Entrapped: A Billionaire Romance (The ROGUES Series Book 3)

by Tracie Delaney

  Once I’d gotten that hurdle out of the way, I scrambled some eggs, squeezed a glass of juice, and ate my breakfast while sitting at the table that gave me a view over the manicured gardens at the back of my house. Once again, my thoughts turned to Catriona, and her unfathomable U-turn over selling her business to me. It made no difference to the outcome—I’d have gotten my way in the end, as always—but I didn’t like it when information was withheld from me. Leaving any stones unturned didn’t sit well, and this particular rock was no different.

  I finished eating the eggs, put the plate and silverware into the dishwasher, and went to fetch my phone. I decided to call Richard Forster, the investigator I kept on payroll for a variety of reasons, and one who’d discovered Jeff the butcher’s indiscretions. While I didn’t think for one second the reason for Catriona’s sudden willingness to capitulate would be anything along those lines, whatever she was hiding, my guy would unearth it.

  I gave him all the information I had, and he promised to get back to me by Monday at the latest, although he hoped sooner. I smiled. I liked this guy. Someone else who didn’t allow the weekend to get in the way of his work. There were a lot of us, as it turned out. Workaholics. Those with nothing else in their lives to distract them from their business ventures.

  I ground some fresh coffee beans and made a pot of Colombia’s finest, then wandered into my home office, switched on my computer, and got to work.

  The next thing I recalled was the sound of the buzzer at my front gates, and only then did I realize the sky had grown dark, I’d completely missed lunch, and the pot of coffee had gone cold.

  I checked the security cameras, zooming in on the unmistakable shape of a female. My pulse jolted, thinking it might be Catriona, then I peered closer and groaned. Scarlett. A woman I’d dated once and fucked twice, last Saturday as a matter of fact. A minor distraction, and one I hadn’t intended to repeat.

  I hovered over the intercom, prepared to reject her, but then I had second thoughts. Maybe a quick fuck, a physical release, might help me to sleep better tonight and give me the distraction I needed to jettison this unsettling feeling that had taken root since I’d dropped Catriona off last night.

  I pressed the gate release and watched Scarlett smile, then slip through the widening gap. I greeted her at the door.

  “I don’t remember inviting you over.”

  She let out a girlish giggle. “Oh, Garen. I haven’t heard from you all week, and I was in the neighborhood, so…” She tugged down on her top, revealing a healthy amount of cleavage.

  My dick jumped to attention. Reaching out a hand, I gripped her upper arm and yanked her inside. I kicked the door closed and pushed her up against it, then slammed my mouth over hers. I wasn’t gentle, nor coaxing, but the rougher I was, the more Scarlett seemed to like it. Her moans grew in volume when I yanked down her top and bit her nipple through her lace bra.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she moaned, thrusting her chest forward.

  “I’m good here.” Fucking her up against the door meant I could simply open it and push her outside once I was done.

  I snaked a hand underneath her skirt and found she wasn’t wearing panties. “I see you came prepared.” I inserted two fingers inside her.

  She gasped, clenching around me, her soft keening growing in volume when I scraped my nails along the front wall of her vagina. “Christ, Garen, yes. Right there.”

  Fumbling with my belt, she managed to get it undone, but as she flipped open the button on my jeans and tugged down the zipper, Catriona’s face crashed into my mind and my dick instantly deflated.

  I released Scarlett and stepped back. She went for my zipper again, but I grasped her wrist, stopping her.

  “Forget it. It’s not happening,”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  I didn’t blame her. I was pretty fucking confused, too, especially as making out with Scarlett had felt all wrong, almost as if by putting my hands and mouth on another woman, I was somehow betraying Catriona.

  Fucking ridiculous. Get a grip, jackass.

  “I have work to do. You need to leave.” I zipped myself up and refastened my belt.

