Exquisite Revenge

by Abby Green

  And then Luc positioned her and brought her down on top of him, slowly and inexorably, until he was buried in her. With a rocking movement Jesse clenched and unclenched her muscles in a completely instinctive rhythm. They both climaxed within minutes.

  It was silently intense. Jesse collapsed against Luc, and after a moment could feel his hand come to her back, holding her. She felt tears prick her eyes at the gesture, but was very afraid that he wouldn’t relish her feeling so emotional right now.

  After a minute Jesse was feeling increasingly exposed and vulnerable. She extricated herself from Luc’s embrace and sat on the seat, pulling her dress down. She felt cheap. It was hard to believe the car was still moving.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Luc’s voice was sterile. ‘I’m taking you home.’

  She looked at him and he turned to face her. She nearly recoiled at the harshness of his expression. She’d thought him cold before, but she could barely fathom that this was the man who had just brought her over the edge in his arms. She had to remember that it had been she who’d climbed all over him, pathetically convincing herself she’d seen something in his eyes.

  Mortified, she turned away. ‘Thank you.’

  To her surprise she felt Luc’s hand on her jaw, turning her back to face him. She steeled herself.

  For a long moment he said nothing, and Jesse recognised with a jolt that they were already pulling up outside her apartment. That had been the guttural instruction to his driver.

  ‘Luc …?’

  She had no prickling of foreboding, no idea of what was coming. And when the words were delivered, Luc’s voice was so flat he might have been talking about stocks and shares.

  ‘We’re done, Jesse. Our little interlude is over.’

  Luc’s hand dropped from her jaw and he sat back. Jesse just stared at him. All she could think about was that he’d held her aloft again for a brief moment and was now letting her smash to the ground. Revenge. Retribution. Such ineffectual words for the feelings blooming inside her like blood spreading on the ground.

  Pathetically, it had to be the quickest revenge in history—a mere couple of days and nights. A maelstrom was erupting in her chest—so many emotions that she didn’t know which was uppermost. Hurt. Anger. Pain, yes. That was there more than all of them. Pain because she’d been so weak. She’d lain down and let him take her when all he’d wanted to do was punish her. It had only taken a quickie on her bedroom rug and another in his car for him to become bored.

  Incensed, and galvanised by a force greater than she’d ever felt, Jesse reached over and slapped Luc across the face. It was awkwardly delivered, but he didn’t move or flinch. She wanted to hit him again so badly she shook with it.

  ‘You bastard,’ she said shakily. ‘You absolute bastard.’

  And then he said, ‘Just go, Jesse. Get out.’

  Jesse didn’t need any encouragement. She scrambled out of the car and slammed the door, standing on the pavement and fighting down the tremors starting to rack her body with shock and pain. She wanted to watch him drive away, etch it onto her memory so she would never be so duped again.

  The door opened. Luc was holding out her shoes.

  Jesse spat at him, ‘Keep them. You bought them anyway, and if you can find a mistress with the same shoe size you can use them again—impress her with your recessionary scruples.’

  Luc just dropped them to the gutter and the door closed. The car pulled away. The back wheel drove over one of the shoes, crushing it. Jesse stood at the side of the road, barefoot, and her heart splintered into a million pieces, each one cutting her like glass.

  As his car drove off, all Luc could feel was a dull ache. Not even the tingling of his cheek where Jesse had slapped him. He closed his eyes, but he could still see how she’d looked just now—as if he’d slapped her. Then all he could see was the intent expression on Jesse’s face as she’d come over to touch his face, effortlessly sensing his black mood. And then the expression on her face as she’d slid onto him, taking him into her tight, silky embrace.

  His eyes snapped open again. He’d set out to get revenge, but within just thirty-six hours things were already derailing fast. Again. It had happened on the island and now here. The woman seemed to have some innate ability to burrow under Luc’s skin and lodge there like a thorn, sending him spinning in a million different directions at once.

