Taken

by Jennifer Dawson

  I meet his gaze. “You don’t get it, it has nothing to do with her. I don’t love you, Winston.”

  “So?” He shakes his head like I’m too silly for words. “What’s love got to do with it? In fact, I think our marriage will work better not loving each other. We can be true partners that way.”

  Out the corner of my eye I spot Brandon heading down the east hall of the old Chicago historic mansion that’s rented out for parties, past the velvet ropes that are supposed to keep us out. I have to follow him. I grit my teeth. “I don’t want to be your partner. I don’t want to be your anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  Again, rage flashes in the depths of his brown eyes. “This isn’t over, Veronica.”

  “Yes, it is.” I skirt around Winston, holding my breath, and praying he won’t follow.

  Luckily, he doesn’t, and I’m free to chase after Brandon.

  Maybe it’s irrational but he feels like the key that will lead me to the mysterious thing I’m searching for but can’t name.

  And I have no intention of taking no for an answer.

  * * *

  Brandon

  “I’ll do anything you want, and I do mean anything.” A blonde whose name I don’t even know, whispers to me in a breathy voice.

  I grit my teeth to hide my irritation.

  She’s plastered her body against mine, tangling her long, lean arms around my waist as she offers up her sexual arsenal. As tall as she is, she can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, but she’s surprisingly strong.

  Her trainer must do a good job with her.

  I give her my most charming smile, flashing dimples I know drive women crazy, and chuck her gently under the chin. “Now, sweetheart, I know you don’t mean that.”

  “But I do.” She beams up at me, her lips overfilled and look hard to the touch, although I’m sure she thinks it’s sexy. “I’m double jointed.”

  Good god, I fucking hate these things. She’s the third one tonight, and I’ve only been here thirty minutes.

  I laugh, winking down at her. “I’m sure your yoga teacher is very impressed with you.”

  She licks her lips, batting lashes so thick I can barely see the blue of her eyes. “Let me impress you.”

  “That’s a lovely offer, darling, but I’m afraid I have to pass.” I reach behind and begin the process of untangling her limbs off me.

  She rises to her tiptoes to whisper in my ear. “One blowjob, that’s all I ask. Let me suck your cock, and if I don’t rock your world, I’ll never bother you again.”

  Maybe to most men this would be an offer they couldn’t refuse, but I’m not one of those men. I can get a killer blowjob anytime I want, day or night, with one phone call. Not even her easy access persuades me for a second. I do not fuck around with Chicago society women. Ever. And I’m sure as hell not going to break my rule for this woman, whose words are cool, but eyes are desperate.

  I touch her cheek, softly. I’m always a gentleman when I reject them. I don’t see the point in being cruel about it. In my experience, cruelty just makes them try harder. I chuckle. “That’s quite tempting, but I have to pass.” I tilt my head. “I have people waiting for me.”

  She puffs out her bottom lip in a playful pout.

  I pat her ass and wink. “Be a good girl and run along.”

  “Are you sure?” She boldly meets my gaze.

  “Sorry, it can’t be helped.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Go back to the party and cause a proper riot in that dress.”

  That perks her up and she nods. “If you change your mind…”

  “You’ll be the first to know.” I watch as she takes her leave, not moving until she’s out of my sight to ensure she doesn’t get any more ideas and follow me.

  When she’s gone, I sigh, long and weary.

  If I had my choice I’d never see any of these people again, but it’s the least I can do for the people who raised me. As part of my truce with my parents, to appease them for the disappointment of their only child, I agree to do one of these events once a quarter.

  It makes them happy to pretend to be the perfect family every once in a while. I don’t mind too much, I even understand it. There was a time I fought hard to stay in this world, that it seemed important to me, but that was a long time ago.

  It’s not ideal but the contacts never hurt. I’m good at making money and occasionally someone brings me a deal that’s interesting enough for me to take notice. Not often, but it happens.

  Now that I’m alone again, I slip down the hallway, past the roped-off part of the house that’s closed for renovations and not part of the main event, looking for some air. I open various doors until I find a private balcony and duck out into the Chicago night.

  The weather is mild with a soft breeze, a perfect night. I glance at my watch. I’d promised my mother three hours.

  My head already hurts.

  I’d much rather be off with my real friends, who are all out having dinner together, but I committed and now I’m stuck. I plan on meeting them later and forgetting this life until I’m required to show up again.

  For the sake of my parents’ wishes I try and play the part, but I won’t pretend I don’t scorn my peers, and this sheltered world I grew up in. I find them shallow, exhausting and trite. They are completely out of touch with the real world. I used to be just like them. A superficial, entitled, out-of-control brat who would crush anyone that stood in my way.

  The best life decision I ever made was walking away. And while I might have more money than I know what to do with, I’ve made it a point to surround myself with actual people instead of shells.

  I’m not sure why I tolerate these things for my parents. Maybe it’s because they are the only family I have. I don’t need them, but they aren’t bad enough to disown either.

  Over the years we’d developed an understanding. I go to dinner with them once a month, attend these events every so often, and keep up appearances. In return, they leave me alone and let me live my life without interference.

