By Michelle Love
Torment Me
Mallory
By Michelle Love
When art student Quilla Chen bravely dives into a Venetian canal to rescue a suicidal man, she has no way of knowing the man she has saved in the eldest son of one of America's wealthiest families. But Jakob Mallory has his own dark secrets - an addiction to cocaine which has fueled his epic rise to the top but now threatens everything as his addiction grows stronger. Their attraction to each other is palpable and soon they become lovers. When Jakob and Quilla return to Seattle, Jakob persuades her to meet his family and soon she become embroiled in their lives and loves. The only person who resents the newcomer is Jakob's business partner, Gregor, the man who led Jakob into addiction for his own ambitious purposes. When he offers Quilla a huge amount of money to leave Jakob, a furious Jakob fires Gregor from the company, with his father's backing. Gregor, humiliated and incensed, confronts Jakob and Quilla at a public encounter which could threaten their lives...
Torment Me
‘Bella, bella, bella!’
Quilla ignored the calls of the gondoliers as she walked quickly over the bridge. It was dusk, and Venice was readying itself for the night life but at this moment, on this particular bridge, it was quiet. Quilla kept her focus on her destination; she’d had good practice at tuning out the incessant catcalls and whistles that followed her. Even dressed as she was; simple white shirt and cargo pants, the Italian boys would make their appreciation known. It had annoyed her at first – her American sensibilities offended by their objectification but now she just ignored it.
Every morning she woke up in this glorious city, Quilla Chen would spend a few seconds in wonderment. Italy…she never thought a working class girl like her would get here. Oh she’d worked eighteen hours days to fit in both work and college, ending up with a Fine Arts degree but when her professor at her alma mater had called and told her she’d won the scholarship to go spend the summer painting in Venice, she could hardly believe it.
‘And when you get back,’ he’d said kindly, ‘we’ll discuss your Ph.D. thesis.’
Her. Quilla Chen, soon to be Doctor Quilla Chen. ‘I’ll make you proud, mom,’ she’d said the day she’d found out. The photograph of her mother, five years dead, didn’t make up for the loss but Quilla had felt happier than in a long time. ‘Do something’ were her mother’s last words to her and she had. She had done something. At twenty-four, Quilla was looking at a future which had some value, some meaning.
Now, as she walked towards the north of the city, towards Cannaregio, away from the tourist track, she wondered idly if she could make a life here, in this glorious city. There seemed too much to discover for one summer, she wanted to immerse herself in the culture, the language, the beauty. Since arriving a week ago, she had already sketched and painted a number of pieces, so inspired had she been. Tonight her mission was to sketch and photograph dusk falling over St. Dell’isole Michele and Murano from the Ponte de la Sacca de la Misericordia. The bridge was quiet when she got there. She settled down on a small stone walkway at the side of the bridge and looked out over the Venetian Lagoon. It had been a typical sweltering day but as the sun began to set, the colors that spread across the sky were heaven. Soon Quilla was so lost in her work that she didn’t even notice the last of the boats coming out from under the bridge and that the streetlamps were turning on.
It was only when she heard the scrape of shoes that she looked up. A man, tall, wearing a suit, stood at the pinnacle of the bridge, staring down into the water. He was handsome – if a little red-eyed and unshaven – Quilla judged him to be in his early to mid-forties. It was the expression on his face that made her heart twist with sadness. Hopelessness, utter, complete hopelessness…she drew herself back into the shadow of the bridge, not wanting to intrude on the man’s privacy but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. As she watched, he slowly, carefully took his jacket off and laid it carefully on the bridge. With mounting horror, she saw him lay his wallet and phone on top and then his shoes. Oh god no…before she could scream out, he leapt in one movement, plunging into the murky depths of the water.
Quilla reacted in a flash, wrenching off her sneakers and shirt, she dived into the water. Opening her eyes, she could see nothing in the dark waters of the lagoon; instead, she stretched out her arms searching. She knew it was probably hopeless but something in the man’s face made her want to find him, want to save him. She broke the surface to suck in some air, then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. Without thinking she made a grab at it and felt an arm. She pulled on it and the man broke the surface too, spluttering, cursing – in English. An American.
