by L. Steele
"How is marriage going to protect her?" Arpad scowls.
"I can keep her close to me. It will make it clear to the world that she's under my protection."
"And that will stop the Mafia?" Edward places the tips of his fingers together.
"Maybe not...but it'll make sure I am there to stop them if they try to hurt her."
Arpad scans my features, "You’re serious about this, huh?"
"What have I been trying to tell you all this time?" I scowl
"So, do it now," Weston interjects.
"Now?" I frown.
Weston straightens, "Sure, Father here will marry you two, while I make some calls and have the paperwork rushed through for you guys."
"Hold on, hold on! I should marry her right away?"
"Today. In the next," he glances at his watch, "hour or so, tops."
"Ah," I run a finger around my collar, "a bit too soon, isn’t it?"
"You’ve proposed to her. Explain you can’t wait."
"Don’t preach to me about how to handle a woman—Sorry," I jerk my chin toward Edward, "Didn’t mean it that way."
"Hey, you can insult me any way you want. It will be worth it to see you tie the knot." Edward tilts his head.
He seems too calm. “I’d, uh, hoped for something quick at the town hall."
"— which I plan to preside over to ensure it’s all done in the right way." Edward's lips kick up in a smile.
"You’re getting back at me, is that it?" I mutter bitterly.
"You know your earlier faux paus of blurting out how you saved my ass?"
I glower at Edward.
"This is how you can make up for it," he says.
"By tying the bloody knot?"
"By getting chained up for real."
"I’ll be divorcing her soon anyway. It’s all a fucking farce, until I get to the bottom of this entire situation."
"You sure?" Weston scowls, "I mean, there’s something between you two, isn't there?"
"All a farce," I snicker. "I know how to be convincing enough that she bought it completely. She’s not my type. Besides, I don’t plan to shackle myself to anyone for the rest of my life."
"Thought it was kids you’re against," Damian pipes in.
"That too. Marriage, children, the whole shebang." I cut the air with my hand. "Not for me, and definitely not with her."
There’s a noise at the doorway. I stiffen. Glance past Edward, who’s already stepping away from the door. He wrenches it open.
The scent of lily and pepper tickles my nose. "Shit." I spot the back of a woman running, her red handbag clutched to her side. It’s her. Fucking fuck.
I race past Edward, who grabs my arm. "Get her back, Saint," he urges.
"I plan to."
"Apologize to her."
"Fuck," I clench my fingers.
He scowls, "Don’t be an asshole."
"Right."
"We’ll be waiting for you in the ballroom." He releases me.
"Fuck, bloody fuck." I race out the door and after her.
22
Why was the broom late?
Answer: It overswept
* * *
Victoria
* * *
Fuck him. Fuck him. I hate him. Tears stream down my face as I race for the exit of the hotel. I should have stayed in the suite and licked my wounds, but truthfully? I had been horny for him. I had positioned my fingers over my clit and wanted to rub myself, wanted to shove my fingers inside of my pussy and bring myself to orgasm… Except, it wouldn’t have helped. I would have been empty and aching… Okay, emptier than before. Now that I know what it feels like to have his fingers inside of me, his lips on me, his tongue stabbing into my deepest most intimate of spaces... Fuck! Besides he’d told me not to come…and… Fuck me, but I couldn’t defy him. I had obeyed him. Like an idiot. I had paced the floor of the suite, until I had driven myself crazy with the thoughts whirling around in my head. Where could he have gone? Why had he left me so suddenly?
Was there someone else?
Why not, though? He asked me to marry him. Doesn’t mean he is going to be exclusive. Of course, not. He has some—make that many—women lined up and waiting for him…this entire time. It’s not like he is going to stop that when we are married. Married? Ha. The entire thing is a bloody charade. A stupid game to please his ego… He’d chosen me because he could. Clearly, that’s the answer I’d get if I asked him, so why bother? And from what I had overheard…? Fuck the man. Did he have to declare the status of our relationship out loud to his friends? Is nothing about our relationship a secret from the rest of the world? There is so much he isn’t telling me…so much unsaid stuff between us. What a pitiful turn of events this is.
