Hidden Desire

by Amy Patrick

  “As I said earlier... wanker.”

  “You are jealous, aren’t you?” Laney bites her lower lip, smiling, and moves closer to me, wooing me into resuming the dance. “Your heart is beating a mile a minute,” she whispers against my throat.

  I’m not sure if it’s the post-speech high or all the attention she’s received from Shane or just the champagne that’s making her so brave tonight, but her closeness is working for me, ratcheting up my heart rate and breathing until I feel like I’ve run an Olympic hundred meter sprint. And this new confidence she’s displaying is incredibly sexy. I’ve only seen the shy Laney, the stubborn Laney. But this girl—this Laney is feeling her power over me. I don’t want it to show but somehow she sees it anyway.

  She knows I want her.

  And she seems to want me. Oh God this is bad. She’s supposed to go back home where it’s safe, where Father can’t get to her, where I can’t get to her. It’s pointless to deny I want her. I’ve never wanted anyone or anything so much. And marrying some strange girl halfway around the world definitely does not interest me. I want Laney and only her.

  But I can’t do it to her.

  I can’t bring her into my dangerous world. And I could never sleep with her and send her away. She’s too precious for that. She’s already had one dick boyfriend who didn’t appreciate her properly and broke her heart. I’m not going to be the next on that list. I’ve got to stop this. I have to pull this runaway train off the tracks before it slams into the explosives waiting down the line.

  “I’m not jealous,” I lie. “I have no proprietary feelings toward you at all. I don’t... see you in that way.”

  “Which way is that?” she demands, her tone belying her skepticism. “The way you see the girls you kiss and caress and—oh wait—we did that.”

  Her lifted brows and the challenging set of her mouth await my answer.

  I make sure she feels my shrug under her fingertips that rest on my shoulders. “What happened between us was no big deal. I kiss a lot of girls. As you’ve pointed out, women hit on me all the time. I have my pick. Daily.”

  “I see,” she says, her tone going frosty as she pulls her hands away. “And that’s what you like? Kissing a different girl every day? Being with a different girl every night?”

  Gritting my teeth, I force out the next lie. “Of course. What guy wouldn’t want that? Variety is the spice of life, as they say.”

  She’s finally heard enough. Her body stiffens. She stops dancing entirely. Laney steps back from me, blinking furiously. Her face has taken on a new pinkness, and her bottom lip trembles.

  “Maybe I should let you go then. I’m sure you don’t want to waste any more time with me when you could be locating your next target for seduction. Thank you so much for the dance.”

  She turns and stumbles away from me, right into the waiting arms of Shane, whose expression is all solicitous concern.

  “Ready for that champagne now, darling?” he asks.

  “Lead the way,” she mutters, and together they move away from me through the happy throng of dancers.

  Well, that worked brilliantly. Are you happy now, asshole?

  I am not happy. In fact, I have never felt less happy in my life. There is a sinking sensation inside me, and I close my eyes to steady myself against a sudden bout of dizzy nausea. Then I open them again and head for the exit.

  This is the perfect out. If I leave here now, Laney will spend the rest of the evening with Shane and his charity friends. He’ll comfort her and cheer her up, escort her safely from the gala, and perhaps drive her to a hotel. He might even have a sister or female friend who could put her up tonight until her new apartment is available tomorrow. Or perhaps he’ll offer her his place for the night.

  I stop in my tracks and clench my fists into tight balls, closing my eyes. Breathe. Walk. Don’t think about it.

  She’s better off with him. She doesn’t need me. She’s proven she can and will make it on her own in this city. I’ve only continued to help her because I wanted to keep her around—I can admit that now.

  So why can’t I leave? I’m standing inside the front doors of the club, where it’s nearly deserted and relatively quiet compared to the happy cacophony of the ballroom. On the other side of the doors I can hear muffled laughter and snatches of conversation between the waiting valets and smell the drifting smoke from gala guests who could no longer contain their nicotine cravings.