  On some level he’d been confident that Jesse would instantly morph into a woman he knew how to handle, but she hadn’t. And she couldn’t. Because she was utterly different. She was achingly sexy and vulnerable. Yet stronger than anyone he’d ever known. And the truth was she made him feel weak.

  As he’d held her on his lap just now, in his arms, something soft had been cracking him open all over again, making him as vulnerable as he’d been on the island.

  In the aftermath of that shattering climax Luc had seen only one possible outcome. She had to go. His very life depended on it—the life he knew, the life he’d built up around himself and his family with ruthless intent. Jesse threatened the equilibrium he’d worked so hard to achieve every time he looked at her, smelled her scent.

  He should have just ignored her the other evening. That would have been revenge enough. But he’d been weak. He’d had to have her. He wouldn’t be so weak again. It was over. His and Jesse’s lives had entwined for a brief moment in time. That was all it was and all it ever would be.

  He didn’t want her in his life. It was that simple. He needed to feel in control, and control was in very short supply around Jesse Moriarty.

  As Luc’s car cut through the light night-time London traffic he relished the prospect of his life finally returning to normal and ignored the dull ache in his chest. A dull ache was nothing. He could cope with a dull ache over the almost painful intensity Jesse threatened him with …

  Two Weeks Later …

  Luc sat on the edge of the bed in his New York apartment’s bedroom. Downtown Manhattan was laid out before him. Usually it inspired him with an incredible sense of energy. Except energy was in short supply, and had been for two weeks now. He felt nothing but numb—as if something had died inside him when he’d driven away from Jesse that night.

  She was everywhere. In his thoughts, in his dreams. Only yesterday he’d stepped out of his offices and a woman had careened into him, small with short strawberry-blonde hair. Luc’s heart had spasmed so violently he’d felt dizzy as he’d reached out to grab her shoulder. The woman had looked back. She wasn’t Jesse. Nothing like Jesse, and she’d shouted an expletive to Luc, telling him to keep his hands to himself …

  Biting back a groan, Luc stood up and noticed that he’d left the TV on all night on mute. He grimaced at this evidence of his sleeplessness, and was about to turn off the rolling English news channel when his hand stilled on the remote and his breath dried in his throat.

  It was Jesse, and this time she wasn’t a mirage. She was struggling through a mob crowd outside her apartment, with only a security guard to help her, and she looked tiny and defenceless.

  Suddenly the numbness disappeared and feeling rushed back into Luc’s body with such force he almost staggered. In that moment his heart cracked into two pieces and he knew he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

  Jesse was trying very hard not to let terror grip her into a state of paralysis.

  The security guard on the phone sounded weary. ‘They’re still here, love. Looks like they’re settling in for the night too.’

  Jesse put down the phone and blinked back the onset of weak tears. If anything had shown her the depth of hatred and resentment Luc felt for her this had. She’d been under siege in her apartment for two days now—ever since someone had leaked to the press who she was. The disgraced JP O’Brien’s daughter.

  She found it easier to keep the incredible hurt and pain at bay if she focused on hating him.

  Her phone rang and she picked it up, saying automatically, ‘No, I’m not interested in giving a�
�’

  ‘Jesse … it’s me.’

  For a second she was in shock, and then Luc’s deep voice lanced her like a poison arrow. She laughed and it verged on hysteria. ‘Tell me, did you come up with this plan as a little something to keep you occupied because you had no one else to torture?’ She shouted down the phone. ‘Just stay away from me, Sanchis!’

  This time after she put the phone down she pulled the cord from the wall.

  After a few minutes she heard an e-mail ping in on her home computer and went and sat down.

  She opened it up and the first words she saw were: ‘Jesse, don’t stop reading this, please.’

  Tigger had somehow got onto the table. Almost absently Jesse scooped him onto her lap. Against her best intentions she read Luc’s e-mail. He claimed not to be involved in leaking the story to the press and said that he’d only just seen the news in New York, that he would come over as soon as he got back to see if she was all right. He also went into a lengthy explanation of what had happened all those years ago with his ex-lover.