I race toward the main doors of the hotel.
"Stop her!" his voice growls from somewhere behind me. I increase my pace. The doorman steps in my path.
"Get out of my way."
"I’m sorry, I can’t."
I race around him, reach the doors, and another liveried man plants his body between me and my exit.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"I have to get out of here."
"Sorry Ma’am," he shifts his weight from foot to foot but doesn’t move.
I feint right, but he moves with me. I brush past, make to step out from under his arm. Another man steps up from outside.
Fuck, I have no way out.
I grit my teeth, "Get out of my way."
He looks up, and past me. His throat moves as he swallows, "Please accept my apologies, but he pays my wages, you understand."
"Of course, he does," I swallow down angry tears, pull out my cell phone, "and if you don’t let me through, I’m calling the police."
"You’re not."
His voice sounds so near, so close. If I turn, I’ll find him at my heels, behind me, close enough for me to lean back and allow my head to fall back against his shoulder...for him to lower his cheek next to mine, wrap his arm around my waist, pull me up against him and—I raise the phone, begin to punch in the numbers. He snatches it from me.
"Hey," I pivot around, and he holds it up and out of my reach.
"Give that back," I scowl.
"Take it, if you can reach it."
I stand up on my tiptoes, swoop up my arms. My fingertips reach halfway up his biceps.
"You’ll have to do better than that," he chuckles.
I twist my lips together. Ridiculous. I am not indulging in this kind of childish behavior. All of this may be a laugh for him, but for me, it is the veritable end of the bloody line. I fold my arms over my chest, draw myself up to my full height. "Don’t toy with me, Saint."
"Oh?" He tosses the phone to his other hand. "Come and get it."
I frown. The only way to get my phone is if I find a way to climb him.
He smirks.
Oh, no, I am not falling for that. "You want my phone? Fine, keep it then."
I turn and march toward the exit.
This time, no one stops me. I stalk out of the hotel and the cold air assails me. Goosebumps pop on my skin. I hunch my shoulders against the wind, walk up the sidewalk. Where am I going? What am I going to do? That jerk was my last hope, and surely, I have blown any chance of having any kind of relationship with him. Why did I have to eavesdrop on that conversation of his? More worryingly, why did it hurt to hear him dismiss me? So, he doesn’t want marriage or kids, and definitely not with me. Tears push at the backs of my eyes. I will not cry, will not. I knew all of this… Nothing is a surprise. Not after how he’d treated me—
He’d treated my body with scant regard, he’d used me for his pleasure, then he’d brought me to the edge, over and over again…until every part of me yearns for his touch. For the rough caress of his fingers between my thighs, inside my cunt, pinching, tugging on my sensitive nipples. I shudder, and it’s not from the cold. My belly aches, and it’s not only because I can’t remember when I last ate. My sex clenches and it’s because… I hate him, I do; and
yet, every time he treats me like I am nothing, each time he shows me how little I mean to him…it turns me on. How sick is that? Why do I have to be this attracted to him? Why is it that the more he ignores me…the more I want to throw myself at his feet and ask him to take me…to not give me a choice? Bloody hell. I squeeze my fingers at my sides. Tears fill my eyes, blocking out my sight again. The heel of my stilettos catches on the pavement. I trip forward. The stony surface races up to meet me…then halts.
I’m pulled back and around.
Heat slams into my chest and my nipples are flattened against a hard surface—not the ground where I was headed… No, this is…much worse. I look up and into the burning blue eyes of the man who holds my life in his hands…and who isn’t aware of it. "Saint," his name tumbles from my lips like a prayer… Or a plea for help. How strange.
How could one man be both my worst enemy and the only one I’d trust to have my back, literally?
"For a sophisticated woman of the world, you sure can’t see where you’re going," his voice sounds from above me.