  Her nostrils flared, and her lips flattened. “It would have been nice if you’d told me that before you fingered me, Garen. What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  I barked out a laugh, confusion at my reaction to sex on a plate bringing on a stream of cruelty. “You turn up here, unannounced, and without panties to boot. I think we’ve established what kind of girl you are, sweetheart.”

  Her cheeks reddened, and she aimed her palm at my face. I snagged her wrist and squeezed hard.

  “Not a good idea.”

  She yanked out of my grip, jerked the door open, and stormed down my driveway. I returned to my office, opened the gates, and watched the cameras until I was sure she’d left.

  I dragged a hand through my hair. What the fuck was that? I’d never had my dick refuse a willing participant, right there, begging for it. Scarlett had a pretty face and a hot body, more than enough to tempt me into a fast orgasm. Catriona Landry had no place in my head. None whatsoever. I firmly believed that once I discovered her reason for selling, I’d forget she ever existed. That had to be why she was on my mind. I hated loose ends. Time to tie a knot in that one and move on. Fast.

  I sent a text to Richard asking for an update. No harm in prodding him a bit. His reply came seconds later.

  Working on it.

  With a growl of impatience, I strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Margo had left me a lasagna with heating instructions taped to the lid. I followed her directions and, with a full stomach, I worked through the rest of the evening. At midnight, I crawled into bed where, thankfully, I enjoyed a dreamless night’s sleep.

  I awoke on Sunday morning to a clear-blue sky and a mild breeze. Feeling much more rested, I went for a run then returned home and swam fifty lengths of my indoor pool. I was halfway through a breakfast of a smoked salmon bagel with cream cheese when my cell phone rang. I answered without looking at it.

  “Gauthier.”

  “I have news,” Richard’s voice came down the line, making me sit up and take notice.

  “And,” I prompted.

  “Can we meet?”

  “I’m busy today. Just email the details over.”

  A pause, followed by, “Ah, I’d rather not. I didn’t source this information entirely legally.”

  “I don’t want to know,” I said hurriedly. “Meet me in the lobby of my office building in an hour.” I never conducted business with outsiders at my home.

  “Gotcha.”

  I finished my breakfast, dressed in a navy-blue Tom Ford suit, and a light-gray-and-white-striped tie, and headed out to my garage. Scanning the row of cars, I selected the Lamborghini Veneno that I’d had shipped over from Italy only last month. I’d only driven it once before the weather had taken a turn for the worse, but today was a nice day. Perfect weather for a sensitive Italian sports car.

  Retrieving the keys from a locked cabinet just inside the entrance of my garage, I slipped into the black leather cabin and ran my hands around the perfectly stitched steering wheel. It had retained that new car smell, and I breathed in through my nose, relishing the drive ahead. Sunday morning meant the roads would be fairly empty, and I could open her up and let the power of that 6.5-liter V12 engine carry me smoothly into downtown Vancouver.

  I fucking loved cars, and I loved even more that I could afford the very best. I put my insane success down to an initial stroke of luck—meeting the ROGUES guys in college and then having a gaming app we’d developed for a bit of fun go viral—and the rest from a shit ton of hard work. In the business world, if you took your eye off the ball for one second, you could find yourself filing for bankruptcy. Continued success depended only on your last deal, your last decision. Nothing that came before mattered.

  I intended for my success to last a lifetime.r />
  Nosing the car into the street where my office building was situated, I turned left and parked in the underground garage. I rode the elevator up to the lobby to find Richard waiting for me. I nodded curtly at the security guard—we only kept a skeleton staff on weekends—and jerked my head, indicating for Richard to follow me to the private elevator.

  Five minutes later, we sat at the conference table with a coffee in hand, and I gestured for him to begin.

  He placed a manila folder on the table and opened it. I chuckled at his old-school ways but the man got results, so who was I to argue with his methods.

  “Okay, let me see. Let me see.”

  He thumbed through a couple of pages, and I bit down on my impatience.

  “Ah, here we are.”

