“At the same time, Natalia?” Inara’s voice is low, husky—alluring.
My head lolls against the back of the settee, and I sigh. I love their voices, how they sound, how they relax me and make me forget. This seems to excite them further. It’s so strangely erotic, and I do not wish for them to stop. I want to do what they want. I swallow, my mouth dry. From somewhere in the distant recesses of my brain, there is a loud bang. It’s odd in the melodic sounds of this room.
“Inara! Natalia!”
I hear hissing and some scrambling away. I try to raise my head, and I do it like a drunkard, trying to focus as my neck tries to hold my head steady. Inara flies away into the opposite wall. Natalie follows, and they both hiss and scurry from the room. Blake’s face swims into view. He’s fuzzy, blurry—is that concern? I feel his arms scoop under my legs and around my back. My arms rest on my tummy as I hear him whisper to me. I try to meet his eyes.
“Shh, it’s okay. Just close your eyes, honey.” His voice is calm and—sad?
I close my eyes like he says.
I’M IN HIS ARMS, RIDING away in leather, encased in a moving cab. He has me cradled, and I put my hand to his face. His hand covers mine, and he asks me to forgive him. I don’t know whatever for. I see pain in his eyes and I angle my face up. Please, just kiss me. I just want to feel safe and loved. I pull at his neck to get to his lips. He tries to evade me, but I need this.
I want this.
I feel his lips against mine, cool, firm as they tug on my bottom lip. It pulls my lips open, and his lips press against mine once more, his tongue slipping inside, tasting the wine I drank as I taste him, tangy, coppery. I frown, wondering at it. But soon, his hand tangles in my hair, and he steals my breath as I try to keep up with him. I feel his hand trace down my neck and arm—my thigh. I feel my dress bunch up, and I murmur something that excites him.
I tug at his hand, urging it higher, wanting more. Drug me with your kiss! I don’t know if I scream that or think that. We shift suddenly and with ease, his body covering mine on the soft leather seat, and I shift to adjust for him, feeling his need, feeling my need in response.
But then I’m pressed down and being held down, and I can’t move. I cry out for him to stop. Please, I trusted you! Leave me alone! I cry and beg, and tears stream down my face. And he keeps going, and he doesn’t stop.
What’s my name? Don’t you know? I don’t know what it is.
I’m dragged up onto his lap. He straightens my dress. Why are you sorry? What are you sorry for? I’m the one... dread and panic fills me as I fall away and my hands flail uselessly.
Come back to you? I’m—gone. Who did what to me? It was so long ago, it’s nothing. It is! Don’t! Don’t bring it up anymore. I can’t do this. Leave me alone! I push at him, at his hands. I slide to the seat, off his lap, and curl into myself, tears tracking down my cheeks, sobs racking my body. I feel his hands reach for me again, gentle and strong at the same time as he cradles me. He meets my eyes, and I am lost.
He holds me gently and soothes my—soul.
I WAKE UP SLOWLY—EXTREMELY slow—as if I am hungover, and blink my eyes into focus. I’m in my bedroom, encased by silk sheets and a comfortable quilt. I’m still dressed, but my shoes are off, and so is my jewelry. I take a breath and try to think of last night. I remember being held by Blake. I remember his kiss and then—?
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Brad’s cheerful voice is much too cheery for this morning. I wince and press a hand to my forehead, scrunching my eyes shut. I hear him set something down, and he comes over to where I lay and tsks. I cringe, wondering what Brad sees on me now.
“Only Blake would toss expensive jewelry so callously on the night table.” He picks it up and disappears with it to my closet.
I turn my head to the side, and there’s a bottle of water and some aspirin. I slowly push myself up and arrange my pillows just as Brad comes out. I feel like I drank three bottles of wine by myself last night.
“You look like hell. And I know hell, darling.” He sits on the side of the bed and hands me the aspirin and water. He waits while I down it. “Drink too much?” he asks conspiratorially.