‘No you freaking don’t,’ Quilla gasped as he struggled to free himself and using all of her strength, she hauled him to the side of the canal. He was a big man so all she could do was pin him to the side of the canal and hope someone would come help them both out.
‘Let me go,’ he murmured, his voice breaking and cracking.
‘No, never…’ Quilla had no idea why she said that with so much feeling but her whole world was now about saving this man. She yelled out, hoping one of the people in the houses at the edges of the canal would hear her. A minute or two passed and then there were two young men scrambling to help. ‘Get him out first,’ she ordered them and though they looked unhappy, they did as she said, dumping the crumpled American to the stone walkway and lifting her out.
‘Thank you,’ she gasped, ‘Thank you.’
They asked her, in broken English, if she was okay – did she want them to call for an ambulance? Quilla, panting hard, looked down questioningly at the American, who shook his head.
‘No, please, no ambulance, no police, no press.’
No…press? Who was this guy? Quilla put her shirt back on her damp body – clearly to the disappointment of the two boys. She shook her head, laughing. ‘Look, can you watch him for a sec while I grab his stuff from up there? Might tell me who he is and where we can take him.’
She climbed up onto the bridge and grabbed his jacket and personal items. She bent down to wrap his jacket around him and for the first time, he looked at her properly. Their eyes locked and Quilla felt something shift in her soul. He slowly lifted his hand and cupped her cheek, stroking the soft apple of it so tenderly she thought she might cry, looking at her as if he couldn’t believe she was there.
‘Okay,’ she said, embarrassment making her cheeks flame, ‘let’s see who you are….Jakob? Jakob Mallory?’
‘Yes, I…’ He gave a big sigh and she was struck again about how hopeless he looked. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m Jakob Mallory.’
‘Jakob, do you have somewhere you’re staying?’
He shook his head. ‘I flew in this afternoon. I wasn’t planning on a vacation.’ He gave her a wry smile then, the first sign of his personality and she found herself smiling back.
‘Well, then…can you walk? You can stay on my couch tonight, and then we’ll get you a room tomorrow.’
He was still staring at her and for a moment she wasn’t sure he had heard what she said.
‘Okay.’
It wasn’t until they were walking back into the city that she realized what she was doing. She’d just saved this dude’s life….and what, now she was taking him back to her apartment? You are insane. But her gut told her that he was no danger, and jeez, she felt a responsibility for him. Besides, she was pretty damn good at martial arts and if he tried anything…
‘What’s your name?’
She smiled. ‘Quilla. Quilla Chen.’
‘Quilla. Unusual.’
She said nothing, used to the reaction. They walked a little in silence for a little way then he put a hand on her arm and stopped her.
‘I can find a hotel…it’s okay.’
She looked up at him. His eyes were the same deep hazel as her own, his close cropped hair a few shades lighter. He towered over her, was a pretty impressive physical specimen, she had to a
dmit, but it was the look in his eyes that still spoke to her. Loneliness. Despair.
‘I don’t think you should be alone, tonight,’ she said simply and Jakob smiled softly.
‘You might be right.’
Quilla drew in a deep breath. ‘Look, come back to my apartment, take a hot bath. On the way back, there’ll be some tourist shops, we can skip in, get you some clean clothes. You need food, warmth and someone to talk to. You’re not a homicidal maniac, are you?’
She asked the question with a grin on her face but there was still a little bit of her that was wary – he was a stranger, after all.
‘Not lately,’ he said, ‘Although there was that time I got stuck in an elevator listening to Justin Bieber.’
Quilla laughed, relaxing. ‘Completely understandable. Come on then.’
She crushed the garlic cloves and added them to the pan. If there was one thing she loved in this world as much as art and books, it was cooking and here, in this city, she had access to the farmer’s markets selling ripe and luscious fruit and vegetables, endless little delicatessens where they sold every kind of meat and cheese. It was nice, she reflected now, to have someone to cook for. A simple tomato and basil pasta dish it may be, but with crusty bread and a good red wine, and the sounds of the Venetian nightlife drifting up through the large open windows, it was a perfect evening. As the sauce bubbled away on the stove, Quilla leaned out of the window to see the lights of the city.
