Sinful Illusions

by Morgan James

  Damn. This was a complication I hadn’t forseen.

  As I loosened my hold, my fingers brushed the side of her breast, and the woman recoiled further. “I won’t hurt you,” I promised.

  My words were drowned out by her shriek of indignation, and she bucked her hips in an attempt to throw me off. I lifted my weight off her hips, ready to stand when one knee came up, slamming into my balls. “Goddamn it!”

  She threw herself away from me, then scrambled to her feet. Oh, hell no. She was out of her mind if she thought I was going to let her get away now. It was no accident that she’d ended up here; I needed to know what had driven her to break onto my property in the middle of the night.

  Just as I grabbed her shirt again she yanked away, and her feet slipped from underneath of her, sending her stumbling backward. She let out a little cry, her eyes going wide as her arms windmilled wildly, fighting for balance. She went sprawling backwards, and a moment later, silence fell as she crumpled to the ground in a dark, ungainly heap.

  Still on my knees, I crawled forward cautiously, inspecting her as I did so. She lay with her eyes closed, her head turned slightly to the side. I lunged forward, snatching up her wrists and securing them together before she had a chance to fight back. She made no movement at all, and my brows drew together. It was almost impossible to see anything in the near-dark, so I tugged off one glove and swept my hand along the ground behind her head. The dark hat she wore had come loose during our struggle, and long strands of what could only be blonde hair fluttered around her face. I swept them aside, and my fingers brushed against the cool, hard surface of the rock behind her head.

  Sifting through her hair, I felt along her skull until I encountered something sticky and damp. In the moonlight, a dark substance that I recognized as blood coated the tips of my fingers. I let out a sigh. Sliding one hand gently beneath her shoulders, I looped the other under her knees and lifted her to my chest and stood. Her head lolled back as I carried her toward the house. I took my time, walking cautiously so as not to jostle her and exacerbate the injury to her head.

  Xavier threw open the front door before I even crested the last step, and his eyes narrowed in concern when they landed on the girl. “What’s this?” he asked in heavily accented English.

  I dipped my chin toward the young woman in my arms. “Our fugitive.”

  He snorted softly, then closed the door behind us. I turned slightly to face him, still walking backwards toward the staircase. “Call Dr. Marlowe. Tell him we’ve got a head wound.”

  Xavier gave a concise nod and pulled a slim black cell phone from his pocket. I was already disappearing around the curve in the staircase before I heard him speaking to the doctor. Halfway down the hall that led to the guestrooms, I halted midstride. I had no idea who this woman was or what the hell she was doing trying to break into my home. She could be dangerous, not only to me, but to herself. No fucking way was I giving her free rein to wreak havoc. Judging from the way she’d fought back outside, she was probably tempted to kill me in my sleep.

  I changed directions, heading down the set of stairs at the back of the house. They deposited right around the corner from my office, and I nodded to Callum as I approached the door. His eyes dipped to the young woman in my arms before meeting mine again. Without a word, he opened the door to my office, and I maneuvered past him. I shifted her in my arms as I approached the far wall.

  Lightly pushing the dark wood paneling, I stepped back as it swung toward me, exposing the thick steel door to the panic room. I pressed my thumb to a small pad discreetly mounted on the door near the handle, and the lock disengaged with a nearly silent click. Turning to the side, I maneuvered us through the doorway and into the small room.

  Until I knew who the woman was and what the hell she was doing sneaking around my property, it was better to keep her here. I settled her on the small bed tucked against the wall and flicked a glance around the room to make sure there was nothing that could be used as a weapon. She was small, but she most certainly wasn’t helpless—the fight she’d put up outside told me that much. I returned my gaze to the woman lying silently on the thin mattress.

