Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2)

by Halliday, Suzanne

  The hair on the back of her neck prickled at the sound of his fury. Jungle Lord was roaring and his growl had a menacing quality to it that made Rhiann shiver. Ooooh. A side of Liam she’d never actually seen. It was one thing to know he was dangerous and another completely to experience it firsthand.

  Her senses on high alert, Rhi stepped into the shadows where she could observe what was going on without drawing his attention. She didn’t have a clue what got him going, but she knew damn well that she didn’t want him turning any of that anger on her.

  In a voice that scared the shit out of her, she heard him announce in a clipped, precise tone, “I sincerely hope you weren’t just foolish enough to threaten me.”

  Uh-oh.

  A long silence followed while he listened but said nothing. Attuned to everything about him, she saw a clenched hand and his breathing suggested the presence of a thermo-nuclear explosion just below the surface.

  “Remember who you’re talking to, Kim!” he yelled. “Do not fuck with me.”

  Rhiann froze to the spot. Kim? The Ice Queen? She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut when Liam quietly exploded.

  “What gave you the right? And be careful how you answer that because I won’t tolerate this sort of intrusion into my life.”

  A long moment passed then he said, “Nothing to say now?” Two seconds later he stabbed a finger at the phone—probably to disconnect the call—then flung it onto the sofa with a grunt. He stood with his back to her, staring out at the city below, his hands clenched in tight fists by his side.

  And just like that—Rhiann experienced the slow descent of a red haze of anger and jealousy from the top of her head to her feet that lit a fuse waiting deep inside her.

  “What the hell was that all about?” she demanded to know. “And don’t blow sunshine up my dress, Ashforth. You told me there wasn’t anything between you two but that angry exchange says otherwise!”

  Liam started at her outburst and spun around with a look on his face that let her know he’d forgotten she was in the same room with him, much less anywhere on the same continent. She wanted to leap on him and tear his lying tongue out.

  “Fuck. Rhiann! It’s not what it seems,” he tried to explain. “That bitch is crazy, and she has it out for you. I told her to back off a while ago but . . .”

  The expression going ballistic did not do justice to the surge of seething anger roiling inside her.

  “You talked to her? About me? And told me nothing? Are you insane? You know she’s been up my ass non-stop, right? You swore to me there was nothing going on so how come I get the impression by the way you just tore into her that there really is something going on with you two.”

  A glaring bright light of comprehension shone on her face. “Oh, my god. You fucked her. Didn’t you?”

  She was screaming by the end and ready to kill him. When he didn’t say anything, she lost it and went off.

  “Oh, my god! You motherfucker!” She took a few steps toward him like she was about to slap his too-handsome face but stopped herself.

  “You made me believe you,” she hissed, “when you swore there was nothing going on.”

  “There isn’t anything going on with that woman. I swear, Rhiann . . .”

  “Oh, for god’s sake, Ashforth. You’re such a dick. You and I both know that fucking and something going on are two different things and I don’t hear you denying it.”

  He stayed silent, and she felt her world crumble.

  “Rhiann,” he muttered. “Please. There’s always going to be shit from the past.”

  “Shit? From the past? What in the hell is wrong with you? That miserable bitch—who you fucked—has been hell-bent on destroying me and everything I’ve accomplished at Passion.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “I specifically told her to stay away from you.”

  “Oh, well gee—thanks for that, I suppose,” she sneered. “But that didn’t stop her from getting in my face or sending one of her obnoxious lap dogs to oversee everything my department does. A heads-up would have been nice.”

  He looked stunned. Then angry. Then . . . something else. Worried, maybe.

  “I had no idea. Is she the real reason you didn’t want anyone at work to know about us?”

  “Oh, what difference does it make?” she hollered. Shit. He really was dense as fuck.

  Suddenly remembering the beautiful gift box that had been in her hand all this time, she looked at it a second then threw it straight at his head, smugly satisfied when it smacked him on the temple before falling at his feet.

  “I don’t know what sort of game you’ve been playing with me, Ashforth, but it ends here. You lied to me no matter how you look at it.”

