by L. Steele
He hadn't been in there long...maybe an hour or less. Had he given up hope so quickly? Was there nothing that could be done?
His gaze meets mine; he shakes his head.
"No," my knees buckle.
Sinclair grips my shoulder, "Steady, ol' chap." He turns to Weston, "Stop dicking around, you prick. What's the prognosis?"
Weston looks me up and down, "Now you understand how it feels."
"What... ?" my voice cracks. My vision tunnels as specks of black pull at my subconscious mind.
He tilts his head, "Do you see how it could be if you lost her?"
"You...you bastard." I stalk forward, covering the distance between us. "How dare you play with my feelings?" I roar.
"Thought you didn't have any..."
"Shut your trap, motherfucker. Tell me how she is."
"You sure you want to know?"
I grab my wanker of a friend by his collar, yank him to his toes.
"Hey," he winces, "I'm already wounded."
"Your hand won't be the only thing you can't use, if you don't answer my question."
"They are fine." He breaks into a wide grin, "Mother and baby are doing fine."
Adrenaline laces my blood. A pulse pound at my temples. I pull back my fist and let it fly at him.
52
Victoria
* * *
"It may only be given, not taken or bought. It's what the sinner desires, but the saint does not. What is it?" Saint pauses inside the doorway of the room.
I peer up at him from the bed.
He prowls inside, drops into the chair next to me, then takes my hand, "That was the question I was asked, by my kidnapper."
"The one you couldn't answer?"
He nods, weaves his fingers with mine. "I'd answered each of his riddles until then, but this one... It evaded me. Perhaps it was because I was exhausted by then. Maybe I had given up hope somewhere inside. Each time he took me out of the room where I was being held with the other boys, I was sure I would never return.
Each time, he would hang me upside down and throw questions at me. Anytime I couldn't answer, I was flogged on my feet until I managed to come up with the right answer. That day, I knew I was close to my breaking point. My brain was fogged. I had used up all of my reserves of energy. When he asked me the question, I barely heard it." His throat moves as he swallows.
"What happened then?"
"He whipped my feet. Every time he stopped and asked me if I knew the answer, I couldn't form the words. The blood flowed down my legs, along with it my life. The beating went on longer than any time before. Until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. Until the fire from the wounds ran down my legs, down my spine, slammed into the back of my head. Until some of the capillaries in my eyes broke, and blood ran down my cheeks. Darkness crowded in on me. I thought I was going to die... I never did guess the answer that day. He left me hanging there for hours... Days... Who knows?" He shrugs, "That's how the cops found me when they rescued me. I woke up in a hospital, wondering what the answer was. I couldn't guess it all this time... Then the answer came to me as I paced the floor of the waiting room outside, appealing to whichever higher power might hear me that you’d be okay."
"Oh," I swallow and a hot sensation grips my chest. "What was the answer?"
"Forgiveness," he peers into my face.
"That was the solution to the riddle?" My heart begins to race.
He nods, "Will you forgive me for everything I put you through, Victoria?"
I try to pull my hand away, but he holds on.
"Why?" I purse my lips.
He frowns.
"Why should I forgive you, Saint?" I ask. "You refused to accept our child."
"The one you didn't tell me about?" he retorts.
"I all but revealed it to you in the form of a puzzle."
"You could have come outright and told me," he scolds.
"To you? The master riddler?" I throw up my hands. "You who can crack almost any puzzle?"
His jaw tics. He shuffles his feet.
"You tested me again and again with your games. Yet the one time I asked you the one question, the answer to which mattered so much to me, you pretended not to know the answer."
He squeezes the bridge of his nose, "I think I knew what you were trying tell me. I guessed it, my subconscious alerted me it, but I didn't want to accept it." He winces. "I made a mistake."
"Wow," I blink, "You're actually acknowledging that you're not perfect."
"Seems today is a day of many firsts." He rubs his thumb over the pulse on my wrist, "Including my telling you that I want you, Gigi." He leans over and cups my belly.
A shiver runs up my spine.
"And I want this child more than anything in the world. If anything had happened to the two of you, I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."
He whispers his knuckles across my jaw, "Promise you'll never scare me like that again."
"I scared myself." Tears prick my eyes.
"Hey, don't." He wipes away the moisture that trickles down my cheek, "I am here, and I'm not going anywhere."