I open my mouth and then close it. I don’t know. I don’t remember. In fact, I remember nothing past going to the bathrooms with Inara and Natalia. It’s all a blur after that. I shake my head. Did I even use the restroom?
“Blake asked me to keep an eye on you. Shen is ready to make you breakfast whenever you are ready.”
“I’m not hungry.” Am I? “How did I get home?”
Brad looks at me with concern and puts his hand on my forehead. “No fever, that’s good. Blake brought you home. Carried you upstairs, laid you down, took your shoes off. That dress is ruined, I hope you know.”
I look down at the crushed cocktail dress. “I’m sorry, Brad.” I am. It is a beautiful cocktail dress.
“No worries, darling. I’ll do something with it. Probably burn it.”
I smile at him. “Let me guess, it’s Last Season?”
He squeezes my knee. “You know my secret. All right now, you get up and get dressed. Meet me downstairs.”
“Okay.” I still sit in bed after he’s left.
I was going to ruin Blake’s night, embarrass him, and I did not. In fact, looking back, once I entered the lobby of the restaurant and saw how magnificent it was, all thoughts of doing anything but being the perfect wife fled from my mind. And then in the dining room, meeting his—friends?—a thread of fear had wound its way through my body. I was concentrating on that so much; I forgot about everything else. All thoughts of doing anything to him disappeared. I feared the strange eyes that would glance my way, gaze my way, meet my own—speak to me.
I push back the covers and walk to the closet. I find jeans and a blouse and some flats. I prefer jeans over the fancier slacks hanging there waiting for me to choose them. I dress quickly and head for the stairs.
Downstairs, I do not see Brad anywhere. Blake is in the living room, sitting on the sofa and reading the paper. I stop and stare for a moment. I don’t see many people read the paper anymore since it’s all online now. It seems a bit out of place. I stare at his hands, powerful hands that had... What had his hands done last night?
He bends the paper to look at me over the top. “How are you feeling this morning?”
I venture a step inside. I want to be mad. “I want to die.”
He sets his paper down and immediately comes to me, moving faster than anyone should be able to. But then he is stealthy. “Are you ill? Brad said you didn’t have a fever.”
I watch his face. He is concerned. Concerned for me. I don’t know what to make of it. It confuses me, and anger surfaces, and I don’t know what to do other than lash out.
“I’m fine!” I snap and shove his hands from me.
He lets me go, and I move into the living room to put space between us. I’m confused. I want to hurt him, but he’s been nothing but pleasant to me. He should have hit me when we returned home from our reception. He should have killed me; I goaded him into it. I destroyed the dress and got drunk and pushed his buttons. I saw his face. Brad says he carried me in from the Limo last night and put me to bed. He obviously was gentle about it. He didn’t even take my dress off me. He didn’t peek; he didn’t fondle—that I know of—he took my shoes off and covered me. Did he kiss my cheek? My forehead?—before he left?
I don’t know what to do with this person who is at odds with who I want him to be. And my confusion stokes my anger, and I cannot speak. I look out the window, looking out into the magnificent gardens, trying to focus on something but end up just staring at the vast sea of greenery.
“Why me?” I ask.
I don’t turn around. I cross my arms, glaring out the window, not really seeing what is out there. It’s been a question I have asked myself since the impending wedding. I hated him then, and I hated my father. Well, my father, I’ve always hated. I don’t really expect an answer
to my question, and I hear him walk back into the living room to stand beside me. Stubbornly, I do not move away.
“Marina. At first, you were a means to an end.” My gaze slides up to his blue eyes, and I want to glare at him. But I cannot. I seem to get lost in his eyes. “I wanted to take you away. I still had three years and gave you time. Time to grow and come into your own.”
