought, I shifted my feet wider, opening myself to him, already feeling the familiar warm rush of arousal.
His lips trailed along my cheek to my ear. “You like making me chase you. The drama and adrenaline rush of bringing a man like me to his knees.”
Oh, my God.
His other hand moved to palm my breast through my dress as he rasped, “How often have I told you how much I love you… how I would do anything for you? And how many times have you dared to test me on that?”
His mouth moved to my neck. I moaned as my fingernails dug into his upper arms. “Admit it, baby girl. Not once, when you’ve said it was over, did you really mean it. Not once have you run without expecting me to give chase.”
Desperately, I tried to bl
ock out the truth of his words. Was it possible all the games I thought he was playing were actually my own?
The kaleidoscope I was caught in spun.
Hadn’t I liked it when he had gotten jealous over the professor? I hadn’t even put up much of a fight when he had told me to leave school. I actually preferred the classes and internships he was setting up for me. Hadn’t I practically begged to get caught going to that play audition? Both Richard and Jane have told me the Victorian game was my idea. I knew for certain I had tried to escape at least twice… but were those all just power plays by me? Attempts to get Richard’s attention and force him to once again prove I was his everything by making him chase me?
Didn’t I relish his possessive, controlling demands? Oh, God!
From the beginning, I’ve questioned why a man as handsome, rich, and intelligent as Richard would want a girl like me. Had I been seeking validation by forcing his hand repeatedly? Forcing him to prove his love? And yet, also from the beginning, he had done nothing but support my career efforts, shower me with gifts, and give me his undivided attention and affection.
It was me.
I was the puppet master.
I was the cruel one taunting him and playing with his mind.
Richard took a step back and shrugged out of his dinner jacket before loosening the knot on his tie and pulling it free from his shirt collar. Next, he twisted his cufflinks free. I heard the small ping as each sterling and sapphire link carelessly hit the floor of the train car. Keeping his hard gaze pinned on me, he unbuttoned his shirt before tugging it free of his trousers. Fisting the fabric between his shoulder blades, he pulled the shirt over his head, exposing the tanned, hard, muscled expanse of his chest.
Then, keeping his wicked gaze trained on me, he slowly undid the buckle of his leather belt and pulled it free.
Like prey caught in a trap with nowhere to run, I watched and waited for his pounce.
“You like playing with fire. It gets you off. The power you hold over me.”
“Richard. No. I don’t. I’ll stop. I promise,” I beseeched, as I raised my hands in some pathetic attempt to try to keep the rising tide of lust and anger at bay.