by L. Steele
"You worried about me?" I frown
"Of course, not." Her face flushes.
Homeless guy looks between us. "Lighter?" he asks.
"Jesus, fuck. Get your own bloody light."
"Don’t swear," she scolds me.
"I’ll do whatever the bloody fuck I want." I dig out my lighter and hand it over to Homeless Guy, who promptly pulls out a cigarette and lights up.
24
What flowers are kissable?
Answer: Tulips
* * *
Victoria
* * *
I did. I had said 'yes' to him. Oh, hell.
I stare at my reflection in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. Saint towers next to me, his frame dwarfing mine, his shoulders taking up too much space, his presence drawing in all of the oxygen in the enclosed space. I take a breath and my nose fills with his scent—dark, edgy, packed with pheromones that find their way unerringly to the source of my emptiness… My empty core. Hell.
"Is that a ‘No’?" he asks.
I should say the word. Tell him it’s all off. That I don’t care what he’s found out, that I don’t give a damn about the Mafia and their hold on me. I should escape from this trap that’s closing in on me, leave everything and everyone behind… Take on a new name, move to another city, another country… But where could I go?
I don’t have a passport. The Mafia took that from me after I reached England. Even the possessions I left behind in his suite belong to this character that I am playing.
If it were only me, I wouldn’t hesitate to leave, but Nina's life is at stake. She is in their clutches. If I do anything wrong, she’ll pay the price. How could I bear that? I can’t let anything happen to her.
I have to find a way out of this… Have to do what is needed without giving away the last bit of my pride.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
I turn to him. "You heard me. The answer is ‘No.’"
He stares at me, then spots of color burn on his face. His jaw tics. A nerve pops at his temple. "Say that again."
I angle my body, plant my feet firmly into the floor and face him. I look him in the eye and repeat, "I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on this earth."
His eyes gleam and he peels back his lips. A dense cloud of anger rolls off of him. It slams me in the chest and I gasp, take a step back.
He lowers his chin. My nerve endings crackle.
Shit, shit, shit. What have I done? I am fighting something inevitable here… I mean, I only meant to show him I’m not a pushover. It’s the only way to hold onto his respect… Not that he has much of that. Not for much of the world, and definitely not for me. The only person he seems to have an ounce of caring for…is the person who calls him at the most inopportune times, the one for whom he seems to drop everything and run. Is it a woman?
What do I care who it is? What matters is that he is here, trying to steamroll me into doing what he wants and… I am not going to be taken for granted. Not like this and not by him. So I need his help…but damn it, I hadn’t imagined the attraction between us either. He wants me, if for no other reason than to fuck me… As long as I manage to foster a smidgeon of that interest, I’ll be able to reel him in… I hope.
The strap of my bag slides off my shoulder before it thumps to the floor between us.
He kicks it aside.
"Hey, that’s the only one I have."
"Fuck that, I'll buy you a shopful of bags," he leans in close, "and fuck you for what you do to me, Gigi."
He drops his head until his lips are positioned a millimeter from mine. Close enough that I can make out the lines radiating from the edges of his eyes. Close enough that I can see the little scar that nicked the edge of his left eyebrow—why hadn’t I noticed that before? Close enough that—he swipes out his hand. I flinch. The next second the elevator lurches to a stop.
"What was that?"
"What do you think?"
I turn to find the stop button blinking. My eyes bug out… "You…you The hell did I say?.."
"Paused the elevator? The least I could do to convince my errant bride, hmm?"
"Not your bride."
"That’s right." He twines a lock of my hair around his fingers, then brings it up to his nose to smell it. "But you will be."
"No."
"Yes."
"Make me."
Satisfaction is etched into every hard line of his face.
"I… I…didn’t…mean..."
He raises one eyebrow, "Oh, I think you did mean..." I start to shake my head, but he places a finger across my mouth, “Shh.” The warmth seeps into my skin, the scent of him crowds me, and his dominance pushes down on my shoulders, holds me in place.
