by Kira Blakely
“It’s a mix of the usual types of books and some fairly extensive collections from his passions. He has temperature-controlled vaults and other things to preserve some books he has on military history. He has an original The Prince—it’s practically priceless,” Mrs. Johnson filled in helpfully.
The smart thing for me would have been to say no, to stretch my arms over my head and feign exhaustion. Except I wanted to see it. I’d always loved libraries, especially now that I couldn’t afford to buy entertainment. I could always go by the library to find the right DVD to watch with Mom after her treatments, or to bring books to read to her, just as she’d read to me when I’d been little. Before our caretaker and dependent roles had been reversed.
“Wow, that does sound amazing,” I said. “Are there other rare finds?”
Mrs. Johnson and Leonard exchanged enthusiastic glances and nodded so ferociously, you’d have thought they were bobble heads. “So many books!” Leonard shouted.
“Wings and wings of books.”
“Good,” I said, standing up and grinning. “Let’s see them.”
***
There was something awe-inspiring about standing before books so old they had to be under glass to protect not only against the Bahamian heat but also against the ravages of time and air. After wandering through the main part of the library, I found the military history library. I wasn’t even a fan of Machiavelli or old maps from the Revolutionary War, per se, but it was amazing to see relics like that under glass.
It made me feel small, like all my problems and my family’s problems were just specks in the greater march of history.
Mrs. Johnson and Leonard had wandered back into the main part of the library to see if there were any other thrillers around for me. I loved a good page turner like that and had grabbed every book that caught my eye from the main area. They’d left me alone here, and it was only then that I noticed the dark corner of the special collection. Walking over, I looked up at the tall, nearly twelve-foot-tall, thick wooden door in the corner. Frowning, I pushed on the handle and it easily slid open. I was shocked at the lack of resistance. A door like this seemed so imposing that it should have been locked.
Maybe whoever had been in the super-secret section of the library last time had forgotten to lock it.
Slipping inside, I sneezed. Dust choked my throat and a thin film coated the only thing in the entire space: a battered metal footlocker.
Gasping, I stood frozen at the corner. I knew Drake had served in the Marines. His tattoos made it obvious, even if his comments and my own dossier on him hadn’t filled in those missing pieces. I just assumed he’d keep his old service things in his private quarters or, frankly, back in Los Angeles. They were as isolated and remote as possible here in the most forgotten corner of an island estate. The polite thing to do would be to turn around and focus instead on the collection he was clearly proud of. This was a place you stuck something you were ashamed of, or couldn’t bear to ever see again.
If the dust were anything to go by, he really hadn’t looked in years.
And yet, curiosity was eating through me. I couldn’t understand anything about Drake. There was the brash billionaire who drove me nuts, the Dominant whose power and draw scared me, and then that wounded soldier with eyes the color of hot chocolate. Who was the real Drake, and would the footlocker offer me any clues?
I didn’t even remember walking over to the chest. I was just there, almost like magic, flipping it open and pouring through everything. Not that there was much to see: an old folded American flag, his desert-colored uniform from days serving somewhere in the Middle East, and a set of dog tags. I dug deeper, pulling out some boots and a few old paperbacks. Then my finger grazed something sharp and I yipped. Yanking my hand back, I stared down at the blood welling up on my forefinger.
“What the heck?”
This time, being more mindful, I moved the pieces of his fatigues back and found the medal before me. The royal violet color was a dead giveaway that I was staring down at a Purple Heart. Picking it up, I held it to the faint light.
“What the hell are you doing in here? I thought Mrs. Johnson had locked everything after cleaning it. This is private!” Drake roared behind me.
Turning, I gasped and dropped the medal back into the footlocker. “I’m sorry. I know it was rude. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Drake strode across the small expanse of the room and kicked the footlocker back and away from me. “Why did you think you could be in here?”