  “Rhiann,” he begged. “Please.”

  She’d been a fool to trust him. Vivid scenes of him screwing that horrible woman invaded her mind. The misery of the last weeks at work and Rhi’s personal turmoil—it all coalesced into a huge fireball of anger that shot from her center.

  “Call the car to meet me downstairs. No. You cannot come with me,” she bit out in neat, precise terms.

  “Rhiann,” he muttered again.

  “Fuck you, Liam Ashforth. Do not come near or speak to me ever again.”

  And with that, she whirled around and stomped off in a fit of barely contained rage—heading straight for the door and the elevator.

  IT WAS RHIANN’S LAST DAY at work before she took off early for the Christmas holiday. Brynn’s wedding week was starting, and she had scheduled to leave on the three o’clock train.

  Having wisely chosen to use a shipping service, she’d sent her dress ahead and every imaginable accessory or fashion contingency she could get her hands on so all she had to do was handle her overnight bag and purse. She intended to use her time on the train to write—an emotional scene with her main characters was unfolding and she was full of inspiration.

  Sighing deeply, Rhi straightened from the chore of fitting things into her bag and gazed solemnly out the window. The Christmas season was in full swing all around her, but she didn’t care. Luckily, the wedding had given her duck and cover for neglecting Santa’s big day. Taking an easy out, she’d embraced the convenience of gift cards for her Passion team and for her other friends, the ones who usually got a package in the mail overflowing with goodies, well. . . . it was a gift card season all around.

  In fact, she’d purchased just one present and dressed it up in a brightly wrapped box but had pushed it under a table so she wouldn’t have to look at it. Or remember the happy frame of mind she’d been in about the gift’s intended recipient.

  But that was then and this was now. Ten days had gone by since she’d seen or heard from Liam. The radio silence wasn’t surprising. Not once the truth was out in the open. After realizing that he’d been intimate with that awful, horrible, no-good, very, very bad bitch, there wasn’t anything else to say.

  She’d specifically asked for reassurance. He’d given it, only his answer had been a bold face lie. Who did that?

  Being an experienced veteran of having her heart yanked out of her chest through her eyeballs, Rhi was determined not to let Liam’s stunning betrayal slow down her roll. Not even a little bit. Fuck him.

  She became a demon at work. Focused, organized, motivated, and fueled by buckets of caffeine served with a side of steaming rage. When she wasn’t working, she was writing. Like a fiend. On her tablet, phone, scraps of paper—whatever she had available at any given time.

  That night, after finding out what a complete narcissistic bastard Liam Ashforth really was, Rhi scrapped the story she was working on and began a whole new one. From scratch. No notes. Nothing. She went organic and let it pour out of her. And it was good. Really good. Different from the other stories she’d written but maybe that was because this was so personal. And real. This time she was writing from the heart.

  The door buzzer sounded, cutting through the muted sound of Christmas music. She wasn’t expect
ing anyone and growled at the intrusion.

  Dammit. Checking the time, she made a mental calculation for how long she had until it was time to leave for the train station. Whatever this was, it had better be brief. She didn’t have time to spare.

  Pressing the button for the intercom she barked, “Hello?” and gave a silent prayer that nobody answered.

  “Miss Wilde?” came the answer.

  Shit. No such luck.

  “I have a delivery for you,” she heard the disembodied voice say.

  A delivery? Well, that was a lot easier to handle than a human interruption.

  “Okay, thanks. I’ll be right down,” she said into the intercom. Grabbing her keys, she left the apartment and made for the stairwell. The minute she spied the guy in a dark blue suit standing by the gate holding a bag by the handle she knew this was no run-of-the-mill delivery.

  As she approached, Rhiann thought he looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite pin him down.

  “Miss Wilde,” the man offered with a professional nod. Holding out the bag to her when she pushed the gate open, Rhi couldn’t help the frown she felt bump her eyebrows.