  It’s a fair trade.

  I sigh. I’ll allow myself ten more minutes of peace and then go back in to do my duty.

  There’s a click and I glance around to see the doors open.

  Veronica Westwood, the oldest daughter of the Michigan Avenue Westwoods, stands in the threshold. The moonlight splashes over her, casting her in an ethereal glow that only enhances her pale beauty. Dressed in a strapless white dress with a black sash, she’s long, lean and looks custom designed to stand bookended by elaborate French doors on a stone balcony at night.

  I sigh. Not this again. I need a break before the next one. It’s exhausting fending off rich-girl advances with a charming smile.

  I take in Veronica while she pauses in the doorway, I’m sure for dramatic effect. I might not know her personally, but I know who she is. Old money is a small world, growing smaller by the day as tech geniuses, start-up millionaires and real estate moguls walk around in their ripped jeans and Star Wars T-shirts.

  Since she’s been away at business school, I haven’t seen her for a while but she’s grown into her long limbs and angular bone structure. She’s a stunning woman, but I don’t want to talk to her. Don’t want to hear whatever she believes she can offer me.

  While I appreciate her beauty, I prefer submissive redheads that have nothing to do with the world I grew up in. The day I walked away from this life, I’d crawled out of bed filled with four society girls and a coke hangover, I’d promised myself I’d never again touch one of them.

  I hadn’t broken my promise and haven’t regretted it a day since.

  Unfortunately, I also promised my mother I’d be polite so I put on the pleasant expression I reserve for the women at these events. “Veronica, how lovely to see you.”

  She laughs and flashes me a brilliant smile. “You know, I almost believe that. You’re a good actor.”

  Well, now, this is an interesting surprise. I raise a brow. Most of the girl
s desperate to get my attention in this crowd aren’t so astute. “Apparently not good enough.”

  “Rest assured, I doubt most people here will notice.” She tilts her head and bats her lashes oh so subtly. It’s demure, barely perceptible, but it raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

  I make it a habit to study people, their motives and desires, the hidden meaning in their words, and I’m very good at it. It’s an undervalued and underused skill in both business and in women, a skill I’ve honed to perfection.

  Not only does Veronica Westwood want something, she believes she can outsmart me to get it. She’s followed me, sought me out, and now is distinguishing herself from the rest, all while attempting to charm me. Only she can’t quite hide the cunning in her expression.

  I slide my hand into the pocket of my tux. “Except you?”

  “Yes.” Her gaze is steady as she smooths a hand over the curve of her hip. “But that’s because I believe we have something in common.”

  “I highly doubt that.” My voice is dry and unimpressed.

  Veronica knows nothing about me, other than rumors she’s heard. She’s a few years younger than me, so we didn’t go to school together, or belong to the same crowd when I was one of them. All she knows is speculation, which has more to do with them than me.

  “You never know, I might surprise you.” She walks over to the rail, made of thick stone as was the custom back in the early nineteen hundreds. She looks out to the lakefront and the boats swaying in their docks. She clasps her long fingers and blows out a breath. “I’ve surprised a lot of people lately.”

  I experience an unexpected flare of intrigue. Her approach is different from most of the women in this set, who tend to be overt and cloying, telegraphing their intention to bed me from a mile away even when they aren’t outright offering. I find myself wondering what Veronica Westwood might define as surprising. “And how have you managed that?”

  The wind blows but her hair is pulled back so tight against her head nothing sways in the breeze. By the thickness of the bun resting at the nape of her neck, I’d say that’s a real shame. I wonder what her hair looks like down and unrestrained.

  She tilts her head. “Do you care?”

  I meet her eyes, which I now see are honey brown. They are a pretty, unusual golden color, but that’s not what catches my interest. No, it’s something else. Something I don’t normally see at these events—life. I find myself dropping the feigned politeness. I shrug. “Not particularly.”

  She smiles. “Bluntness is a rare trait at these parties.”

  I turn to face her more fully, ready to dismiss her, because there’s something about her that’s vaguely unsettling, but then my attention snags on her mouth. She doesn’t appear to be wearing lipstick, but her lips are full, tinted pink, as though she’s been eating raspberries. Instead of sending her away, I say, “Bluntness is easy when you don’t care about people’s opinion of you.”

  “There’s no stakes. No risk.” She rubs a hand over her shoulder and her lashes lift, fluttering slightly. “What’s it like to have nothing to lose?”

  The question takes me aback. She takes me aback. It’s such an uncommon occurrence my intrigue grows. Veronica is not an ordinary society girl. I narrow my gaze. “Why do you think I have nothing to lose?”

  Our eyes lock and the air shifts between us.

  Her tongue darts between her lips. “Do you?”

  My cock stirs, surprising me. “We all have something to lose. The only thing that changes is what we place value on.”

  “And what does a man like you place value on?” There is heat in her words, but not seduction.

  Before I can stop myself, I step closer, she smells delicious, like fresh air and freedom.

  She straightens but makes no move to back away.

  Tension thickens the space separating us.

  “What do you have to lose, Veronica?” My voice is low, designed to wrap itself around her and draw her closer.