I stood and looked up at him, noticing for the first time the ire burning in those brilliant brown eyes. My heart pounded in my chest, and I forced myself to ignore the panicked thumping. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
He gripped my shoulders, not too tightly, but the embrace startled me and I took in a sharp breath. Drake brought his face close to mine and spoke slowly but forcefully. “Get out.”
“What?”
“Get the fuck out of this room and don’t ever come back!” he shouted. “You can’t possibly understand this. You don’t belong here!” He was growing more frantic, and his fingers dug into me, causing me pain.
“Ow!” I tore back from him and rubbed at my eyes. “You’re right. You’re the last person on Earth I’d ever understand, and I don’t care what I promised, I’m out of here!” I screamed back before running out of the room and into the Bahamian night.
Chapter Six
Belle
I didn’t think. Couldn’t think. All I could do was run. Sprinting through the hallways, I almost cried when I found the main entrance door. Flinging it open, I rushed through the driveway and into the garage. Fifteen luxury cars from Maseratis to Bentleys were parked there. I wasn’t sure if I could get any of them to start. It wasn’t like I knew how to hotwire anything. Luckily, the keys were hanging up on a corkboard along the far wall. I grabbed the keys for an Audi, figuring I’d do best with an automatic. Once the engine roared to life, I pulled away from the driveway just as Leonard and Mrs. Johnson ran after me.
I didn’t want this.
I couldn’t do this. Not when he’d scream at me, not when he’d dig his fingers into me. I know he’d seemed out of it, weird even for him, the moment he’d seen the medal in my hands, but I no longer cared. I wanted off the damn island and away from him.
I drove down the dark highway, winding through the roads and catching a glimpse of the ocean, the waves made silver by the moonlight shining over them. The signs pointed me well enough to the main market. I could find a restaurant or some place to wait and then try and beg for passage home off the island on a cruise ship, or at least wait till morning to call Carol and see if she could wire me a ticket and some money. I’d left everything back at the estate, even my ID, and I was going to regret that when it came time to board the plane. I’d have to come up with a lie or a story, maybe beg for help after something so terrifying had just happened to me. Surely, someone would show me mercy.
There wasn’t much open at close to three a.m. in the market area. I had my choice between a local dive bar that had a seating capacity of about six and a battered Senor Frog’s. It was older, the paint peeling from its boards, but the music was loud and everything seemed hopping in there. Maybe it was full of local college kids on break or a throng of drunken tourists. That would be a good enough place for cover.
Hurrying inside and hoping that this late at night the bar runners were too tired and too overworked to question my lack of shoes, I slipped into a booth and asked the waitress for a water. She gave me the stink eye over that, clearly realizing there wouldn’t be tips for her this evening, and walked with deliberate slowness to the counter.
Sighing, I leaned back in the booth and tried not to shake. I could fall apart later, once I was off the island and back in L.A. Then I could do anything I wanted, cry for hours about the insulting dog collar and the way Drake had shouted at me tonight, cry over the loss of something I’d never really had. It was time to be honest; I’d
conned myself into thinking there could be more to Drake than met the eye. I’d been reaching for clues that he was anything but the womanizing deviant he appeared to be. In a way, I guess I’d found my answer. There was more to him than that, something dark and dangerous, something almost feral lurking underneath the surface that frightened me. No, as much as I was drawn to him, as weird as this odd connection between us was, Drake McManus was too much to deal with. Terrifying in the most primal of ways. Not because I thought he’d really hurt me, but more because of the things he wanted, some of the places he could lead me? Those were places I’d never recover from. Places I could lose myself in forever.
And I couldn’t do that.
My mom and dad depended on me. I wasn’t the financial whiz like Carol, but our family needed me, and I couldn’t fall prey to Drake’s games.
I just needed to wait for daylight and go home.
A clunk sounded on the table top before me and I looked up to thank my waitress. Instead, I frowned at the tall mug of beer sitting in front of me now and the three lobster-red college guys in polo shirts, complete with flipped-up collars, sliding across from me at the booth.
“I don’t need anyone to join me,” I said, offering a pleasant smile or I hoped what passed for a good approximation of one.