  He lifted his head and settled his gaze on mine. “The reason she decided to sell her business after resisting for so long is because her brother is sick.”

  A prickle of unease settled across my chest, and I sat up straight.

  “How sick?”

  “Leukemia,” Richard said, scanning the page. “One of the aggressive kinds from what I understand, although I’m no doctor.”

  He removed a sheet from the file and pushed it across the desk.

  I glanced down, scanning the typed page which laid out the medical findings for Catriona’s brother, Aiden. This must be related to the not entirely legal comment Richard had made. I had no clue how he’d gotten into someone’s medical records in less than twenty-four hours, and I didn’t want to know.

  I stroked my chin, falling deep into thought. I tried not to anticipate the answer to any problem until I had more information to go on, but whatever I’d imagined might be Catriona’s reason for relenting to my demands, that particular circumstance hadn’t crossed my mind.

  “She’s got him on one of those trial treatment programs abroad,” Richard continued. “Switzerland. I couldn’t find out the cost of it.” He rolled his eyes. “Fucking Swiss. But I’d expect it to be a tidy sum, and if you include the added cost of accommodation and living expenses, it’ll add up to a small fortune in no time.”

  I rubbed at my sternum, then reached into my drawer. Popping an antacid from its plastic housing, I swallowed it down with a slug of coffee. If Aiden was going to Switzerland, then did that mean Catriona would go with him?

  No.

  I couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Would not allow that to happen.

  A knot formed in the pit of my stomach, and my chest tightened. Why did I care so much? What voodoo magic had Catriona cast on me that gave me this weird feeling?

  I didn’t like it.

  “Do they have parents?” I asked.

  Richard shook his head. “There’s a grandmother in her seventies, but the parents died…” He paused to check his notes. “Thirteen years ago. Car accident.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. Christ, how awful. I mightn’t get to visit my parents much these days, what with them being on the other side of the country, but it’d break me to lose them, even at my age. Catriona must have been very young when she lost hers. What a shitty deck of cards.

  An idea nudged at me, taking hold with unbelievable speed. One where I could get what I wanted and at the same time help a young guy who’d been dealt a dreadful hand.

  Philanthropy with a personal edge wasn’t my usual style. I preferred to give anonymously. But on this one occasion, I’d make an exception, for one reason, and one reason only.

  Because it served my needs.

  12

  Catriona

  I gazed around the ballet studio where boxes marked with thick black marker lined one wall. Behind me, in my tiny office, only the small desk, the chair, and an empty bookcase remained.

  Empty.

  Yeah, good word. Empty space. Empty heart. I’d put everything into this place, as had Grams before me, and to lose it bore a great big hole right through the center of my chest. I’d bled for my students and for myself. Dance was the only thing that brought me happiness, and after losing a chance at a career of my own, teaching others had filled the chasm. The last two days spent calling the parents of every single one of my kids had broken something inside me, and I didn’t know whether I could ever fix it.

  I heard the sound of someone clearing their throat and I spun around.

  Oh, hell no. Garen Gauthier.

  I glowered at him. “What do you want?”

  “A word,” he said, striding into my space.

  Correction, his space.

  I snatched up a broom and began furiously sweeping the floor, using the physical activity to detract me from wanting to wallop the smug smirk right off his face.

  “A little pointless, don’t you think?” he drawled as he propped his shoulder against the wall. “The demolition team will be here within the week.”

  Hot tears pooled at the backs of my eyes. “Fuck you,” I muttered, then turned my back and continued sweeping.

  He pushed off the wall and came to stand in front of me. “I know, Catriona.”

  I paused to shoot him a vicious glare, one hand resting on my hip while I gripped the broom handle tight enough to snap it.

  I wish I could snap his neck.

  “And what is it you think you know, Mr. Gauthier?”

  He stroked his smooth, shaved chin and perused me, his steel-gray irises holding a hint of evil. Maybe evil stretched it a bit, but I couldn’t think of a word more apt given what he’d done.