  I lift my hand and flatten my palm against the inside of one door, intending to push it open. But my feet don’t move. Why can’t I make these stupid, uncomfortable, shiny shoes simply walk outside and down the sidewalk to my car and just go? It would be the best thing for Laney by far.

  Dropping my head in defeat, I turn back around. I can’t leave her here. She has something of mine—something I can’t live without. My heart.

  Somehow in the course of a week, I’ve gone from desperately wishing to finish my business here in America so I could leave and be alone again to being unable to picture living the rest of my life without someone. Without her.

  Finally breaking my inertia, I walk back to the ballroom again. The open bar has taken full effect now, and the crowd inside is rambunctious, their voices loud and their pockets no doubt much looser than they were earlier this evening.

  The emcee steps up to the mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could ask you to find your seats once again, the live auction is about to begin. We have some incredible packages here, vacations, sporting events, a private dinner prepared in your home by a celebrity chef whose name I’m sure you’ll recognize...”

  I scan the room, searching the dance floor, the bar area, and the various tables for a flash of silver beading, for the top of Laney’s honey-colored hair.

  She’s not here.

  Where would she have gone? Not out the front—I had that exit covered, so to speak. I step back into the central hallway and look one way then another, spotting the elevator doors. The rooftop terrace. That’s where she’ll be—unless she’s in the ladies’ bathroom—or in some private alcove with Shane.

  Fury stabs my gut at that mental picture. What an utter ass I am. I can’t believe I hurt her feelings like I did, suggesting she was no more special to me than any other girl. I have to find her, to explain that I didn’t mean it. That the truth is the exact opposite of what I said.

  Pressing the elevator’s call button repeatedly, I battle a growing sense of dread. Maybe she is up there—with Shane. Maybe he drew her out to listen to the city’s night noises and feel the evening breeze. Maybe right this minute he’s saying all the right things, all the things any rational man would say if he were lucky enough to find himself alone in Laney’s presence.

  Then a horrifying thought strikes me—maybe they’re not talking at all.

  The elevator doors finally open, and I pace inside until it reaches the roof level. Bursting through the doors at a near run, I startle a couple on the other side who appear to be making their way back to the party after an obvious makeout session. What little lipstick remains on the woman’s face is smudged, and the guy’s hair is in total disarray. He’s clearly having a better night than I am.

  “Excuse me,” I blurt.

  The amorous couple shake their heads and get on the elevator while I charge out onto the veranda. There she is, standing at the far end against the white balustrade with her back to me, her head tilted back as if she’s enjoying the sensation of the night air on her skin.

  She’s alone, and I’m overcome with the impulse to go to her and take her in my arms and describe the beautiful surroundings to her, to paint a mental image of the glowing city skyline, the white curtains billowing from the corners of the vine-covered arbor above our heads and the tiny white twinkle lights that adorn it as well as the potted trees that dot the perimeter of the terrace. I want to help her see this place—and every place she goes in the future.

  I approach her soundlessly, nearly mesmerized by the way the wind lifts and plays w
ith her long curls. She is achingly beautiful in the glow of the city lights. It gilds her skin and makes her beaded dress sparkle like the stars high above.

  Before I draw close enough for her to be aware of me, Shane crosses the terrace, carrying two flutes of champagne. He comes to a stop way too close to her, leans in, and appears to nuzzle her cheek as he says something that makes her laugh.

  A red haze drops over my vision, a surge of violent energy filling my veins and stiffening my muscles. Before I quite know what’s happening, I’m striding toward them. Shane must hear my rapid approach because he lifts his head and turns back to see who’s coming. The smile drops from his face when he spots me.

  “Culley,” he says with a terse, apprehensive nod.

  “Why are you here?” Laney whips around to face me, her mouth drawn tight. “I would have thought you’d be busy locating your evening’s entertainment. Or have you already had all the women at the gala? I think I hear some people leaving a restaurant down on the street. Perhaps there’s some fresh meat for you there if you don’t mind hurrying to catch them.”

