by Lily White
Running the tip of his finger down a scar on the table’s surface, he asked, “Did she talk about those weeks in her diary? Did she record what my lack of attention made her feel?” Lifting his gaze, he transfixed Meadow in her place, something raw and naked lingering behind those eyes of startling emerald green.
“Penny did,” she managed to say. “While reading the diary for the first time, it was during those pages that I wanted to scream for her to run away. I knew that once you sunk your claws inside her, there would no longer be a chance for escape. I hate those pages most of all.”
“Will you tell me about them?”
In truth, Meadow hated giving Vincent Penny’s private thoughts, but she couldn’t deny she didn’t take pleasure in watching his changing expressions as she did so. Some parts obviously touched him, some words surprising him because they revealed the humanity in Penny that Vincent had so obviously avoided or ignored.
When she didn’t immediately answer, he offered, “If you’ll tell me what was written about that time, I promise to tell you exactly what happened in the days that followed. You should know by now that I am a man that keeps his promises.”
Nodding, Meadow worked to swallow the knot in her throat. “Quid pro quo, Vincent?”
His grin was lazy and sincere. “Yes, Meadow, quid pro quo.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Penny
The following days after witnessing Émilie and Vincent at the well were spent actively avoiding my employer as much as possible. When I wasn’t cleaning hotel rooms, I was down in the employee office asking Theresa if there were any other chores she needed done. She believed I was one hell of an employee, while I was actually looking for any excuse to stay hidden. Too afraid that Vincent had seen me watching and would corner me with questions, I also took my days off to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to have my identification replaced, and I managed to catch a movie or two when I didn’t actually have the extra money for it.
But after four days of doing what I could to avoid him, the day came where I could no longer stay out of sight.
“Have you been enjoying your job at Wishing Well?” a deeply masculine voice whispered against my ear. Jumping in place, my back met a strong chest, my body spinning to find that Vincent was far too close for me to breath easily. I’d been so caught up in polishing the brass elevator doors on the third floor, that I hadn’t heard him approach. A ball of fear lodged in my throat, my answer coming out curt and broken. “Yes. It’s great. Pays the bills.”
Nervousness was obvious in my voice. Vincent, noticing the reaction, smiled as he stepped back to give me room. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was passing by and realized I’ve not spoken to you in several days. I’m happy to hear the job is working out. It would be a shame to lose such a ... diligent ... employee.”
I could feel my cheeks flaring red, my thighs squeezing together just a tad too tight. Thanking God this man couldn’t read my thoughts, I tried to ignore the way my mind conjured images of what I’d seen that night at the well.
“Diligent?” I asked, swallowing.
Sensuous laughter floated across his lips, the sound deep, dark and heady. Fuck, I was in trouble. There was nothing about this man that didn’t attract me and I would have to step up my hiding game just to keep from being in trouble of one kind only to step into trouble of another.
“I spoke with Theresa. She’s very impressed with your dutiful behavior. As am I. Keep up the good work, Penelope.”
He turned to walk off, and I blurted, “Are you going downstairs?”
Not bothering to change course and turn back to me, he merely glanced over his strong, broad shoulder. “I can take the stairs.”
“But, the elevator would be easier.”
His lips quirked, amusement causing his jeweled eyes to sparkle. “You haven’t finished polishing. And it’s only three flights down. I’m sure I can manage.”
With that, he walked off silently, his powerful stride catching my eye until I found myself leaning back against the elevator doors. I’d failed to remember there was still wet polish on the brass until he disappeared into the stairwell. Spinning, I saw that I’d have to start all over again. “Shit,” I muttered, unable to catch the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach so that I could shred their tiny wings.
Three more days went by, each one passing as slow as a disabled turtle crawling through several feet of soft mud. Remaining scarce and out of sight was becoming far more difficult than I imagined. It seemed like every time I turned around, Vincent was nearby. My heart would stutter at the sight of him, then crash down into my feet when he glanced my direction without bothering to say a word in greeting. It especially bothered me when there was a beautiful woman on his arm because I never knew if she was a business associate, a guest, or a special friend that he was entertaining for the evening.
Why did I even care? He was my boss, and I had obviously read way too much into what had occurred between us in the garden.
The next several days I barely saw Vincent at all. Every so often, I found myself peeking outside the window of my room to stare down at the well, wondering if I would catch him again in some romantic liaison. It occurred to me that I missed staring at him as he walked past. I missed those split second opportunities for him to glance at me, even if he didn’t acknowledge my existence. Leaving my room to take a walk in the garden on my own, I had to admit to myself that I’d created a fantasy of a man in my head that I had no hope of coming true.
I’d never been so lust-struck while dating Blake, but then again, he had always been so easily accessible. Maybe this was what it meant to be an adult: a life lived with zero chance of having one day, one moment, of knowing how your dreams would turn out. You simply have to shuffle through it, hoping for the best while preparing for the day you eventually fell down.
The moon was holding court as I stepped outside, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked the time before leaving my room. It didn’t much matter how late it was, I wasn’t scheduled to work the following morning.