  Blood had matted her hair, and it sent a pang of unease through me. I was no stranger to blood and gore, but seeing it on a woman—regardless of the fact that she’d been caught trespassing—was unsettling. Moving to the sink in the corner, I pulled down a washcloth, then dampened it and carried it back to the bed. Lifting her head slightly, I pressed it to the wound. The bleeding had slowed, but it would undoubtedly need stitches. Through it all, the woman never stirred. My lips flattened into a firm line as I regarded her. Pulling off the remaining black leather glove, I settled my fingers at the base of her neck and felt for a pulse. Sure enough, it was there. She was alive, then. That was a good thing. I hoped Dr. Marlowe would get here soon, because I wanted some answers. Like who she was, for starters.

  What the hell had she been thinking? I stared down at the woman, taking in every detail. She was pretty—gorgeous, actually—and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew her somehow. Her skin was a pale ivory, and I ran my fingers over the contour of her jaw, taking in the heart shaped-face, the slightly pointed, stubborn little chin that jutted out mutinously, even as she slept.

  A tiny scratch marred her cheek, and I stroked it with the pad of my thumb. Though her hair was pale gold, her brows were incongruously dark. Her features were striking, heart-stoppingly beautiful. I pulled my hand away as if I’d been burned, deeply uncomfortable with the realization.

  I studied her long lashes, devoid of mascara, the way they rested gently on the curve of her pink-flushed cheeks. Anger raced through me. It was the goddamn middle of winter, and she was walking around in little more than a sweatshirt and a pair of dark pants, the thin fabric clinging to her lean legs. Clearly she hadn’t been thinking, since she’d chosen my house to break into. Aside from covering herself in black from head to toe, she hadn’t tried to obscure her facial features. I wanted to see her eyes again. I was seriously tempted to peel open her lids and see those bright eyes in the light.

  I picked up one limp hand and studied it. Her nails were short but well-manicured, and her hands showed no evidence of callouses. She was delicate, dainty. No scars that I could see. By outward appearances, she showed no signs of having ever experienced the harsher side of life. Who the hell was this woman?

  My gaze strayed to her face again, up to the long pale blonde strands that floated around her face like a halo. I ran my fingers through them, inspecting the way the light played over her golden locks. There were too many different tones for it to not be natural. No wonder she’d had it covered up. It was such a distinct color; no one could forget that shade if they tried. But that only raised more questions.

  The hairs on the back of my neck lifted again. I knew this girl—but how? We hadn’t slept together; there’s no way I would have forgotten a face like hers. Was she from Noir? Any given night there were several dozen women gracing the halls of the club I owned downtown. Most were regulars though, and I knew them by face if not by name. This woman… There was something distinct about her that I just couldn’t put my finger on. Damn, it was going to drive me crazy.

  I opened my palm and cradled her cheek, bracing myself for the barrage of images sure to come. Instead, I felt… nothing. There were no premonitions, no visions of any kind. Not even a stirring. Just her cool, pale skin beneath mine.

  “Boss?”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t bother to look away from the woman as Callum’s voice floated over my shoulder.

  “Dr. Marlowe is here to examine the girl.”

  I straightened away from her. “Send him in.”

  Less than thirty seconds later, a slight, older man strode into the room. “Fox.”

  “Doctor.” I gestured toward the bed where the young woman lay, still unconscious. “Here she is.”

  His shrewd gaze landed on her then bounced back to me, his eyes impassive and probing at the same t
ime. “Your man said she has a head wound.”

  I nodded. “She’s got a decent sized gash behind her right ear.”

  His gaze swept over her again, lying deathly still. “Any preexisting issues I should be aware of, any allergies?”

  “Not sure. I never met her before tonight.”

  He turned back to me. “What happened?”

  “She hit her head.” One white eyebrow lifted, and I smirked. “It’s the truth. She scaled the fence, and I tackled her before I realized she was a woman. She hit a rock when she fell.”

  He grunted and set his leather bag on the edge of the bed. Once he’d arranged everything the way he wanted, he met my eyes, then tipped his head toward the door. “I’d like some privacy with the patient.”

  Instead of leaving, I moved to the opposite wall to give him some space to work. “I’ll stay if you don’t mind.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “It’s not an option.”