  Two things happened simultaneously. She accepted the bag, and over the man’s shoulder, she noticed a shiny black Town Car double-parked at the end of the walkway. That’s where she knew him from, her mind screamed! He was one of the drivers from the car service Liam used to ferry her around the city.

  “Wait!” she choked out when the man politely nodded and went to walk away now that he’d made the delivery. He stopped and looked back at her.

  “Did Mr. Ashforth send this?” she asked angrily.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The nervous uncertainty in the driver’s voice barely made a difference. Rhi knew she was acting like a lunatic but didn’t care.

  “Take it back!” she boomed. Her hand shot out with the bag hanging from trembling fingers. “Whatever it is—I don’t want it. Send it back. Now!”

  The driver blinked and looked at her with concern etched on his face. Fuuuck. He must wonder if I’m about to go postal on his ass.

  “Uh, actually Miss Wilde—I can’t do that.”

  On an emotional roll, she let fly. “Why? Did he tell you to say that? I don’t care! Take. It. Back.”

  Why that manipulative, arrogant son-of-a . . .

  The driver put up his hands like he was calming a rabid dog and spoke softly to her. “I can’t take it back, Miss Wilde, because Mr. Ashforth left town.”

  “Whaaaat?” she shrieked. The jolt that wracked her body shot upward and burst out of her skull.

  “Yeah,” he told her. “I overheard his secretary saying he was late leaving for the airport. Something about an overseas flight.”

  He was gone? A cold numbness spread through her extremities. Feeling like a damn fool for caring, she jerked straight and tried to appear nonplussed. Nice try considering the psycho-drama she’d just unloaded on this poor guy.

  In the end, all she could choke out was a brittle, “Thank you,” before running back into the safety of the building with the heavy bag cutting off the circulation to her fingers.

  Once inside the apartment, she locked the door and took the bag into the small living room like it held a time bomb. Dropping it on the coffee table, Rhiann stood back and stared at it, long and hard.

  What had he done? Her eyes darted to the obnoxiously decorated gift box kicked beneath a side table and scowled. If he’d managed to fly under the radar and given her a Christmas present, she was going to be pissed.

  Arms crossed defensively, she leaned in and peeked at the contents of the bag. Well, it was clearly a present but the wrapping paper did not say Christmas. Hmmm.

  After sharking around the coffee table in both directions as she contemplated the big gift bag, Rhi finally gave up with a grunt of exasperation and reached into the bag, drawing the heavy wrapped object out, and placing it on the table.

  Seeing it out of the bag, she knew instantly that this was no Christmas present. Nope—it was a wedding gift in tasteful paper with a white organza bow. A ribbon affixed with a small card read To Brynn and Jackson.

  He sent a wedding present.

  And then he got on a plane and flew who knew where.

  It took Rhiann another hour to work up the balls to call his office. Even if he wasn’t around, his watchdog gatekeeper would be on the job, so she worked up a plausible excuse for calling, took a deep breath, and punched in the digits that would connect her to BPG.

  It came as a bit of a surprise to learn that one simply didn’t pick up the phone and call Liam Ashforth. Not if you actually wanted to talk to him. That was what his private number was for and from what she gathered, only a few select individuals earned the privilege of direct contact.

  She had that number, of course. In fact, he’d insisted they communicate without intermediaries, saying it was essential that they have privacy while navigating their new relationship. Making an end run around his secretary also meant no one was any the wiser when they did speak. More secrets and lies. Fucker.

  After a bit of a runaround, she connected to Liam’s private secretary who didn’t bother with niceties.

  “Mr. Ashforth’s office,” she croaked.

  Rhi thought she could hear a pen tapping on the desk. Oh, great. She hadn’t had much luck with Liam’s dragon-secretary before now and judging by the woman’s harsh tone—she wasn’t going to be making headway anytime soon.

  Swallowing the tension building in her throat before she spoke, Rhi closed her eyes and concentrated.

  “Good afternoon. Is Mr. Ashforth available? It’s Miss Wilde from Passion calling.”

  Silence followed. Shit. Rhi pulled the phone away from her ear and glanced quickly at the screen to make sure the call was still connected.