While strolling down the long, winding paths of cobblestone, I noticed smaller pebbled paths that led to out of the way alcoves and seating places set about to be both in view and out. A chorus of night insects was a soft lullaby on the air, and without consciously deciding on a path to follow, I found myself drawing close to the well.
It was there that Vincent and I had shared a private moment, there that I witnessed an event that had frightened me for a few days after, and as I turned to my left to gaze down a darker stretch, I spotted the alcove where Vincent had dragged me, remembered the solitary swing that hung from a tree branch that overhung the tall flowing shrubs providing the alcove privacy.
Making my way to the swing, I sat on the wooden seat, listening to the soft creak of the chains above my head. Unsure how much time passed as I thought about everything that had occurred since my father’s death, I found myself with a soft smile on my face, thankful for the direction my life had taken since Blake left my life. I still hadn’t contacted my mother or sister to let them know the changes I’d experienced, but perhaps -
Two male voices drifted my direction, one I didn’t recognize and one richly exotic and familiar. The rolling beauty of the French they spoke drew me from the swing to stand near the entrance of the alcove. Beneath a million stars and the muted lights that dabbled the gardens to illuminate the paths, Vincent and a man who looked just like him walked side by side, their voices low, their words fast.
From what I could understand by their hand gestures and clipped tones, they were arguing. Squinting my eyes as if that would bring them into better focus, I stared at the man by Vincent’s side. He wasn’t a mirror image of the man I’d been fantasizing about for over a week, but he was close enough in resemblance for me to assume there was a familial relation. Brothers maybe, or cousins. I wasn’t sure, but both were the type to conjure illicit fantasy in a woman’s head.
I had to shake myself of
the thought.
Daring to step out further from the hedges that concealed me from easy view, I recognized the second man as they stepped closer to sit near the well. He was the man in the blue shirt, the one who’d had sex with Émilie in plain view. Although I couldn’t begrudge the woman for wanting either of these men, I had to wonder what type of seedy arrangement the three had between them.
Obviously, whatever happened that night was upsetting enough for Émilie to quit her job. What was it? What had these two men done?
Curiosity pushed me another step forward, my eyes locked to their bodies as they huddled close to talk. I should have paid better attention to where I was standing. As soon as a twig broke beneath my foot, the man with Vincent looked up. His eyes locked to my face, his body going rigid, his words speeding so fast that it forced Vincent’s head to snap in my direction. I stood frozen as both men grew quiet and watched me.
Aggravation was written over Vincent’s expression, the force of it a pulse in my throat. “Um,” I stammered, an unshakable need to fill the silence of the night, “sorry. I was out here on the swing when you came out. I didn’t mean to-“
Like that, the aggravation was gone, polite professionalism softening the lines of Vincent’s face. The man beside him said something I couldn’t understand. Without answering, Vincent stood from the bench seat and walked toward me, shadows from the garden cutting razored edges across his face. “Penelope, we were just surprised is all. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
“I don’t have to work tomorrow,” I responded, as if that would excuse lurking about in the shadows.
From the bench, the other man spoke harshly, even the beauty of the foreign language lost on his tone. Vincent’s head snapped to look at him, his mouth pulling into a line as sharp as a honed blade. “It seems my brother would like to meet you,” he explained, his fingers tightening over my shoulder as he pushed me back deeper into the alcove. Lowering his voice to a bare whisper, he leaned into me, the notes of his cologne wafting beneath my nose, “Do me a favor and say very little when I introduce you. After that, you should hurry back to your room.”
“Okay,” I whispered, an icy finger tracing my spine. Remembering that Vincent’s brother had been the man with Émilie before she’d ended up in the well, apprehension choked me.
I took a step, but Vincent wrapped his long fingers around my bicep, tugging me to him. A gasp of breath escaped my lungs the instant my back met his chest. Angling his head so that his lips were dangerously close to my ear, he whispered, “Do not move too quickly around him. I’ll keep hold of your arm. Once you say hello, I’ll walk you away from him. Be sure to go straight to your room after.”
The apprehension tightened into a knot of panic deep inside my chest. “Vincent, what’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later. Just follow directions, Penelope. Do exactly as I say.”
Not liking the sound of that, I clenched my teeth, my legs not quite responsive when I attempted to put one foot in front of the other. Vincent’s brother stared at me as we moved forward, his eyes shadowed, his body so still that I could imagine a snake perfectly coiled to strike. Only the heat of Vincent’s hand on my arm kept me from screaming and running away.
However, as we moved closer, I was able to see his brother’s features more clearly, was able to relax just a small amount to discover that the too-still man was just as beautiful as Vincent. The only difference I could plainly see was that the brother had an emptiness behind his eyes that wasn’t noticeable in Vincent.
“Maurice,” Vincent said as we stepped close enough to speak quietly and be heard, “this is Penelope Graham. Penelope, this is my younger brother, Maurice.”
“Bonsoir ...” Maurice said, his body rigid.
“Elle ne parle pas français ,” Vincent answered.
I merely swallowed, a lot, finding it impossible to dislodge the trepidation clogging my throat. Holding in a cry of surprise was nearly impossible when the snake finally struck. From one second to the next, he was standing feet from me and he was leaning over me, the heat of his chest colliding with mine as the tip of his nose brushed over my hair. Vincent’s hand tightened on my arm.