"For a billionaire with many business interests, you sure spend too much time stalking me."
His jaw tics; his left eyelid throbs. He releases me so quickly that I stumble back. He shoves my phone into my chest. Before I can reach for it, he’s withdrawn his hand. The device slides down my body; I snatch it up. "Asshole."
He chuckles, "I much prefer, alphahole."
Anger sears my chest and the band around my ribcage tightens. My vision narrows and something inside of me snaps. I hook my leg around his, tug. His gaze widens, then his body arcs back.
23
Saint
* * *
"Fuck." My back hits the sidewalk, my head connecting with the concrete.
Stars flash behind my eyes and spots of black crowd my vision. I lay there winded, stare up at the gray London skies. That, at least, is predictable. Shades of darkness envelop this city in wintertime. It’s what I like best about it. Shrouded in mysterious light, it always appears in mourning or about to regret the actions of its past, exactly like my life. I blink and the thought dissipates. Fucking hell, the knock to my head clearly impacted more than my thinking process. It seems to have shaken loose emotions I hadn’t realized I have.
Huge green eyes fill my line of sight, "Saint?"
I scan her gorgeous features—her pale cheeks, the bitten lips that only enhance her fragility. Except she isn’t. It is all an act, this vulnerability that she wears around herself like a cloak, to mask the deviousness that lies inside.
"I know."
Only when I hear the words do I realize that I have spoken aloud.
"Wh…what do you mean?"
"I know why you asked to become my sub."
She purses her lips, adopts an expression of disinterest.
"Don’t you want to know why, Gigi?"
She shakes her head.
"Come on, aren’t you a little bit curious?"
She glances away, "I think you should get up from the ground." She looks around her, "It’s dirty."
"But so are you…"
"What?" She whips her head around.
"Is that why I am attracted to you?" I glare at her.
She trembles. "You…you don’t know what you’re saying."
"Perhaps, for the first time, I do." I hold out my arm.
She stares at my proffered hand, "What…what are you doing?"
"You felled me, you can help me up, hmm?"
She swallows.
"Go on, Gigi, I don’t bite." And I always speak the truth…not. "Don’t keep me waiting."
Footsteps approach us.
She flinches.
"Do it before they get here and I’ll forget this happened."
She looks up at my face, reaches for my hand.
I grab it, then pull back.
She loses her balance. The next second she falls onto me. "The hell?" She sputters, "You tricked me."
"No more than you’re trying to trick me with the lies you’re spinning around me, sweetheart." I bury my fingers in her hair, yank her close. "I am going to show you what happens when you poke the lion in its den."
"Saint, no—"
I smash my mouth to hers, thrust my tongue in between her lips. I devour her, suck on her with such force that our teeth clash. I hold her in place and consume her. Swipe my tongue across the roof her mouth. I am going to punish her for what she’s doing to me. For weaving a spell around me from the first time I’d met her. Enticing me, luring me into her trap. If she thinks I am going into this blindfolded, she is so fucking wrong. I am going to give her a taste of how it will be from now on. Me—the marauder, the destroyer… And she—she’ll bloody well accept everything I give her, and more. I tighten my grip until my fingertips dig into her scalp, and I fucking mouth fuck her.
Her body slackens, then she kisses me back in earnest. She sucks on my tongue, pushes her lips into mine, opens her mouth completely, allowing me to take and take and… My chest lurches; my groin hardens. Blood drains to my cock so fast and so hard that my head spins. Fucking hell.
I tilt my head and she mirrors my action in the opposite way. The yin to my yang. The bloody darkness to everything that is wrong in me. The tempest to my storm. The turbulence to the raging intensity that roils in me, that shoves at my ribcage, that urges me to lean up, until her upper body is curved in sync with mine. We’re not in resonance though. Nothing about us matches. Everything about this is wrong, which is why I must show her exactly how she is going to pay. I tear my mouth from hers, then push up to my feet, taking her with me.