  Jesse was dangerously close to unravelling at this e-mail. ‘Why does he care what I think anyway?’ she muttered to herself, looking at his e-mail again. He felt guilty. That had to be it. Guilty—and perhaps he pitied her too.

  She got panicky when she imagined him arriving at her door, ordering her to open up with that deep voice, threatening to kick it down if she didn’t. She couldn’t forget the devastation she’d felt when he’d thrown her out of his car and his life. The devastation that still lacerated her insides.

  She replied:

  Don’t write to me again. Don’t come near my apartment. Leave me alone or I will call the police.

  Two days later Jesse sent up silent thanks that she was due to go to Oslo for a few days of meetings about investing in one of their biggest gaming consortiums. She was escaping the intense press interest, that was the main thing, and also escaping the endless round of thoughts that seemed determined to circle on Luc Sanchis.

  He hadn’t appeared at her apartment, threatening to knock her door down, and Jesse hated herself for being so disappointed. She had told him not to come near her. She was worse than pathetic.

  As she settled into the private jet that had been sent for her by the Norwegian company she relished the privacy. Some hair flopped forward onto her forehead and Jesse pushed it back, enjoying this proof that her life was changing in subtle ways all the time.

  She was infinitely softer than she had been. Even her clothes were softer. She felt a little exposed in loose haremstyle pants, with a slim gold belt and a soft clinging top, but she couldn’t go back to the asexual uniform she’d worn before. And she hated that her metamorphosis had more to do with one person than her own desire to change: Luc.

  Once they were cruising Jesse switched on her laptop. It opened straight onto Luc’s e-mail. She couldn’t help but touch the screen with her fingers, as if she could touch him. The last words of his message blinked out at her: I’ve never felt the desire to set this story straight with anyone except you …

  Jesse resolutely deleted the e-mail and crushed all thoughts of Luc Sanchis. She was barely clinging on to control as it was.

  It was only when she realised she hadn’t seen the polite air steward who had helped her onto the plane for a while that she began to get a little suspicious. Also, she had the weird sensation that they weren’t flying so much west to east across northern Europe as north to south.

  She looked out of the window and the topography definitely looked browner than it should, given that they should almost be descending over Norway by now. In fact the plane didn’t seem to have dipped in altitude at all yet.

  Jesse began to panic mildly, but told herself that she was being ridiculous. But as the minutes ticked by and the plane droned onwards, flying further and further into territory that bore no resemblance to Norway, she panicked in earnest.

  She got out of her seat and knocked on the main pilot’s door, where the steward had to be too. No answer. Something was definitely up. Jesse sat back down, sweating now. She could see the sea below her and it sparkled in the sunlight. Azure blue and green. An awful suspicion was forming in her head, but she didn’t dare give it oxygen so she sat rigidly in her seat and focused on staying calm.

  By the time the plane did land, and a sheepish-looking air steward emerged from the cockpit, Jesse was feeling rage. This was the last straw. She all but sprang out of her seat and went to the open door of the plane. She looked out onto exactly the same peaceful idyllic scene Luc Sanchis had greeted months before—only this time the roles were reversed.

  She looked down to see him standing at the side of the Jeep, hands in the pockets of his jeans, a short-sleeved polo shirt straining across his chest. Dark glasses glinted in the sun.

  In the space of time since they’d been here the temperature had already risen, and it held the promise of the heat of summer not far away.

  Jesse crossed her arms against the emotion in her chest and shouted out, ‘I’m not getting off this plane, Sanchis!’

  She watched as Luc ripped his sunglasses off and threw them into the Jeep beside him. He started striding towards her and Jesse squeaked and ran back into the plane, buckling herself back into her seat. The air steward looked on, impassive.

  She heard Luc coming up the metal steps, and then he was filling the doorway with his broad frame.

  ‘How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sanchis? We’re way beyond that now.’

  Jesse felt breathless. ‘I’m not leaving, Luc.’ She appealed to the steward. ‘This man is kidnapping me.’