"Never?"
"I plan to be by your side. Through sickness and through health. Through ups and downs. Even when the children we have together are grown up and have left home, I'll be there taking care of you, protecting you, providing for you."
"Saint," I whisper. A ball of emotions chokes my throat. Is he saying what I think he is? My heart stutters and a warmth fills my chest.
"It's true," he nods. "I was too afraid to acknowledge what the thought of becoming a father does to me."
"What is that?"
"It makes me feel as vulnerable, as out of control, as I had been all that time ago when I was kidnapped and held captive. When I had no idea if it was day or night, where I was, whether I would survive to the next hour. I swore then, I'd never allow myself to lose control."
"And having a child is exactly that." I bring my other hand up to cup his face, "To cede power. Children bring their own brand of energy, and will create their own futures. You'll never be able to completely control the circumstances around them."
"I am going to try my damnedest,” he growls.
"And I am going to call you out when you get too overbearing," I trace my thumb over his pouty lower lip.
"I can't change." He glowers, "It's what I am."
"Won't stop me from chipping away at your grumpy-pants ego." I set my jaw.
"Won't stop me from trying to fuck the sass out of you." He smirks, and damn him, but I'm instantly wet.
"You can try," I pout.
"I love that you can stand up to me." His features soften, "I might even let you get your way."
I blink.
"Sometimes," his lips curl.
"Well thank you so much," I grouse.
"If you behave."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
"There's one more thing."
Of course, there is.
He slides his hand into his pocket, pulls out the ring, then slips it onto my finger, "Never take it off again."
53
Two days later
* * *
Victoria
* * *
I glance through the window of the townhouse on Primrose Hill. The beautiful back garden rolls down from the residence at a gentle slope. There's an infinity pool in the middle of the garden and beyond that the view of the city stretches out.
Heat sears my back, a tingle runs up my spine, then Saint steps up, boxing me in with his arms on either side.
"Like it?"
"The view, you mean?"
"Also, the view." He chuckles, "You love the house, admit it."
I turn in the circle of his arms, "Cocky much?"
"That's my middle name, baby," he smirks.
"Will I never learn not to feed your massive ego?" I huff.
He leans in close enough for his hardness to brush against my waist, "Not the only thing that's massive."
I laugh, "Not t
hat I am complaining, but I think we should wait."
His face pales, "Shit, are you feeling okay? No pain or anything... Should I call the air ambulance?" He reaches for his phone, swipes the screen and presses a number.
I grab his wrist. "I'm fine, really. I meant, wait until we return to the bedroom."
"Oh," he breathes out a sigh of relief, then hangs up.
Then I frown, "Hold on a minute, did you say, air ambulance?"
He reddens. "I didn't want to be caught unawares again. And no way, can my heart survive another ambulance ride to the hospital, so..." He cracks his neck, looks past me, "Uh, the infinity pool is wicked, huh?"
"Don't change the topic."
"Would I dare?" He glances down at me.
"Yes, you very much would dare." I frown, "What have you done Saint?"
"Nothing," he purses his lips, looking for all the world like an errant child. Why do I get the feeling my hands are going to be full with not one but two kids? The man in front of me often acts like one.
"Tell me," I scowl. "Remember what you said: no secrets."
He blows out a breath, "Why the hell did I promise you that, remind me?"
"Because you love me?"
He squares his shoulders. "Exactly. Which is why I had to do it."
"Do what?"
He tilts his head, "Don't freak out when you find out."
"What?" My heart begins to thud. "Out with it, Saint."
He rubs the back of his neck, a sure sign that whatever he's done is going to freak me out.
"It's only an air–ambulance," he mutters.
There's a whomp-whomp sound behind us and a breeze blows in through the open window.
I turn, and my jaw drops, "No."
He moves in, places his chin on my head, "I had to, babe."
I stare as an honest-to-goodness helicopter rises up beyond the infinity pool. I spot the sign of a red cross on the side that indicates it's used for medical purposes. It whirs over us, followed by a slight thump as vibrations roll down the walls. Did it land on the terrace of the townhouse? "Oh, my God," I turn to face him, "I can't believe you have a helicopter on stand-by."
"Maybe I can't control everything, but hell if I can't try to bring down the risk. This way, if there's an emergency, we can get to the closest hospital in under five minutes."