  He made another little sound in the back of his throat but didn’t argue. With efficient movements, he began to check her over. After taking her vitals, he looked at the back of her head.

  He picked up the washcloth I’d left pressed to her wound. “I assumed you tried to stop the bleeding?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He gently probed the wound, then returned her head to the pillow. “How long has she been out?”

  I glanced at my watch. “Approximately half an hour.”

  He nodded, then did what I hadn’t had the courage to do and peeled one eyelid open to check her pupils. Intensely curious, I drifted forward. My breath caught at the sight of misty dark green irises. They were gone a moment later as Dr. Marlowe drew her lid down and reached for his suture kit. “I’ll need to clean her up and shave away the hair around—”

  “No.” I couldn’t tell exactly why the word had flown out of my mouth, but my tone was terse and brooked no argument.

  He sent me an exasperated look. “I have to. I can’t risk anything getting in the wound.”

  “Just the bare minimum,” I conceded after a moment. It was bad enough that she was going to wake up in a strange place. I couldn’t figure out why the hell it bothered me so much, and the fact that I was worried annoyed me even more. I waved a hand. “Just do what you have to do.”

  Marlowe eyed me, his gaze searching, and I struggled to rein in my wayward emotions. “Help me clean her up.”

  I felt off kilter, though I couldn’t tell precisely what had caused it. Maybe the adrenaline was wearing off, leaving me slightly delirious. That made more sense, and I nodded more to myself. Relieved at the conclusion, I turned my focus to helping Marlowe with my prisoner.

  Once we’d removed as much blood from her hair as possible and flushed the wound, Dr. Marlowe carefully cut away a section of hair, then began the process of suturing the wicked gash. With a hypodermic needle, he injected the site with a local anesthetic, even though she appeared to still be out cold. I could only imagine her waking up in the middle of the process.

  I winced internally as I watched the thin, curved needle penetrate one ragged edge of skin, then the other, before pulling slightly together. He tied off the stitch and moved to the next. Fifteen minutes later he was finished, and I let out a sigh of relief. I kept waiting for her to wake up, but she never did. Once she was sufficiently sutured and bandaged, I replaced the dirty pillow case with a clean, dry one and tucked a blanket around her.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dr. Marlowe said, as if reading my thoughts. “Call me if she develops a fever or if she remains unconscious beyond the next twelve hours or so. Once she’s healing up, I can come check on her, remove the stitches.”

  Long after the doctor had left, I stared at the young woman. “Who are you?”

  One way or another, I was going to find out who she was and why she was here.

  Chapter Three

  Eva

  I opened my eyes, then immediately closed them again against the glaringly bright overhead light. My head hurt like a bitch, and I grimaced as I shifted uncomfortably. What the hell had happened? I’d gone to sleep, and then…

  My eyes popped open. No, that wasn’t right. I’d gone to Fox’s house and made it over the fence before the man had slipped up behind me. I still couldn’t figure out where he’d come from, because everything had been deathly silent, not even a whisper of motion until he’d stepped right up behind me. He was silent as a specter and fast as lightning, and I hadn’t had a chance to fight back before one arm wound around my waist, his other hand coming up to cover my mouth.

  I remembered the way his hands had roved over me, the surprise in his tone evident when he realized I was a woman. Then… Then what? My mind was an empty void, as blank as the wall across from me.

  From my vantage point where I lay on my right side, I surveyed the small room. Where the hell was I? The walls were plain white, and a single bright fluorescent light shone brightly overhead. The others were turned off, probably to keep from blinding someone in the stark room. A standard-issue toilet sat in the corner, and I stared at it for a moment. I would need to use it soon—once I figured out exactly where I was. The room was small, maybe only ten feet deep by ten feet wide, and it looked like…

  Holy shit. My eyes widened as my brain caught up. Was I in jail? Damn it. I could only imagine my father’s reaction when I called him to bail me out.