  “Nothing.” Her pupils dilate; she scrapes perfect white teeth over her ripe mouth. “I’m ready to risk it all.”

  There’s an intensity in her, in this conversation, that sparks something inside me I haven’t experienced in so long I’d thought it was dead. That it wasn’t possible anymore. Challenge. “That is a dangerous proposition to throw out there, little girl.”

  Her expression flashes and she leans forward, boldly meeting my gaze. “Maybe I’m a dangerous woman.”

  All my life I’ve had strong instincts, especially when it comes to women, and they flare to life now. I shake my head. “No, you’re not.” I dip lower, closer to her, moving to her ear. She sucks in a breath and it pleases me. “But you want to be.”

  I straighten, and the air stills. There’s nothing but silence and the unmistakable pull of tension and chemistry.

  Slowly, she nods. “I do.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

  I smile. “Then you’re already on your way.”

  She glances up at me, her expression searching. “Why do you come to these things if you hate them?”

  I study her face, the patrician bone structure, her big honey eyes and full pink lips. “Why do you?”

  “Do you ever answer any question about yourself?”

  I’m impressed she’s noticed my evasion. “You’re a smart girl.”

  A smile flirts over her lips. “You’re still avoiding.”

  I have no idea why I’m entertaining her, and I intend to put a stop to it. Prepared to send her on her way, I look at her, and instead I find myself saying, “I do it to appease my parents.”

  “Appease them for what?”

  Again I answer, although I have no idea why. “It’s a small consolation for not being the son they wished for.”

  “I was always the daughter my parents wanted.” Veronica puts her hand on the stone of the balcony. “Or at least I was until a few weeks ago.”

  “What happened a few weeks ago?” My apathy is gone now. I do care what she has to say.

  She swallows and the fine cords of her delicate neck work. “I blew up my life.”

  “And how did that feel?”

  Our gazes lock and heat flares bright. “Like freedom.”

  Veronica Westwood is no ordinary woman.

  I raise my brow. “Is this why you came looking for me?”

  She doesn’t look away. “Why do you think I came looking for you?”

  “Now who’s evading?” I lean into her, and her breath hitches. “You want something from me.”

  Her hand flutters to her throat. “Do I have to want something?”

  My attention drifts to her lips and I’m struck with the sudden desire to take her mouth and kiss her the way I’m certain her significant other, Winston Bishop, has never kissed her. He’s a weak man. She probably has no idea what it’s like to be with a strong one and I want to give her a taste. The desire is…unexpected. And entirely unwelcome. I nod. “Absolutely.”

  “I do want something.” Her voice is soft and holds the barest hint of a tremble.

  “And what do you want?”

  She rubs a hand over her shoulder as though she’s cold. “I think, maybe we can help each other.”

  I glance down and see faint bruises on her forearm. I frown. I’ve inflicted my fair share of bruises on willing women, but I never assume marks are voluntary unless they were from my hands. I brush my finger over soft skin and she gasps a little as something akin to an electric current races between us. “What happened?”

  She waves a hand. “It’s nothing.”

  Even though I should back away, I step closer, far too close for casual, and crook my finger under her chin, raising her face to me. “Nothing?”

  Her pupils dilate. “Nothing.”

  “Would you tell me if it was something?”

  A tiny shake of her head. “Probably not.”

  I grasp her jaw and search her face, her expression. The
look in her eyes, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but it feels familiar.

  She licks her lips. “What are you looking for?”

  “The truth of you,” I answer her directly.

  “You could ask me.” Her voice is breathless, and lurking under everything I feel the pulse of true chemistry, not merely lust or attraction, but kinship, so foreign I almost don’t recognize it. The irony of feeling this tension with Veronica Westwood, of all women, isn’t lost on me.

  “Words deceive.” I lean down so our faces are mere inches apart. “But the body, well, the body never lies.”

  She takes a stuttering little breath. “What does my body say?”

  “You’re searching for something.” I tilt my head in the direction of the party. “Something you can’t find there.”

  “Yes.” Her hand comes up to rest on my forearm.

  My fingers tighten. “You think I can give it to you.”

  “I do.” Her lashes flicker but her gaze doesn’t waver.

  It’s best to end this interaction, to quell any notion she might have about me. “I can’t. Or more importantly, I won’t.”

  She shakes her head. “I promise it’s not what you think.”

  “No?” I release her and step back. She’s getting to me. I want her. Even though she belongs to a class of women I determine off limits. Standing here, all I want is to work her dress up her thighs and slip my hand between her legs. With perfect clarity I can imagine pushing her against the stone wall and thrusting into her. I don’t like that she makes me want to disregard all my morals for her. “Then I’ll ask you one more time, little Veronica. What do you want?”

  She straightens her shoulders. “A job.”

  I blink. Startled at the words. Surely I hadn’t heard her right. “A job?”

  She nods, and her fingers twist the delicate silver chain at her neck. “I heard through the grapevine you’re looking for a general manager. I want a chance to interview for the job.”

  So while I’d been standing here, thinking about all the terrible things I could do to make her scream, she’s been standing here trying to figure out how to ask me for an interview?