He pulled her aside, next to the revolving doors. “Listen, Lille. The old man is dying, and he wants to talk to you. I promise nothing will happen to you. The staff knows me, and I’ve already asked them to watch to make sure. I promise. All is well. This is your chance to find out what he wants and maybe get a little peace. I’m betting you could use some.”
Lille struggled between terror and outrage. This was fucking ridiculous. She was tired of being at the mercy of these men, tired of being afraid of them. She wanted to run, ridiculous headpiece and all.
“You’re really afraid, aren’t you?” he asked.
Lille swallowed but managed a contemptuous look. “I have good reason.”
He looked slightly ashamed. “I promise nothing is going to happen to you.” He took her elbow.
“Your promise doesn’t mean anything to me,” she hissed, and shook off his hand. She straightened, throwing her shoulders back. Max’s did, though, she realized, and if she was going to consider making promises to him, she had to take care of this first.
Max hadn’t planned on leaving the pub. He’d set everything up; he’d hired temporary staff to deal with the crowds; he’d been pulling pints and sweating along with everyone else. One of the girls he’d hired for the evening, a blonde with a nose ring, had been working beside him behind the bar, and when he’d turned to give her a bottle of Bulmers, he’d almost called her Lille.
He stopped before he made the mistake, but he felt empty, knowing she wasn’t there, may not ever be there again, serving drinks beside him. Suddenly, it wasn’t enough that he told her he’d take a chance on her. He’d read enough to know that if he was going to fall in love with a damn goddess, he was bound to have to walk through a little fire to win her heart. It was goddamn ridiculous to think that saying “I love you” would change a lifetime of stubbornness, but it was worth a try, anyway. She was worth that much, even if it meant a hit to his pride.
His phone rang, and he answered it automatically, hoping it was Lille.
“Max? Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Carl’s voice sounded panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lille’s been kidnapped.”
“What?”
“Her date. He’s a PI. He’s taking her to meet her father.”
“A PI kidnapped her?”
“He won’t hurt her. I know him—and I promise I’ll kill him later.”
Max gritted his teeth. “Where did he take her?”
“I’m not sure. Somewhere near the gallery, I think. He said they wouldn’t be far.”
Max had heard enough. He hung up.
“Kyle,” he shouted, tossing the kid the keys to the bar, “you’re in charge.”
“Where the fuck are you going?” Kyle shouted after him, panicked, but Max just pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the hands that patted and groped, ignoring the calls for him to play, to have a drink, to meet up in the bathroom.
He escaped just as another crowd of people was heading up the sidewalk. He’d parked his truck in the Publix lot a block away, wanting to free up as much parking as possible, and he ran for it, clearing a low hedge of bushes along the way.
Once he was in his truck, it took him a half hour in Miami traffic to make it to Carl’s gallery, cursing every damn tourist who got in his way.
He shouldered his way through the line to get into the party. It seemed as if half of Miami had shown up. The bouncer recognized him and let him through into the house, which had been decorated to look like a haunted mansion. Max looked around at the pockets of people, scanning the stairs, the costumes, but he didn’t see Lille. Carl suddenly appeared to his left, his face frantic.
“Where are they?”
“They’ve got to be at La Rosa; it’s a boutique hotel, about a block south and around the corner.”
Max took off running, Carl close on his heels. He dodged overhanging trees and tried not to trip on the old cracked sidewalk as he ran. It was the longest block of his life, and Max was never more grateful that he’d quit smoking when he reached the lobby in less than two minutes, only slightly short of breath.
The doorman tried to head him off. Max supposed he looked a little crazed, wearing a tie with dancing hula girls and suspenders, but Carl waved at the doorman and he opened the door with a whoosh.
The two of them rushed into the plush, air-conditioned lobby, and they spotted Lille right away. She was tough to miss, sitting straight-backed in a black-and-white-striped chair with an insane headpiece made of snakes writhing on top of her head.
Max waved for Carl to slow down, wanting to give her a chance, if she wasn’t in trouble, to face the man she’d feared for so long.
They moved so that they were standing behind a huge planter, near enough to hear without seeming too much as if they were eavesdropping.
“Just what is it you want from me?” she was demanding, her voice icy cold, perfect.
Lille’s father certainly didn’t look healthy. He was still thin and spare, but his flesh seemed to have grayed and sunken, so he appeared to be nothing more than folds of skin hung on a wire frame. Two hulking bodyguards stood near him, eyeing Lille with appreciation.
Lille was having difficulty breathing. Her father sat in front of her, a skeleton of a man, far from the monster she’d imagined as a child. And yet there was something in his eyes, a flatness that she’d seen in her own expression on occasion, a flatness that came with not caring.