  ‘Well, in fairness, Ms Moriarty, I think you kidnapped him first.’

  Jesse blanched and far too belatedly recognised the young man as the steward she’d hired herself to slip the sleeping aid into Luc’s drink that day. This was how scrambled her brain had become. Her heart sank.

  Luc looked smug, and then he was advancing on her, bending down, effortlessly flipping open the safety belt. Jesse was trying to swat his hands away but to no avail. Before she knew it Luc was hefting her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  She was speechless and slightly winded. She was vaguely aware of the steward carrying some things out of the plane—her things—and going ahead of them, presumably to put them in the Jeep. As he went past them again, back towards the plane, she heard Luc say, ‘Thanks, Steven. I’ll call your boss when I want you to come back. It might be a few days.’

  Jesse gasped and hit Luc’s back. ‘Stop this! Put me down!’ But her words were weak and ineffectual from this position.

  She heard the steps being pushed away and the plane’s engine revving up and clenched her hands into fists. Luc got to the Jeep and put her down, all but lifting her into the passenger seat, securing the seat belt around her before closing her door.

  He was in the driver’s seat and locking the doors from the inside before she’d even got her breath back. She was sputtering and gasping with indignation, and then Luc looked at her and grinned.

  ‘I have to admit this is far more satisfying than I expected it to be.’

  He turned back and, much more expertly than Jesse had, drove them off the airfield and to the villa. Jesse sat and fumed, arms crossed. And secretly battled the million butterflies that were hopping around in her belly. She kept her eyes forward, averting them from Luc’s big, capable hands and his thighs in those faded jeans.

  Jesse heard a sound from the back of the Jeep. She looked back and gasped when she saw Tigger was in a cat basket. She glanced at Luc. ‘But … how?’

  Jesse had only that morning left him with her apartment security guard, who’d assured her that his daughter would take care of Tigger.

  Luc didn’t answer straight away. He drove through the gates of the villa, pressing the button to close them behind him, but Jesse was barely aware of that. All sorts of emotions were erupting in her belly. Why had he brought Tigger? What did it mean?

  Luc cast her a quick
glance. ‘Deborah, my secretary, explained the situation to your security guard. She brought Tigger to the plane just ahead of your arrival.’

  Jesse sat back in the seat. They were pulling up to the villa now, and she said suspiciously, ‘What situation?’

  Luc stopped the Jeep smoothly, undid his belt and got out. He then took out Tigger’s basket and came around to open Jesse’s door. She scrambled out before he could touch her, far too aware of how it had felt to be thrown over his shoulder.

  She asked again. ‘What situation?’

  Luc just strode ahead of her and said, ‘Patience is a virtue, Jesse.’

  Jesse slammed the Jeep door shut, feeling like a petulant child. With no choice, she followed him into the hallway. She said to his back, ‘What about my meetings? I’m expected in Oslo right now.’

  Luc turned around. ‘I took the liberty of tracking down one of the few hackers out there not employed by you and paid him to hack into your account. I got him to send e-mails postponing all your meetings. You might want to look into hiring him as he did such a good job.’ He gestured with a hand. ‘I don’t think I need to show you around, do you? Your tour was quite comprehensive the last time.’

  He turned again and started striding towards the kitchen. Jesse followed him with hands clenched, still in shock that he’d turned the tables so neatly on her.

  ‘Luc …’

  When she got there he’d put Tigger’s basket down and let him out, and the fast-growing kitten was already frolicking in the grass and running after butterflies.

  ‘Luc—’

  He went to the cooker and she could see that something was already on the stove, cooking. He’d obviously been here for a while and had started preparing food.

  He glanced up, for all the world as if this was an entirely normal occurrence. ‘I made some pasta for lunch. You’re probably hungry, and I know how crabby you get if you don’t eat properly.’

  Jesse just blinked at him. Something much more volatile was happening inside her now. Emotion was cracking and spreading. ‘Luc, what are you doing?’