The tallest of the three, a guy with shaggy brown hair and a visor on, shook his head. “You look like you’ve had a rough night, sweetheart, definitely seemed like you needed something to take the edge off.”
The second guy, a redhead with more than a few freckles on his cheeks, chimed in, “Totally. It’s hot as balls out there, just take a sip. You’ll need something to keep you cool.”
I sighed, not wanting to push it with any of them and hoping that they’d back off if I took a few sips before my water arrived. “I… sure.”
“Great!” the first guy said, offering a smile with too many sparkling white teeth to be genuine. “I’m Will, that’s Dan, and the guy who hasn’t said much yet is Tyler. He’s not really a talker.”
Tyler was a huge, hulking guy. He looked like someone who had to have played football, lacrosse, or some other contact sport where he thrashed other guys for fun. He hadn’t said anything, true, and even then, he didn’t try and introduce himself. Just glared at the mug.
I swallowed under the scrutiny and took a long draught.
Then the room started to spin.
***
Drake
It took a few minutes to realize where I was. Fucking hell. The posttraumatic stress had triggered an episode again. I’d come into the library when I’d heard Mrs. Johnson, Leonard, and Belle’s laughter filtering through the estate. Belle might have hated me, but she was warming up quickly to the two people I trusted and cared about most in the world. At least that was a start. Or it would have been except for the fact that I’d scared her. The sight of that damn Purple Heart, the fucking thing I’d tried so hard to bury but couldn’t goddamn part with had flipped me out. I’d been out of the service for close to fifteen years, since I’d been wounded in Iraq.
I hadn’t come to see my footlocker in over a decade.
But she had pried it open and seen that side of me, that part that was once honorable and noble, so in control and truly together. I hadn’t been that man in a long time, although I tried everything to be him—-worked to keep control with my chosen lifestyle, presented the right playboy image for the media, and hid everything I could from any prying paparazzi eyes.
Yet Belle had brought it out again, and it had been like a switch was flipped, and I’d screamed at her.
“Fuck!” I shouted, shaking my head and rushing out into the library. “Shit.”
Mrs. Johnson shook her head. “You should watch your language.”
Leonard glared at me. “Did you know that Belle just took out of here in your car?”
“I can trace that; there’s a GPS in every single one. Which was it?” I asked, pulling out my phone to log into the app I’d need.
“The Audi,” Leonard said. “What did you do, sir? I warned you that if you hurt that poor girl I’d do my best to whoop your butt. Do I have to do that?”
“Leonard!” Mrs. Johnson chided. “I’m not thrilled with how he treated Belle either. It was cruel.”
A cold chill slid up my spine. I worked so hard to hide from that part of myself, from the damaged side that trauma and the flashbacks brought out. It happened so rarely—hadn’t in over two years—that I’d thought it was finally gone, that I’d learned enough control.
I’d been a fucking moron.
“I’ll fix it. I just need to find her. The town around here isn’t that big and, of course, she’s at the market by the harbor.” I hurried across the threshold and toward the garage. My fastest car, a Lamborghini Murciélago, would do quite well for rushing in to apologize. A hand reached out and grabbed my arm. I expected it to be Leonard’s but it didn’t feel large or rough enough. I frowned back at Mrs. Johnson. “What?”
“You need to take care of her. I don’t know what you did at dinner or why you yelled at her, but you treat her better or Leonard and I will arrange for her to go home tomorrow and we’ll tell Mr. Fontaine everything about why you really need the merger.”
“If I hurt her again, Penelope, I’ll call him myself and beg for forgiveness.”
The next half hour was a blur of frustration as I roared down the winding, rocky roads of the island. There were no cruises coming in before noon, so she couldn’t leave, but the port wasn’t safe at night. There were all sorts of predators there, and men who would do awful things to a woman alone in the wee hours of the night. Belle didn’t know what she was getting herself into and the longer I waited to find her, the greater the odds that someone awful would first. I pulled up to the bigger tourist bar in town, parking right next to the Audi she’d taken. Then I hauled ass into the bar.