  “Laney...” The word is a hopeless plea. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”

  Her chin lifts. “There’s no need—you were quite clear about your feelings. I think you’ve said everything that needs to be said.”

  “Not everything. Please, Laney.”

  For a moment she says nothing. Her face shows no reaction. Then she turns to Shane, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Do you mind giving us a few minutes? Culley and I need to say good-bye.” Her last word is a growl exiting her mouth. I’ve never seen her so angry.

  “Are you sure?” Shane asks, eying me suspiciously.

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll be fine,” she assures him. “I’ll meet you back downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Laney and I stand, silent and tense, facing each other as we wait for Shane to cross the terrace and get on the elevator, the doors closing quietly on his very displeased expression.

  “Well?” she demands once he’s gone. “What do you want?”

  I stare at her, unable to give voice to the word screaming inside my brain.

  You.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ugly Truth

  Now that I’ve got her alone, I don’t know what to say. I can’t grab her and kiss her—which is what all my instincts are demanding. I can’t tell her I want her for myself. That is impossible. But I also can’t tolerate the idea of leaving her out here alone with Shane and his perfect hair and his perfect manners and his bottomless champagne glasses.

  I’m at a complete loss, so I blurt out the thought at the top of my mind. “I am an ass.”

  Laney leans back against the terrace railing, folding her arms across her chest. “Yes—you are.”

  “Yes. I am. I shouldn’t have said what I did in there on the dance floor. It was rude, and I apologize. But I need you to understand... there is nothing here for you... with me. I’m not the kind of guy a girl like you should set her sights on.”

  “A girl like me?” she asks.

  “Sheltered, innocent...” Human. “And neither is Shane,” I add. “How well do you even know that guy?”

  “Shane has been a perfect gentleman this evening and every day since I met him—which is more than I can say for some people.”

  “Good manners and pretty words mean shit. You barely know him. You don’t know who you can trust in this city. That’s why you need to go back home where you’ll be safe.”

  She stamps one tiny, glittering shoe. “I don’t want to be safe! I’ve been safe. I’ve been babied, and stifled, and kept safe my whole life, and I’m sick of it! If you don’t want me that’s one thing, but don’t try to force me back into that pathetic excuse I had for a life.”

  My voice drops to a low whisper. “You don’t think I want you?”

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious. You clearly regret kissing me the other night. You practically jumped out of the car when I tried to kiss you this morning. You pushed me away when we started to get close on the dance floor tonight.”

  I stare at her incensed expression, my heart hammering. “Damn it, Laney—I’m trying to protect you.”

  “From what? I don’t need your protection, and I don’t want it. I don’t need a chaperone. I think this crusade to protect me is just an excuse to get rid of me.” Her angry tone morphs into a speculative one. “Or maybe... you’re trying to protect yourself?”

  She takes a step toward me, grips the lapels of my tux, and draws herself against me, shocking me by pressing her body all along the front of mine.

  A waft of vanilla-scented air meets my nostrils, making me instantly ravenous. She tilts glistening eyes up to me. I’m grateful they can’t see how much I’m struggling not to jerk her up to my mouth and claim her right here and now. My hands shake with the effort of restraint.

  “Why?” she demands in a harsh whisper. “Why are you so afraid?”

  Her question catches me off guard. Compared to the humans all around me, I am powerful. I’m wealthy, good looking, and even moderately famous. I have every advantage, including ones they could never understand—my father is in charge of the Dark Council and soon to be in charge of all of their lives. What would I have to be afraid of?

  Her. She is right. But I can’t let her know that.

  “You’re afraid you do want me,” she says, the light of understanding shining in her big brown eyes. “And you don’t like losing control.”

  I huff a short, uncomfortable laugh. “I know you like to think you have X-ray vision into people’s souls, but you don’t know me.”