I draw in a breath and my chest heaves.
He presses down on my lower lip. I open my mouth.
He eases his finger inside and I curl my tongue around the tip.
His blue eyes deepen into an aquamarine. Flecks of silver burst to life deep inside. An answering tremor coils in my belly. My toes curl. My scalp tingles. And all this when he isn’t doing anything more than touching me with his fingertip.
"I know what you need," his hard voice chafes my skin. My sex clenches, the emptiness inside of me roaring to life.
I want to speak to tell him, this isn’t fair. He can’t simply overpower me without trying too hard.
"I…"
He shakes his head.
I frown, open my mouth. He clicks his tongue. Goosebumps dot my skin. Shit, he didn’t do that, did he? Treat me like I am his property? Like all he has to do is say kneel and I’ll…do it. Hell, I’d keep my mouth open and willing until he’d stuffed his fat cock inside, while he’d shoved his fingers inside my pussy and commanded me to come… And damn him, I’d do it too. That’s how much power he has over me.
I clench my fingers at my sides, force myself to not move a muscle, not a breath, not a twitch of my eyelashes, nothing to show how completely, utterly defenseless I am in front of him.
He swipes his finger along the inside of my mouth, then pulls it out and sucks on it. I’m instantly wet. He lowers his palm between my legs and cups my pussy through my skirt.
A whine bleeds from my lips and I arch into his touch.
"You were saying?" he drawls.
"I… I…" He squeezes my tender core and a shot of lust spirals upward. I bang my head back against the elevator wall.
He grinds the heel of his palm into my pussy and my eyes roll back in my head. "Saint… Please."
"I know what you need, Gigi."
"You...you do?"
"Absolutely, sweet thing. You want to be treated like the traitor you are."
"What?" I jerk my gaze to him. "What…did you say?"
"You think I don’t know the identity of the man you were with earlier?"
The blood drains from my face. My heart seems to stop beating. I can’t feel my hands or legs. "You…" my voice cracks. I clear my throat, "You know?"
"Your identity?" His lips twist. "I’ve suspected it since I spotted you at Sinclair’s wedding. Imagine my not-so-surprised face when it turned out that little Miss, or should I say Mrs., Standoff here is a spy for my enemy."
"It…isn’t what it seems."
He chuckles, "At least try a new line."
"It’s true, I—"
He pushes up into my center with such pressure that all my nerve-endings pop. More moisture pools between my legs and my thighs spasm. I grab his forearm and he shoves my hand aside. "You don’t get to touch me."
"Saint, don’t—"
"That’s ‘Sir’ to you."
I swallow.
"Say it."
I shake my head. Not like this. I didn’t want things to go so wrong between us. Can’t stand the hatred that flares in his eyes. The narrowness of his gaze, the cold edge of his anger that slices into my heart, rips through my guts, freezes my blood until I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t do anything but stare at him, wi
th a silent plea in my eyes.
Sweat beads his forehead. He meets my gaze head on. The skin is drawn over his cheeks as if this entire proceeding is not easy for him either. No, I don’t believe that. He holds all of the cards right now. Hell, he holds my cunt in his hand. One word and my entire world could come crashing down around me. What’s left of it, that is. And poor Nina— She’ll be lost to the murky depths of the world that Antonio has her trapped in. All because this asshole of a gazillionaire, with an ego bigger than the entire city of London put together, can’t bear to lose.
"You know what your problem is?" I stare into his face, "You can’t stand to be vulnerable."
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"You were attracted to me. You wanted me. Hell, you were all set to bed me, no strings attached. Then you realized someone had beat you to it… No..." I shake my hair back from my face, “You realized that I, a woman, had run circles around you and your uppity friends and none of you had any idea." I widen my smile. "None."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," I nod. "In fact, if you hadn’t seen me with Antonio—"
"Don’t mention his fucking name."