“You look like your mother used to,” he informed her.
“I know I do,” Lille agreed, more glad than ever to have her mother’s looks now that she’d met her father. She didn’t want him to know she was afraid. It helped to be in costume, helped her play Lille with all the panache of a Hollywood movie star. “Now, what is it you want so badly that you’ve come across the country?”
“Ahh.” He shifted in his chair and adjusted the knob on his oxygen tank. “What I wanted, I thought you wouldn’t understand. I wanted to explain. In person.”
“How kind of you.” Lille gave him a smile that showed a lot of teeth. “Now what is it?”
“I wanted to know if you’d come back with me.”
Lille glanced at the hulking bodyguards, then back at Benson. Had the PI been lying to her? Was she going to be taken for real?
Lille shifted, just a little, wondering if she could run in her costume. Wondering how they could possibly take her without the hotel staff calling the police. Unless they were in on it, she supposed. Money bought a lot of cooperation. “Why would I do that?”
“You’re my only child. My only heir.”
“Heir?”
“I’m leaving everything to you. The business, everything.”
“I don’t want it.” Lille shook her head. “I don’t want anything from you.” Although Lille had never fully grasped what her father did, she knew she wanted none of it. And she certainly wanted nothing from him.
“Doesn’t matter.” He laughed. “In my kind of business, people will come looking for you when I’m gone. It would be better if I could show you things. Let you know how the business works, so to speak.”
“I don’t want it,” she snapped. “None of it.”
“Maybe you should think about it. If you don’t come, I’ll leave it to you, anyway, and all the scum, the crooks and the killers, will be seeking you out for one reason or another.”
“Don’t threaten me, Father.” Lille spat out the name like a curse and stood, the combination of her height and headpiece making her tower over the man. The two bodyguards moved closer.
She backed away, moving toward the door and keeping an eye on the hotel employees. They were all blatantly watching the proceedings, but no one was stepping forward.
“I don’t care what you do. I’ve been running because of you my whole life, but I refuse, refuse, to run anymore
, for any reason, so you can take your inheritance, old man, and shove it.” She turned on her heel to leave, but one of the bodyguards grabbed at her elbow. She resisted, peeling his fingers away with her nails.
Benson interceded. “Hey, enough. I didn’t bring her here for this.”
Lille hurried away, leaving Benson to his own devices, and nearly ran into Max.
“Max,” Lille said. It was all she said, but it was a sigh and a prayer and a curse all at the same time.
He took her arm, escorting her out as if he were a gentleman and she the finest of ladies. Behind them, Carl was cursing a blue streak at Benson, who’d hurried to follow her. When they walked outside, the valets had pulled up Benson’s car. Max took the keys and led Lille to it, handing her in.
“Hey—” Benson exclaimed behind them, but Max ignored him.
Lille rolled down the window while Max walked over to the driver’s seat. “Carl, darling?”
Carl approached, dragging Benson with him. “Yes, Lille, my magnificent goddess.”
Lille pointed one carefully manicured finger in Benson’s direction. “He needs to be punished.”
“Of course he does, darling,” Carl agreed. “I’ll see to it.”
Max had already started driving off, but he laughed.
“You were amazing,” he said simply, taking her hand.
Lille laughed, a full, loud laugh that had Max’s own lips curling farther upward. “He thought I would come with him. That I would just forget everything.”
Max stroked her cheek, tucking back a lock of hair that had fallen down beneath the headpiece. “He doesn’t know you. He thinks you’re like him.”
Lille nodded. “But I’m not.”
“That’s right, love,” Max agreed, touching her chin. “I want to take you back to my house and fuck you, but I think Mary would kill you if you don’t see her paintings.”
“The party?” Lille sat up. “I forgot. Are she and John there?”
He placed a calming hand over hers. “Carl texted them. They’re waiting for us.”
Lille relaxed. “All right. I suppose I could always find some dark alcove in which to have my way with you.” She wiggled her brows, though the effect was mostly lost in the gray makeup.
“I suppose you could at that,” Max agreed. “You’ve already turned me to stone.”
Lille snickered. “That was terrible.”
“It was,” he agreed, navigating the car out of the driveway of the small hotel and onto the street leading back to Carl’s gallery.
CHAPTER Twenty-nine
When they arrived at the gallery, there was still a line of people and cars, but one of the valets came running up with a cell phone to his ear.
“Yes, sir, I see them. I’ll let them in.”