  “I know about your brother’s illness. Leukemia, right? And an aggressive form, so I understand. And you sold your precious studio to help fund his treatment in Switzerland. Tell me, Miss Landry, what would you do to save him?”

  I drew in a sharp breath, pain striking me in the center of my chest. How the hell had he found out about Aiden? “Anything,” I choked out, surprised by my candor. “I’d do anything to save him.”

  “Anything, hmm?” He raked me with his gaze, his eyes traveling from my head to my feet and back again. “Let’s test the theory. If I asked you to suck my cock, would you?”

  I stumbled back a step. “Wh-what?”

  His lips parted, and he tongued his top teeth. “You heard me. You said anything. Is allowing me to fuck your mouth worth the blank check to secure your brother’s care for the foreseeable future?”

  I shook my head, my mind struggling to comprehend his words. I’d given him too much credit before. He was evil. A thoroughly wicked man who wanted to use my pain, and Aiden’s battle, to gain pleasure for himself.

  “The money I paid for this place might get you two, three months’ treatment at a push. But you need more than that, don’t you, Catriona?”

  Shock rolled through me, and time seemed to stand still, the ticking of the clock on the wall across from the row of mirrors the only indication that the world kept turning while my life crumbled around me.

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  He curled his lip. “I’m a man of means.” He rubbed his fingertips over his lips. “I tell you what. I’ll fund Aiden’s entire course of treatment, meaning you can keep the money from this place, and all you have to do is open that pretty mouth of yours and swallow my dick.”

  Bile crawled into my throat. Could I do it? Could I let that man put his… penis in my mouth, to come on my tongue, to have that much power and control over me?

  Yes, an internal voice whispered. Yes, you can because you love Aiden more than you love yourself.

  “Why would you want that?” I choked out. “Why would a man want to force a woman to…” I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed past a lump lodged in my throat. “I’m sure you could get more willing partners.”

  “Yes, I could. Easily. But I don’t want them to…” He laughed, cutting off exactly where I had, teasing at my unwillingness to say the words suck you off. “I want you. I want you to get on your knees. Right now.”

  Silence stretched between us. I stared at the floor. My knees shook and saliva pooled in my mouth ho
rror at the situation I found myself in.

  He expelled a deep-seated sigh. “I don’t have all day, Miss Landry.”

  I slowly lifted my gaze to find he’d moved a little closer, a confident, triumphant smirk curving his full lips upward. The bastard. He already knew what my answer would be. God, I wish I had the courage to bite the disgusting thing off.

  “Yes.” I glared at him, determined to show his actions wouldn’t break me. I’d do what he wanted, and I’d show him I hated every second, that I hated him. And then, when the time was right, I’d find a way to pay him back for humiliating me. “I’ll do it.”

  He licked his bottom lip. “Come here,” he said softly, crooking his finger.

  I wasn’t sure whether my legs would hold me up, but somehow, they did, and I found myself standing in front of him. His feet were splayed wide, showing his arrogance, his control, his one-upmanship.

  “On your knees, mon petit chaton.”

  French was a language I excelled in, mainly because ballet had a language all its own, steeped in French history. And that meant I could translate. This fucking creep had just called me his little kitten?

  Okay, then. I’d show him I had claws. Maybe not now, but soon. I’d score them down his too-handsome face. I’d ruin his good looks, make women scream for a different reason when they saw him. Then the ugly he carried on the inside would match the outside.

  I slowly sank to the floor, the hard wood of the ballet studio bruising the tender skin covering my kneecaps. I steeled myself. Just get it done. Get it over with. And get the hell out of here.

  I swallowed again, my throat raw, bile burning the tender skin of my esophagus.

  “Unzip me.” His voice rasped, his excitement palpable.

  I tried to control the tremble in my fisted hands, but I failed. He smiled malevolently, taking enjoyment in my revulsion, and his control. As I reached for his zipper, he grabbed my wrist, preventing me from touching him.