"Ah! So that’s it?"
"What?" His eyebrows knit.
"You’re jealous."
"You’re wrong." He leans forward until his nose brushes mine. His chest expands, then expands some more. His shoulders seem to grow even wider. His left eyelid twitches. Shit, that isn’t a good sign at all, is it?
"You’re missing something, little Victoria," he growls.
"What?"
"I am not the one with everything to lose. You are."
Anger sweeps up my spine. I draw back my shoulders, then squeeze my thighs together, locking his hand between my legs. "The only thing I have to lose here is the fact that you haven’t fucked me, so why don’t you, and be done with it, hmm? Then we can bury this chemistry and get on with our lives. In fact," I bring my hand up and grip the tent at his crotch, "I’ll help you along. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To fuck me out of your system? To have me until you get tired of me? So why don’t you do it and cast me aside? That way, we don’t have to go through this sham of a wedding or the arrangement of you becoming my Dom. Why pretend there is any relationship possible between us, when really, we hate each other? Fuck me already, and we can call it quits."
Don’t say yes. Don’t. Don’t let me walk away. Please don’t.
He hauls me up by his grip on my pussy so I am perched on tip toe. His nostrils flare as he surveys my face, "No."
I blink. "No?"
He nods, "I have a better idea."
"What?"
"I’ll quiz you about The Beatles. If you get every answer right, I’ll let you leave. If you get even one wrong… I…" He massages my clit through my clothes. My sex shudders and a tingling emanates from his touch, sweeping aside the cold, heating my blood, leaving a fiery, tangled, throbbing need in its wake. Shit. Say it, damn it. Complete your sentence.
He twists his hand with the right torque that his heel slams into the swollen bud of my clit. A trembling sweeps up my legs, past my waist, and my nipples pebble until I can’t stand it anymore. I am one yearning mass of need, waiting to be filled by him. His cock. His fingers. His tongue. "Please," the word bleeds from my lips.
A fierce satisfaction grips his features.
Then he releases me so quickly that I fall back against the wall.
The climax instantly ebbs. "No," I gasp. "Not again. You can’t do this."
He lifts one eyebrow. "You bet I can."
He ambles back, until he’s propped up against the opposite end of the cage. His big body takes up almost the entire breadth of the constricted space. Shit. I flatten my back into the barrier behind me.
"What now?"
"Now, I ask the questions. Remember Gigi, one wrong answer." His grin widens, "One mistake and you lose all say in what’s going to happen to you."
"For…how long?"
"For as long as I deem necessary to tame you, of course."
"You’re crazy."
"Are you ready?"
No.
No.
I square myself holders. "Fine. Go ahead."
He nods.
" John Lennon and Paul McCartney sang backing vocals on which Rolling Stones single??"
"It was called." I frown. "We Love You."
"Correct." He smirks. "Next question," he pins me with his gaze "The Beatles couldn’t read music. True or false?"
"True," I reply.
"What's your favorite color?"
"Blue," I blink.
He clicks his tongue, "Don't lie to me. Tell me the truth and I won't catapult you off a cliff."
"You're a Monty Python fan as well?" I can't stop the smile that curves my lips.
"I ask the questions," he smirks, then waggles a finger at me, "and you haven't answered the last one."
I throw up my hands, "Fine, red. My favorite color is red." I stiffen, "And did you just trick me into revealing something personal about myself?"
"Only I get to ask the questions, remember?" He angles his head. "How long did it take The Beatles to record their first album?"
"24 hours." I wring my fingers together. What's he getting at? Why is he sneaking in questions about my personal preferences in between?
"What’s the make of your favorite car?"
"Maserati." I scowl, "Not fair, why do you even care what—?"
"What was the name of the last album by The Beatles?"
"Abbey Road."
"Your favorite flower?"