‘Beautiful.’
She started. She hadn’t heard the tub drain, the bathroom door open. Jakob Mallory was grinning at her from the doorway, dressed in the light cotton t-shirt and shorts they’d managed to get from a tourist shop. They showed off his long, long legs, well-muscled calves. The t-shirt fit loosely on his big frame and the khaki reflected his eye color. Those eyes, still troubled, still so sad, met hers, and crinkled wonderfully at the edges as he smiled. ‘The food, it smells beautiful.’
Quilla rolled her eyes, blushing. ‘It’s just pasta.’ But she was absurdly pleased. ‘Please, sit, it’s almost ready.’
She loaded his plate as he poured the wine, looking around her apartment. It was shabby, rustic and she loved every inch of it. All spare surfaces were laden with her books, her paints, papers and pencils. At the end of the long kitchen table, there was a pile of books and he picked up the top one.
‘The Story of Art. Huh, Gombrich. You’d get along with my pa.’
Quilla, balancing two plates laden with food, tottered to the table. She placed one in front of Jakob with a shy smile.
‘Enjoy. Simple but I think it’ll do you good. If nothing else, the garlic will be enough to kill any bacteria we might have picked up in the Lagoon.’ She grimaced and he grinned.
‘Sorry about that and…thanks. For the food, for saving my life, for your kindness.’
Quilla, flushing again, shoved a forkful of pasta into her mouth. ‘So…’
‘Why did I try and kill myself?’
Quilla swallowed her food. ‘Not that it’s any of my business. You don’t have to talk to me about that…we can talk about something else.’
Jakob nodded, appearing to consider her words. After a pause, he attacked his food again. ‘This is damn good, Quilla. So tell me – do you live here?’
Quilla told him about the scholarship. ‘I never, in a million years, thought I’d ever come here. It’s like a dream.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Seattle.’
Jakob put his fork down. ‘You have to be kidding.’
Quilla frowned. ‘No…why?’
Jakob grinned. ‘My family, all of them, lives and works in Seattle. Born and bred.’
Something was ticking over in her brain but she couldn’t quite get there. ‘Your family?’
Mallory. Mallory. Something in that name…
Jakob looked vaguely uneasy. ‘My dad is Randall Mallory.’
Holy. Fuck. Balls. Quilla gaped at him. ‘There’s no way - you’re making this up.’
Jakob, still smiling, got up and went to grab her iPad, handing it to her. ‘The name of your scholarship award is…’
‘…The Ran Mallory Award for Excellence in Art.’ Quilla typed Jakob’s name into the search engine and a second later, her screen filled with images of the man sitting across from her. ‘This is too much…your dad is a legend. He came to talk at my graduation…damn, Jakob…this is too weird.’ She shoved the iPad onto the table like it burned her to touch it. She narrowed her eyes at a laughing Jakob. ‘Was this a test? I get the grant so…’ She immediately regretted her words as a shadow passed over his face. ‘God, I’m sorry, that was an idiotic thing to say.’
Jakob put a hand on hers. ‘Don’t worry. So, we’re both Washington natives then?’
Quilla smiled at him, grateful. ‘Looks like. Well, now I know you’re a Mallory, which kind of negates any questions about what you do…although I suppose I could ask which branch of the billion dollar conglomerate you run.’
He grinned at the dubious amazement in her voice. ‘Sadly, not art. That’s my dad’s and my youngest brother Grady’s domain.’
‘You have another brother, right?’
‘Two. Kit’s the one you’re thinking of, actor, model, and major pain in the ass. His twin brother Joel, coaches tennis, mostly to his kid…’
‘Skandar Mallory!’ she said, suddenly making the connection. ‘Wow. My best friend and I always go see him play when he’s playing in Washington.’
He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Schoolgirl crush?’