Those three years away from everything I knew had been scary and exciting at the same time. And yes, I found out how to find my strength. The strength within me that saw me through the years. And knowing that the deal had been struck, I had worked tirelessly toward the goal of getting away. It was during those years that I had not wanted to die, but to live. However, when he found me, I had wanted to die because my freedom was gone once more. And once more, I was under the control of another man. I was not my own person. So I planned to make him angry at me so he would do the very thing I had thought about doing that fateful night I was alone in my father’s restaurant.
“Because I know, Marina.”
And his low, melodic voice cuts through my thoughts and circles around my brain. And while it seeks to calm me, panic fills me. It stretches out through my core. I squeeze my arms around me and lock my knees that want to give out. I tremble and try to breathe, but I don’t move. I don’t trust my legs. He can’t know.
He can’t know!
My stomach lurches. Does he know what happened those many years ago? What happened last night? How does he know? I take shaky breaths that I know he can hear.
“You didn’t have to marry me,” I croak out, my voice thick with emotion. I blink the tears away. I will not cry!
Not anymore.
I sense him looking down at me, and I keep my eyes trained on the gardens outside. I won’t look at him. If I do, I will break, and I cannot do that in front of him. I will not do that in front of him. I’m stronger than that, even if I can’t get him to kill me.
“I did, Marina.”
He offers no other explanations, and I can’t breathe and feel faint. He moves to steady me, and I shove him away. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me!” I turn on my heel and race back to my room.
This is where I break, and fat tears come as I gulp for air. And then I find my will within me. I will not cry! I dash the tears from my eyes as I rush to the bathroom and run the water, splashing it on my face. I let the water drip down my chin to the countertop. I collect my breath and stare at my reflection in the mirror. What does Blake see in me? I dry my face and walk to my bed.
Maybe I’ll die in the bedroom.
Blake
I KNEW SHE WOULD BE troubled and have her demons to work through when I first made my play for her. Truth is, I couldn’t keep myself from her once I knew the hell she had been living in. I saw it plainly on her arm, and fury overtook me. I had to work through my anger and guilt when I found out. It had obviously gone on for years, and I knew I could do something about it. This worked out perfectly with what I needed to accomplish and what the Council had demanded of me.
When I had gone to see her father about the business loan, I had seen just what I was getting into with him. In going through the loan records, I had seen my company had given him some before. Why did he need another? Usually, I do not visit those asking for loans, but I had seen on one document that he had listed a dependent daughter. I did the math from the year of that document and figured she might just meet my needs as I met her father’s. When I arrived at the restaurant's small office, I hadn’t expected to make her part of the deal. I had just wanted to see who these two were and if he was worth giving another loan. She hadn’t been a part of the agreement. Not at first. But then the words slipped out before I even truly knew what I was saying. I saw her anger, heard it, but knew that I needed to get her away from her father.
And I know her father will run that business into the ground, despite what I did for him. I’ve seen the reports on the loans my company had given him. He barely managed the deadline and asked for an extension on one of them. When I met him, I knew he was the type who mismanaged everything from money to managers, to employees and customers—to his daughter.
Oh yes, I knew she was confused and had problems, and it didn’t stop me from wanting her. I still want her. Yes, I was angry about the wedding dress, and I knew she got drunk on purpose that night. I also know she paid the price by throwing up in the restroom. She had thought she could taunt me into hitting her. She thought she would push me into killing her, something I would never consider. It happened fast for me, which surprised me, but then life can be long, dull, and boring being one such as I.
But I will never hit her. I will never kill her.
Because I already love her too much.
Chapter Seven
Marina
“YOU’RE GETTING MOLDY,” Brad’s voice cuts through the space of the bedroom. He sounds put out.
“Shut up,” I groan into my silk-covered pillow, more luxurious than anything I’ve ever owned or slept on in my entire life.