"Lilies." I purse my lips, "Honestly, you could have asked, I'd have—"
”John Lennon changed his middle name from Winston to Ono after marrying Yoko Ono. True or false?"
"True."
"Not bad, I have one last question for you." He grins something fierce and it feels like a cold hand touches my heart. He’s trying to throw me off kilter, trying to ruin my concentration. That’s all it is. Focus Victoria. Don’t let him get to you. Don’t—
"When is Beatles Day celebrated?" He tilts his head.
"Umm.." I chew on the inside of my cheek, "It's celebrated on June 25th?"
“Ehhhhh!” He makes the irritating sound of a gameshow buzzer and says "Wrong."
"What?" My jaw drops.
"You got that wrong."
"Can’t be." I stiffen.
"It is."
"You’re messing with me," I snarl.
"I’m not."
"I don’t believe you."
"Check the answer on your phone."
I bend, pull the phone from my bag, "I don’t have a signal."
"I do." He hands me his phone, which I notice is logged into the hotel Wi-Fi. Why the hell hadn't I thought of that?
I pull up the search engine on his phone, then tap in my question. The screen fills with links. I open the first one, read it. Beatles Day is celebrated on 10th July, not to be confused with Global Beatles Day.
He grabs his phone from my hand, shoves it in his pocket.
My heart begins to thud. "No," I swallow. "It can’t be."
"It’s true, Gigi. You lost."
"Piss off," I snarl at him. My guts churn and my breathing goes shallow. This can’t be happening. How could I have lost to him, and on a Beatles’ quiz? "Hangonasecond," I frown. "How did you know all that?"
"All what?"
"Don’t try to be obtuse; you know what I mean." I stab a finger in his direction, "How did you pick up all those facts about my favorite band?"
He blinks, then cuts the air with his hand. "Everyone knows the answers to those questions."
"No,” I shake my head, “They don’t."
"It’s all there in the public domain."
"So you read up on them?"
He raises his shoulders.
My pulse begins to race. I take a step forward, "Admit it, you did."
"Nah."
"Don’t lie to me, Saint."
"Okay…" He tugs at his c
ollar, "Maybe a little."
"Ha!" I clap my hands, "I knew it."
"Only so I could use my knowledge at the appropriate time."
"When you could take me down?" I grimace.
"Exactly." He taps his foot on the ground, "Doesn’t change the fact that you lost."
My stomach flutters. What does it mean? What’s going to happen now that he’s beat me at my own game? He has all the bloody cards, leaving me exposed. With nowhere to hide, I glance sideways at the alarm button.
"There’s no need for that."
"No?"
He shakes his head, "We’re done here."
"We are?" Shit, why am I echoing his words? This entire encounter has a bit of the surreal attached to it. I bend my knees, grab my purse. It feels solid, familiar; I slip the strap over my shoulder.
"What now?"
"Now? We get married."
25
Saint
* * *
I had revealed my hand. Shit! I hadn’t meant to tell her I knew about her, had planned to keep that piece of information to myself. But when she’d almost completely shattered, when her gorgeous lips had parted, her pussy clamping down, reaching for the relief only I could provide, when her sugary scent had deepened, fuck, if the blood hadn’t left my head permanently to park itself in my dick. Reaching down, I adjust myself, then snatch up my phone and shoot off a text message, before following her.
She walks ahead of me, thank fuck, so she can’t see the evidence of exactly how she affected me in there. I’d trapped both of us in the elevator. Because, yeah, cliché much? Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to try to subjugate her, let her know that I hold the power… I sure hadn’t bloody intended to hand it over to her.
She pulls the rug from under my feet… When she isn’t keeping me on my toes, that is. Does she know that?
She pauses at the end of the corridor, where the double doors open into the ball room. We’re on the floor below my penthouse suite on the top floor of Claridge's. I couldn’t have chosen the venue better; guess the Seven have their uses…sometimes. Allowing me to get married and afford a quick getaway after the ceremony with my—hold on there.