  I levered to my elbow, then slowly pushed to a sitting position and dropped my feet to the floor. My head spun, and I clenched my eyes closed against the pain swimming behind them. Nausea roiled in my belly, and I curled my fingers around the edge of the thin mattress to keep from pitching forward. After a long minute it finally subsided, and I peeked through slitted lashes. Mentally, I checked my body. I was sore pretty much everywhere, but that was no surprise considering the way Fox had tackled me to the hard ground.

  I thought back to that moment. I distinctly remembered the way his eyes had widened when he realized I was a woman. He’d released me, and I’d made a break for it, but… Then what had happened? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember anything after that. I forced my muscles to work as I pushed to my feet and cocked my ears, listening, waiting for something—anything. There were no windows in the small room, only a door that appeared to be made of steel. I stared at it in dismay. Looked like I would have to wait for someone to come get me.

  I tipped my head up and for the first time, I noticed the small camera in the corner of the room. I followed its position—right to the bed. A shiver rolled down my spine. Shit. They must really be worried about me if they had me under surveillance. How long had I been here? With no windows it was hard to determine any semblance of time.

  Thinking back to the headache that had racked my brain when I’d woken up, I assumed I’d been out for awhile. Long enough for Fox to call the authorities, apparently, and transport me here. Again, I couldn’t help but wonder exactly where here was. My nose scrunched up as I looked at the bed. It wasn’t even a real bed, just a metal cot bolted to the floor with a thin mattress on it. At least the rumpled sheets appeared to be clean, and—

  My gaze locked on the pillow case and the brownish stains there. Was that blood? My blood? I traced the maroon smudge on the fabric before feeling the back of my head.

  “It’s yours,” a smooth voice spoke from behind me.

  My head ached as I whirled around, and my vision blurred for a moment as I fought to bring the man into focus. I took in the least daunting details first—the impeccable suit and expensive black shoes. A white button-down shirt, open at the throat with no tie. Definitely not a guard. My eyes slowly rose to his face, and my heart skipped a beat in my chest.

  Dark hair topped his head, matching the stubble on his swarthy cheeks. His nose was slightly crooked, and he had a tiny dimple in his chin that added to his character instead of detracting from it. His skin, light brown under the harsh lights, hinted at a dark exoticism. But what sent ice through my veins were those eye
s.

  Dark and cold, they were completely devoid of emotion—of life. Casually lounged back against the steel door, he stared at me, unblinking. Oh, God. It was Fox—the same man who’d snuck up on me last night.

  The image of Fox I’d conjured in my mind hadn’t done him justice. This man was model-gorgeous, absolutely breathtaking, and I fought to draw air into my lungs under his intense scrutiny. I steeled my shoulders and faced him head on.

  “Where am I?”

  He didn’t even blink as he regarded me. “How are you feeling?”

  So he wanted to answer a question with a question? I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “What happened to my sister?”

  His eyes were dark and intense, empty. “Depends who she is.”

  My heart spasmed with pain, but the anger welling up inside me quickly took over. For some reason, I fully expected him to own up to Elle’s murder. Instead, he acted as though he had no idea who I was talking about. “You torture and kill so many women you can’t even keep track?”

  The only indication that he had heard me was given away by a slight tic in the corner of his left eye. For at least twenty seconds, we just stared at each other. Despite my unease under his scrutiny, I forced my spine straight. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I tried again. “Where am I?”

  “Where do you think you are?”

  I gritted my teeth. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking, now would I?”

  Something flashed in his eyes, like a spark of surprise. It was quickly contained as he gestured with his chin to the room we were in. “You’re in my home.”

  So, at least I knew where I was. He’d captured me on his property but hadn’t called the authorities to come take me away. “Why?”

  “Is there somewhere I should have taken you instead?”

  I felt a blush stain my cheeks as I considered the alternative. He hadn’t yet explained why he’d kept me in his house instead of turning me in, and I couldn’t decide how I felt about that. Part of me was glad I wasn’t in jail. But the idea of being in a strange man’s home was unsettling to say the least. “What the hell do you want from me?”