I never want to leave the comfort of this bed. I don’t care if I grow mold. I squeeze my eyes shut as he pulls open the curtains. My eyes fly open. No! I jerk upright and search him out. He’s off to the side, near my closet, away from the sunlight streaming in. My heart settles in my chest, and suddenly—I know. I don’t live in the world I thought I did. Everything that I had been told is at extreme odds with what I am living now. I know what Blake is, and it is strange because it doesn’t frighten me in the least. Oh, yeah, I had seemed to figure it out before, but now, it’s as clear as the sunlight streaming through the window.
“Well, that got you moving,” he tells me dryly.
I place my hand over my heart, take a steady breath, and watch him disappear into my closet. I swing my feet over and stretch before following him inside. He’s perusing my closet again.
“Now, what’s wrong?” I ask. “More ‘Last Season’ stuff?” This earns me a disgruntled face.
“Nothing,” he mumbles to me and doesn’t turn around.
“Do you put this much thought into Blake’s wardrobe?” I’m actually curious about this. Blake always looks—tailored.
Brad turns around. “Actually, yes. Between the two of you, it’s a full-time job.” He turns back around and pulls out a silk blouse and black dress pants. He pulls out some heels and then hands them to me.
“What?” I ask, holding everything awkwardly.
“Dress.” He shoos me with his hand and leaves me to do what he said.
I set the items down and eye them. What’s going on now? I decide to wear what he picked since he’s the expert. I stand in front of the mirror, and Brad enters after a bit.
“Oh!” He clasps his hand to his chest. “You are lovely.” He makes a face. “Except your hair. Come along, chocolate melt.”
“Chocolate melt?” I ask, following him like a lost puppy. I’ve never heard my hair described as that—ever.
“Your hair. It looks like chocolate melting.”
I follow him out. “I like melted chocolate,” I mumble. Actually, it sounds good for breakfast.
Brad purses his lips at me and points to the bathroom. I precede him, biting my lip, and he gets to work applying my make-up and fixing my hair. He puts my shoulder-length hair up in a bun and wispy tendrils. He tells me to close my eyes, puts his hand over my eyes like a shield, and I hear the aerosol can of hairspray.
“There!” He’s pleased with himself.
“I can do my own hair.” I turn my head this way and that, admiring his work.
“Pfft!” He walks out.
“And my own make-up!” I call after him, smiling now. Brad has a way of cheering me up. I like him, and he makes my thoughts of death disappear.
“Pfft!”
“I can!” I call after him. I won’t win this battle.
I look in the mirror and look at the complete picture of me. I like what he’s done, from the clothes to hair to makeup. I look elegant—sophisticated. Like I
belong here. My face falls. What’s going on today? I follow him out, and he’s making my bed. I watch him for a bit, shifting uncomfortably. I raise my hand to my hair.
“Stop touching your hair,” he admonishes, fluffing a pillow.
I’m impressed. He hadn’t even looked my way. I act like I’m going to rub my make-up.
“Feisty today, are you?” He puts his hands on his hips, glancing at me as I giggle. “You need to smile more often. You are quite beautiful when you do.”
Just like that, my smile goes away. Compliments are foreign to me, and genuine ones are even more so. “Where am I going today?”
“Blake wants you to meet him at a restaurant for lunch. He’s spending the day there. He wants to talk to you outside of these walls—and probably even to show off his beautiful wife.”
I stay quiet. I want to wallow in these walls.
Don’t I?
But a little thrill hit my heart at the thought of seeing Blake. I squash it. He will do to me what the others have done. I don’t care what he said. I don’t care what he thinks. I don’t want to be his arm candy. But part of me does. Part of me—I’ll call it the traitorous part—wants to hang all over him and have him hold me and caress me and place kisses on my lips.
“When?” I adjust my silk blouse so it—blouses.
“Noon.”
“The busiest time of the day?” Who eats right at noon? You need to go during the off times to get a good table.
Brad faces me and adjusts some of my hair tendrils. “Everything stops for that man. The red carpet gets rolled out, traffic stops, lights change... get used to it, my dear.”
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