  “Miss Wilde.”

  The way the dragon stated her name made a chill run through her. She panicked for a second and wondered, Friend or Foe? After all, this woman would have her own dealings with Frosty the Ice Bitch. Maybe they were BFFs. That would certainly suck.

  “I’m sorry but Mr. Ashforth isn’t here.”

  Was it Rhi’s imagination or had the woman’s tone softened just a bit?

  Making sure to sound surprised, she mumbled, “Oh. . . . um,” and left the rest hanging while she pretended to digest that tidbit of information.

  “Don’t you have his private number, dear?”

  Dear? Had Dragonatrix just called her dear? Maybe she’d dialed an alternate universe, ‘cause that was how she felt. And what was with asking about the private number? Did this lady know about her involvement with Liam?

  Not entirely sure what she walked into, Rhiann aimed for subdued ditzy. “Um, yeah I do. But it’s on my phone and I’m calling from a landline. Sorry to bother you. I was just hoping to catch him, before . . .”

  “He’s been in the air for some time, Miss Wilde. I’m sorry you missed him. Would you like me to pass along a message? He’ll check in after he lands at Heathrow.”

  A message? Aw, crap. Rhi kicked herself for not thinking the call through. Of course, his secretary would update him with messages. At the very least, even if she didn’t indicate a specific message, the Dragon Lady would tell him Rhiann had called. God, she was a dope.

  Stammering with a pained wince when the consequences of her impulsive action lit up her thoughts, Rhi tried to wrap up the call as quickly as possible.

  “Um . . . no message, thanks.”

  She hadn’t counted on Liam’s secretary having an actual conversation with her. Maybe Rhi had best find out what her name was since she was running out of things to call her.

  “Did you receive a delivery earlier? A package? Mr. Ashforth was especially worked up that it be delivered today. Is that why you’re calling? Please don’t tell me there was a problem.”

  “Yes, um . . . the package. Got it. No problems.”

  “Oh, well that’s a relief! He’d be something of a nightmare to deal with if you left t
he city before the delivery. I hope your sister’s wedding is lovely, Ms. Wilde.”

  Oh. My. God. This lady knew a lot. A lot, a lot. Rhi was stunned into silence. What about the part where no one was supposed to know about their . . . uh, connection?

  It had been her who insisted on the nobody can know rule—he’d just gone along. Had he told his secretary? Of course, he had or the woman wouldn’t be making an effort to be nice.

  Oh, Liam. What the hell? Still smarting from the reveal of his disgusting betrayal, Rhi couldn’t find her footing. It almost sounded like his gatekeeper knew way more than she was letting on but what exactly did that mean?

  “Oh, well . . . a Christmas wedding, you know? Thanks for the best wishes. Speaking of which, I have to run and catch a train. I’m sorry I missed Li . . . oops, I mean Mr. Ashforth. No need to tell him I called. We’ll cross paths at some point.”

  After a bit more back and forth, she finally ended the call and sat there, stunned.

  Liam had gone to England. She wondered for how long but hadn’t had the nerve to ask when the woman she was poking for information assumed Rhi had the inside track.

  So, he really was gone. And his secretary didn’t seem in the least bit surprised that Rhiann was calling. Plus, she knew about the wedding and even that a gift for Brynn had been delivered.

  Lord. She was going to have a lot to write about tonight. She was still mad at him. And hurt. But the fact that his gatekeeper just treated her with what sounded like deference muddied the waters and diluted some of her distress.

  IT HAD TAKEN UNTIL HE was cruising at thirty-five thousand feet and had knocked back several glasses of champagne before Liam fully realized he was on an airplane. Virgin Airways made it so easy to show up at the airport brain dead and still have a top-notch flying experience. They thought of everything. Catering to the passengers in the luxury suites was what they did best.

  In the dark shadows of his thoughts, Liam acknowledged that he would have liked a vodka martini instead of the bubbly. About ten of them, in fact, lined up one after the other. But arriving in London shitfaced wasn’t a good idea no matter how badly he wanted to block out the last few hours.