The bar that had no trace of her, even if it still had my car parked in the lot.
Wasting no time, I rushed to the hostess. “Have you seen a girl come in here? Maybe an hour ago or less. She’d have brown hair and blue eyes.”
The hostess nodded. “Yeah, she pissed Tanya off ‘cause she only ordered water. Three college-type white boys came in and just sweet talked her out of here with a drink. I’d say maybe about five minutes ago. Just missed her.”
I nodded and pulled out a hundred for her time and for the lack of tip for her friend, and then rushed back out to the parking lot. I still didn’t see her, but then I heard it. A deafening shriek from behind the dumpster.
Blood roared in my veins, and everything became resoundingly clear. Belle is mine.
I had to protect her.
Running behind the dumpster, I found her in the grip of a larger man with dark hair as two others snickered at his side. He was trying to paw up the hem of her shirt, and that’s when I saw red. My fist lashed out, and I connected hard with his jaw. It was gratifying to hear the crunch of bone beneath my knuckles. And that animal inside, that anger and hate I shoved down all the time and had since I’d come back, broke loose. The large guy turned to me and took a swing. With a fierce stomp down, I crunched his right kneecap, sending him falling to the gravel beneath us. Then the other two idiots tried to jump me at once. A quick slam of my palm flat into the redhead’s throat sent him gasping for air and rolling onto his side. The final asshole, the dick with the stupid hat, got in a solid punch to my nose and I hissed when blood started to pour from it. I wasn’t sure if it was broken, but it hurt like a motherfucker.
That did it.
No one fucking messed with me, especially not some rapist asshole who’d almost hurt the woman I cared about.
I pulled my fist back and slammed it hard into his solar plexus, the air forced from his lungs. He doubled over as I brought my knee up hard into his nose, crunching and distorting as it broke. I was only getting warmed up, and started pounding my fist against his face, his blood slick under my knuckles. His eyes, his nose, his temple. It didn’t matter. Thi
s fucker had hurt Belle.
He had to go.
He was moaning under me, gurgling underneath me but no longer really fighting back. My fist was sore from hitting, but none of that mattered; the only thing I cared about was that he’d hurt my princess, and now he had to pay.
A soft hand was on my shoulder, and then I turned to see Belle crying. “Let it go. The cops will be here eventually, and I just want to go. Please, Drake, can we go home?”
I stood, forcing the animal inside away again, forcing myself to push the hate away. It still burned under my skin and through every nerve, but I had bigger things to do. Offering Belle as kind a smile as I could, hoping she understood that she could trust me, I draped my arm over her shoulders and pulled her in close to me. “I agree, princess. Let’s go home.”
Chapter Seven
Belle
I woke up the next morning on a sofa. Blinking and confused, I tried to figure out how I got here. But then memories flooded through my mind in Technicolor glory: the footlocker, Drake’s freak out, and then the bar with the tainted beer. I’d almost… Bile rose in my throat and I pushed it back. But I hadn’t been. Those college jerks could have hurt me so badly, but they hadn’t because of Drake. He’d come and saved me. Then he’d driven me back to the estate, back home.
Getting up, I looked around at the cool turquoise walls and the modern king-sized bed with mosquito netting hung over it. Water poured from pipes nearby, and my gaze followed the sound to where the bathroom had to be. When I got there, I gasped. Drake was standing there with his back to me. Despite everything that had happened between us, I couldn’t help but lick my lips. His broad back was as muscular as I imagined the rest of him looked under the straining fabric of his dress shirt last night. As he moved, wetting the rag in the sink and then bringing the makeshift compact to his side, I could see the way the coiled, lean muscle of his back and arms bunched and pulled with every motion.
Yum.
I shook my head. No, I shouldn’t think like that. Yes, he had saved me, but his temper was the only reason I’d run before at all. Still, I owed him a thank you. If he needed help cleaning his wounds, then I could at least offer that. Coughing, I hoped I got his attention.