  “I think I do,” she counters. “You never let yourself count on anyone for anything because the people in your life have disappointed you. You’ve been alone so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to let someone get close. And you’re afraid that if you do, they’ll reject you. I won’t reject you, Culley. I care about you. I like you—just as you are.”

  Instead of warming my heart, her words send me into a state of near panic.

  “I’ve been lying to you,” I say bluntly.

  She inhales a sharp breath then blinks several times. Her voice is very calm. “About what?”

  “Everything. For one thing—my job. I really am a model.”

  “Well, that’s terrible,” she deadpans. “What a tremendous turnoff. How dare you not be up front about such a horrifying personal detail.”

  “And I do work for my father, but not at his law firm.” A raw, desperate laugh escapes my throat. “Want to hear my job description? I’ve told you that Father was rather uninvolved in my life? That changed around about the time I turned eight, when it became apparent I took after my mother instead of him. He decided my particular genetic ‘gifts’ could be useful to him. He’s always believed in the old adage ‘money is power,’ and he’ll do anything to increase his own power—and wealth.”

  Swallowing hard, I force myself to admit the shameful things Laney needs to hear, the ugly truth she needs to understand about me. “First he had me work with the grieving parents his firm came across—only the well-to-do ones of course—get close to them, let them become attached to me, so they’d be willing to sign over their life savings and all their investments to the little boy who reminded them so much of their own lost child. When I got older, he assigned me to use my ‘other’ forms of appeal... to women. You meet a lot of rich women working as a male model—single, divorced, widowed... married.”

  All the color leaves Laney’s face. “You slept with them?”

  “Didn’t need to. They handed over their money without it going that far. But I wooed them. I lied to them. And I stole from them. There were other women. Father wasn’t interested in them for their money, but for... other reasons. I helped him... procure them. Sort of like a living bait and switch scheme.”

  “They went home with you and ended up with him?”

  My throat fills with bile. “Exactly.”

  I don’t mention the worst of it—my ro
le in the S epidemic, my possible role in her brother’s addiction and death. She’s already repulsed by me—rightfully so. Something in me can’t bear to take that final step and have her see the full ugliness of my soul. Watching her unreadable expression, waiting for her reaction is torture.

  “Culley,” Laney finally says. “Why are you telling me all this? Are you trying to disgust me? You don’t. Your father is a different story. He’s beyond horrible for using his child like that. But that’s not your fault. If you’re trying to make me hate you, you can just stop. I could never hate you—no matter what you’ve done. What do you want me to say?”

  I grab her shoulders and give them a little shake. “I want you to say you’ll leave L.A. Tomorrow. Tonight if possible. As long as you’re here, you’re in danger—from the S addicts, from my father, from me most of all.”

  Instead of pushing her away as I should, I drag her closer to me, wrapping her tightly in my arms. She feels perfectly right. The softness of her skin, the sweetness of her scent, the sound of her rapid breathing—it’s almost more than I can bear. The torment of wanting what I cannot have is the most painful thing I have ever felt.

  Speaking into her hair just above her ear, my throat aches and my voice is a ragged whisper. “Go home, Laney. Please. Because if you stay, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from ruining you, from hurting you. I want you too much—in every possible way. I’ve tried to stop, but I can’t.”

  “I don’t want you to stop. I want you, too,” she says eagerly.

  “No,” I growl. “You don’t understand. My wanting you is not a good thing.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “I hated seeing you dance with Shane tonight. Because he’s not a wanker. He’s a good guy. He’s everything I’m not. I couldn’t stand seeing you give him all your attention when... when I want it for myself.”

  I pull away from her and face the mirrored windows of the high rises surrounding the terrace, gripping the white painted railing in front of me as I continue. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You challenge me, you amuse me... and yes, you scare me. But we can’t be together. I’m not right for you. Believe me—if you only knew—you don’t want to get stuck with me.”