‘No,’ she said but she grinned, ‘So he’s your nephew, huh?’
Jakob laughed. ‘I feel so old right now.’
Quilla started to apologize but he held his hand up. ‘Please, I was kidding…though do you mind if I ask?’
‘Twenty-four.’
He looked her up and down. ‘Twenty four, maybe five five in your bare feet and yet you dragged a two hundred pound, six foot five man out of a canal.’
‘Adrenaline,’ she said quickly, ‘Plus, you know, mad skills.’
He laughed. ‘You know, Quilla Chen, I’m not sure I’ve met anyone quite like you.’
‘Good job, you’d need therapy.’ There I go again, Miss Foot-in-Mouth. ‘Sorry, I have very little filter and clearly no tact.’
‘I was lost,’ he said suddenly. ‘I forgot what it was to have fun, to laugh, to enjoy anything. For months now. At that moment, I just thought…so quick, so easy.’
Quilla leaned on her elbows and studied him. ‘But you flew here with no luggage, on a whim?’
‘Not exactly…I had a layover to Paris. My luggage is probably enjoying a trip to the Eiffel Tower right now. I thought I’d come into the city and waste a few hours then…’ He trailed off. Quilla was sure he was keeping something back but she bit her tongue. He drew in a deep breath. ‘What about you? Family? Husband?’
‘Neither. Just me.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. I have friends, good friends, and amazing friends. And I’m good at being alone.’
He smiled at that but didn’t say anything. Quilla toyed with the stem of her wine glass.
‘Jakob?’
‘Yes?’
‘Would you like some more food? More wine?’
‘No, thank you, it was beyond delicious but I couldn’t eat anything else. If it’s not too much to ask, I just want your company for the evening.’
‘Of course, let’s go sit on the balcony – and I’m bringing the wine, no matter what you say.’
‘Alcoholic.’
‘Shut up.’
She was amazed how easily they could talk – he must be a good ten, fifteen years older than her, maybe more, but she didn’t feel the age gap at all. They seemed kindred spirits, talking about music, Italy, books, food. It was nearly midnight before Quilla suddenly yawned.
‘Sorry.’
Jakob looked amused. ‘It’s late.’
‘It is.’ Suddenly there was a little tens
ion in the air. ‘Look,’ she said eventually, ‘you’re a big guy and my couch is tiny. I’ll sleep on that, you take my bed.’ She was blushing furiously but she didn’t know why. Bull shit, she said to herself, you’re attracted to him, is all.
Jakob shook his head. ‘No way, you’ve done far too much for me already. Do you have a sheet I could borrow?’
She pulled some sheets and a pillow from her cupboard and gestured towards the kitchen, suddenly so bashful she couldn’t meet his eye. ‘Help yourself to anything you want. Oh…’ She disappeared into the bathroom then came out waving a toothbrush still in its packaging. ‘Lucky I just picked this up.’
Jakob took it from her. ‘I really can’t thank you enough, Quilla, I mean it.’
‘It’s really okay. It’s been an unexpectedly lovely evening.’
Jakob lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how he got here. He hadn’t planned on seeing this night or any other. But that tiny girl in the next room…damn, when he’d felt her small hand pulling at his arm, her body pressing him up against the side of the canal, yelling with all her might for someone to help save him, he’d almost wanted to push her away, tell her he wasn’t worth it. Then he’d seen her face. Her ethereal beauty had sent a jolt through his soul, her soft smile, the dark hair hanging in bedraggled strands around the most exquisite face, the flush in her cheeks from the exertion – from saving his life. Jesus…his frazzled, delirious mind hadn’t known anything but that he would do whatever she asked.
And when he’d calmed himself, talked himself out of the hole, he’d found something new – a new friend, a chance at a new life.
…If it wasn’t for the millions of bugs crawling under his skin right now, scratching and clawing at his nerves, screaming for their medicine. Cocaine was an evil, insidious mistress and over the last year, he succumbed. Slowly it became a necessity rather than a pleasure; something he thought that he could control. When it became clear it couldn’t…
Montgomery Billionaire Series Page 92