I trembled to realize Maurice was inhaling my scent, and lowered my eyes to see his hands clenching into fists at his sides. On an amused voice, he whispered, “Es-tu diabolique ou divine? ”
Clearing his throat, Vincent said, “Penelope was just saying hello before going up to her room. Weren’t you, Penelope?”
“Yes,” I managed to choke out. “Hello, Maurice.”
“Hello,” he greeted me in return, his accent thick, his voice penetrating.
Without waiting another second, Vincent directed me away from Maurice, lightly shoving me onto the cobblestone path that would take me to the hotel’s back entrance. “I’ll explain tomorrow,” he promised before turning around to return to his brother. I didn’t hesitate, and was practically running by the time I turned a corner to be out of sight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I woke late the following morning, dreams haunting me with images of two men, both beautiful and so bizarre. Both frightened me for different reasons, both crawling beneath my skin, scratching at my nerves until my body buzzed.
It was confusing how fear tasted like desire, how desire carried the hint of pain, how pain left a woman thrashing over soft white sheets tucked over a comfortable bed.
Crawling out of bed, I took a shower and wrapped myself in one of the plush robes the hotel stocked in the rooms once my skin had turned pink and I could breathe easily again. I craved a cup of coffee from the small cafe in the lobby, but was wary to leave my room for fear of seeing Vincent before I’d had a chance to get my thoughts in order.
Maurice had been an experience, a deep shadow cast over the happiness I found in Wishing Well. I’d only seen him twice now, both times at night, both times in the garden. Where was that man during the day? A tremor coursed through me as I stepped into the living room, a note catching my eye that had been slipped beneath my door.
On heavy vellum paper, a masculine font swirled in black ink told me I wouldn’t be hiding like I’d planned.
My office. 11:00 a.m.
~Vincent
It was never a request with him, always an order. Cursing the way my breath caught, the way my heart picked up its pace, I glanced at a clock to see I had fifteen minutes to be in his office on time. I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a loose black shirt I’d purchased with the money Vincent had given me to use. Slipping on the Converse I’d worn the night he met me, I made my way to the elevators, my head leaned against the wall as it carried me down to the first floor. My feet dragged as I crossed the lobby, my eyes darting to Vincent’s secretary as I approached.
She simply smiled and said, “You can go ahead inside. He’s expecting you.”
I opened his door to find him standing behind his desk, his hands folded together behind his back, his legs held at shoulder width apart and his attention focused out of the floor to ceiling window. Unable to speak without croaking, I choose to clear my throat. He didn’t bother turning to face me.
“Have a seat, Penelope. We need to talk.”
“Am I in trouble?” I asked, my voice soft, mousy.
Glancing from over his shoulder, he shook his head just slightly. “There’s nothing for you to be in trouble for.”
Spinning slowly to face me, he pressed his palms against the surface of his desk, his shoulders wide as his white, pressed shirt stretched to span the breadth of his chest. “I wanted to apologize about Maurice,” he explained as I slipped into my seat. “My brother is somewhat of a thorn in my side and I never intended for you to meet him.” Pausing, he breathed out. “Now that you have, I must request that you never speak a word of his existence to anyone.”
“What’s wrong with him?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and when he finally did open his mouth, it was to ask his own question. “Did he frighten you?”
“Yes,” I confessed, the word slipping so easily from my lips that I couldn’t have kept from saying it if I’d tried.
His green eyes glittered, drawing me in. “Maurice has some issues, to put it mildly. None that you’ll have to concern yourself with. I’m only asking that you stay silent. Not many people know about him and I prefer to keep it that way. It seems, we now share a secret.”
“Okay,” I agreed, my stomach clenching as Vincent straightened his posture, rounding his large desk, and leaned against it to stand in front of me. His knee brushed mine and a spark shot through me. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
“I was impressed with your behavior, Penelope. So much so, that -“ his voice trailed off before he could finish the thought. For several seconds, we stared at each other, my heart beating erratically.
Breaking the tense silence, Vincent asked, “Why do I get the feeling I frighten you as well?”
He’d caught me off guard with the question, my cheeks heating, the pink color chasing down my neck and chest. “Because you do,” I admitted. Attempting to cover up the true reason for my reaction to him, I quickly explained, “You’re my boss. You can fire me at any time and I need this job.”
“Is that all it is?” Lips pulling into a knowing grin, he watched me, saw through me, touched me without so much as lifting a finger.
If desire itself had a voice to speak, it would sound like this man.
“You should go,” he suggested softly. “Before either of us end up making a mistake.”
Except, I wasn’t sure anything we could possibly do when nobody was looking would be a mistake. I knew deep down, that even if it meant nothing, just having one moment of being with Vincent would be like dying and stepping through Heaven’s gates.
“I should go,” I breathed out, repeating his words as I pushed from my seat, careful not to touch him as I moved past. Reaching the door, I couldn’t help glancing back to see that he was still watching me. My pulse fluttered beneath my skin when our eyes met.