Max put the car in park in the middle of the street, tossing the kid the keys and hurrying around to the passenger-side door to let Lille out.
She held her hands out to him, smiling, pleased that he was the one escorting her. He tucked her arm against his side again and walked with her toward the entrance.
They ignored the line, walking straight up the stairs, and the bouncers let them in immediately, lifting the red velvet rope that blocked off the entrance. John and Mary were already inside; Lille spotted them immediately beneath a crystal chandelier that dripped from the ceiling. They were facing away from Max and Lille, and there seemed to be something wrong. John had his arm around Mary and was trying to soothe her, running his hands along her arms.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he was saying. “Not after last time.”
Lille turned to Max. “Is this where she was attacked?”
Max nodded. “I forgot as well. She didn’t say anything about it to you?”
“No.” Lille shook her head, ashamed that she’d been so wrapped up in her own fear that she’d never considered her friend’s, not even once.
“Mary,” Lille called out, and Mary turned, relief spreading over her made-up face.
“Lille.” Mary sighed and hugged her. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” Lille agreed, and hugged her back.
After a few minutes, Mary pulled away and seemed to gather herself, sniffing a little.
“Well, let’s go look at some art, shall we?”
Lille frowned. “Are you sure? I mean—”
“I’m sure,” Mary snapped.
Lille knew that tone now and held up a hand for peace. “Okay, fine. Let’s find your paintings.”
“They’re this way.” Mary led them through the main entryway to a hall on the right-hand side. The door was draped with spiderwebs and guarded by a statue of Cerberus.
The crowd inside was wandering among the paintings, which were lit with spotlights to great effect. A soundtrack of moans and sighs filled the room, causing a titter of laughter here and there.
The first painting Lille saw was the one that Mary had done of Max, tied to a chair.
She tugged on his tie to pull his face closer to hers. “I think I want that one for my personal collection,” she whispered in his ear.
“Why have a painting when you can have the real thing?” He nipped her ear and made her chuckle.
They walked around, Mary hand in hand with John, and Lille and Max following.
It wasn’t until they came around the corner that the pièce de résistance of the collection came into view. It was a smaller canvas, about the same height as Mary, but it radiated as if it burned with a light all its own.
“It’s the most beautiful thing,” one woman cooed.
Lille couldn’t speak. Her breath had left her, and there was no room for air, no need for it, really, because her heart had stopped. There was nothing else. She was reborn, her whole life wiped clean with a single glance.
In the painting, Lille and Max lay together in bed, their bodies entwined, the sun streaming in on them in bright rays, glowing around their bodies like love itself. Lille’s arms were thrown around Max, her fingers clutching him even in sleep, clinging to him, and suddenly Lille knew the answer to a question she’d asked Mary a few days before.
“Why is it different, with Max?” she’d asked, but she’d been a fool because the answer had been there, just waiting for her, and she’d never even looked, had been too afraid to look.
The reason it was different, the reason Max’s loving her was different, was because she loved Max as well. She did—she loved him. And even if he stopped loving her someday, right now, this minute, she loved him, and she wanted to take the risk with him.
She took his hand and tugged him away, back through the entryway and toward the door. She pulled off her wig, depositing it on their way out on a statue of Venus masturbating.
“Where’re we going, lass?” Max sounded only mildly curious, content to let her lead the way.
“We’re going home,” she told him with a grin.
He smiled back, somehow knowing what she meant.
“That’s good, then. No more talk of leaving?”
Lille stopped, leaned in for a kiss, and said against his lips, “None.”
Max hugged her. “Then I don’t suppose we could talk about you moving in with me?”
Lille laughed and tugged him again. “One step at a time, Irishman.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nicole Camden, author of “The Nekkid Truth” in Big Guns Out of Uniform, has returned to erotica after a decade of teaching, dog-rescuing, and other mayhem. She lives in Houston with her husband and two dogs.
Erotica BY NICOLE CAMDEN
The Fetish Queen, Part Two: Infamous
The Fetish Queen, Part One: Reborn
The Fetish Box, Part Three: What Remains
The Fetish Box, Part Two: What Escapes
The Fetish Box, Part One: Open All Night
“The Nek
kid Truth” in Big Guns Out of Uniform
We hope you enjoyed reading this Pocket Star Books eBook.
* * *
Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Star Books and Simon & Schuster.
CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Pocket Star Books
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Nicole Camden
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.
First Pocket Star Books ebook edition May 2014
POCKET STAR BOOKS and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Interior design by Lewelin Polanco
Cover design by James Perales
Cover photograph © Shutterstock
ISBN 978-1-4767-6051-3
Cursed Page 9