I release her, and she stumbles, then rights herself.
Her features are frozen, her mouth slightly parted, those beautiful lips swollen and throbbing. Only when my breath raises the hair of her forehead, do I realize that I have leaned into her.
I jerk back. Then, pulling out the handkerchief from my breast pocket, I pat at my lips, "Your technique sucks, doll."
She whitens. The hollows under her cheeks throw her features into sharp relief.
"Jerk," she snarls.
I laugh, "I’m just getting started." I pocket the piece of linen, then yawn, "You’d better come in. You don’t want to keep my friends waiting."
She blinks, "Friends? What do you mean?"
"Oh, didn’t I tell you? We’re getting married in…" I look at the watch on my wrist, "...precisely half an hour."
I turn to the hotel as my guards from the hotel arrive. "Are you okay, Sir?" one of them asks.
"I’m fine." I run my fingers through my hair.
The other guard walks past me, "You all right, Ma’am?" he asks Victoria.
She nods, takes a step forward and seems to lose her footing. He steadies her, and something inside of me explodes, "Get away from her!" The next second, I find my hands twisted in his collar. I plant myself between him and Gigi, "Don’t you fucking touch her."
He raises his hands, "Uh, sorry, Sir, I was trying to help—"
"Well she doesn’t need your help, so back the fuck off."
"Of course, Sir." He glances toward Victoria and my vision tunnels. I haul him by his collar and—
"Saint."
I raise my fist; she wraps her fingers around my bicep. "Saint, stop."
Her touch sinks in through the fabric of my tailormade suit. Her touch is more precious… The fuck am I thinking? I shake off her hand, release the man’s collar. He lurches back, then squares his shoulders.
"Leave us," I snarl.
He pivots and walks back to the hotel.
I turn on Victoria, "Never stop me again in public, do you understand?"
She stiffens, then draws herself up to her full height, which puts her at eye level with my chest. Shit, she is tinier than the mental image I have of her. Perhaps it is her resilience, her feistiness, the layers of prickliness that cover her like a second skin, that contribute to her larger-than-life image, huh? And the fuck am I thinking, waxing lyrical about this woman, huh?
"Answer me,” I growl.
She opens her mouth, when a voice interrupts us.
"Sometimes we are less unhappy in being deceived by those we love than in being undeceived by them…"
"The fuck?" I angle to the side, spot the owner of the voice, a man sprawled against the wall of the hotel.
He’s dressed in a worn shirt and pants which have seen better days. His matted hair flows to his shoulders. He holds up a sign, that reads,
* * *
"And thou art dead, as young and fair..."
* * *
"Why didn’t you complete the fucking poem?" I growl.
He appraises my features. The expression on his face is neither happy, nor sad. He’s content. Yeah, fucking imagine that? Bloody blissful motherfucker. This is what not having money can buy you, huh? Peace. I laugh. Then unhook the bloody watch on my wrist. I drop it into his upturned hat.
A sharp inhalation of breath draws my attention. I glance over my shoulder to find Victoria’s gaze fixed on the piece of jewelry I’d dropped.
"Why did you do that?"
"Why not?" I rub the back of my neck. "Why should I be the only one to suffer excesses?"
"That was what, £5000?"
"£30,000."
Her jaw drops open. "You didn’t…"
"I can do anything I want, Victoria."
She wrings her fingers in front her, her gaze roaming over my face, then flicking back to Homeless Guy.
I turn to the man. "Fucking Byron, I hate him."
The man grins, his teeth bright against his lips. Huh? For someone who lives on the streets, he sure has perfect teeth.
"Have a cigarette, mate?" He glances between us.
I glare at him, then pull out the pack of cigarettes in my pocket and hand a cigarette over.
"You smoke?" She scowls. "I didn't know that."
"Lots you don't know about me."
She walks up to stand next to me, grabs the packet from my hand.
"Hey," I protest.
"These things will kill you," she scoffs, then drops the entire pack in Homeless Guy’s lap.