"I... I..." I open and close my mouth, "Only you'd do something so audacious."
"You're worth it, babe."
"You sound like a cheesy commercial."
He blinks, then chuckles, "I do, huh?" He lowers his forehead to mine, "That's what you do to me, darling. You've turned me into a blubbering shell of my former self."
"Hey," I swipe at his shoulder, "don't blame me for that. It's been barely twenty-four hours since you accepted your role as a father-to-be, and I can't believe you've already... Done all this."
"What?"
I wave my hand in the air, "You bought this townhouse on Primrose Hill—"
"I've had my eye on it."
"You had it furnished enough that we could move in right away."
He leans back, "Feel free to change anything you want."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"It's you." The waterworks threaten again. Shit, is it the hormones? Or is it the fact that, with Saint there to lean on, I finally feel secure enough to let go of all of my fears? In its place, there's a vulnerability that is new, that threatens to overwhelm me. That seduces me to simply melt into him and let him make all of the decisions. Hell! Is this what it means to be a real submissive? To have the onus of decision-making taken away from me? And why do I like that so much?
"Hey," he tips my chin up, "what is it?"
"You're overwhelming me, Saint."
"Ah," his lips quirk. He wipes away my tears, "And?"
" I like it.
"So?"
"I'm not sure if I want to."
"But you do," he smirks.
"I do?" I frown.
"Of course, my lovely Gigi. If you'd allow yourself to relax into the moment, you'd see that this is exactly what you need."
"B...but."
"Trust me, babe."
I peer up into his eyes. Do I dare put my faith in this alphahole of a dominant male, the father of my unborn child, who's changed his entire life for me overnight?
"I do," I whisper.
"Excuse me?" he frowns.
"I do trust you, more than myself. I believe in you so much that it hurts," my voice cracks.
His nostrils flare, "Do you have any idea what it does to me to hear that from you?"
He bends in close enough for our breaths to mingle, "You're mine, Gigi." He touches his lips to mine.
His touch sinks into my blood, coils in my belly.
"Promise me one more thing?" I whisper.
"Anything." He kisses me again.
"Promise you'll see a psychologist for the flashbacks and for the...scars?"
"You mean for my self-harming?" his voice is wry.
I peer up into his face. Hope blooms in my chest. The fact that he had called it by that term... That is the first step to recovery. It won't be easy, but as long as we are together, we can overcome any challenge.
"Will you?" I prompt him.
"For you," he searches my face, "if it makes you happy."
My heart does a little lurch, "It does." I smile up at him.
"And you make me happy, Gigi. Very happy." He crashes his lips to mine. I gasp and he swipes his tongue inside of my mouth—owning me, dominating me. I shiver, and his grasp tightens. He nibbles on my lower lip, and heat suffuses my skin. He rains kisses down my chin, my throat, down to the hollow between my breasts, on each nipple.
My scalp tingles and my toes curl. He drops to his knees in front of me, places a soft kiss on my belly. "Mine," he growls. A melting sensation pulls at my core. He drags his hard fingers down my thighs, coaxing them apart. My knees weaken; he grips my hips, holding me up. Then, through my dress, he nuzzles the triangle between my legs.
"Oh." Goosebumps dot my skin.
He inhales deeply and the sound is so erotic, so right, blood rushes to my lower belly. My pussy trembles. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug.
A low growl rumbles up his throat. The vibrations sink through the fabric of my outfit and warm my blood. I shiver, "Saint."
He presses his face into my pussy and a throbbing flares to life—hot, aching. My bones seem to melt all at once.
"Saint," I plead.
He slips his fingers under my dress, traces the backs of my knees. Sensations radiate from his touch. Every part of me that he touches seems to turn into an erotic zone.
"Saint!' I whine.
I sense his lips curve against my melting core. He slides both of his palms up the backs of my thighs, leaving pinpricks of pure lust in their wake. He cups my butt cheeks, squeezes gently. I draw in a sharp breath, grab the back of his head and urge him closer, closer.
He slides those wicked fingers under my panties, grazes the crevasse between my arse cheeks.
I shudder. Memories of how he'd taken me there swamp me. "Please," I gasp out.
"You like that, hmm?"
I nod.
He pushes aside the fabric of my dress, then buries his face in between my legs. The hot, aching tension inside of me winds up tighter—begging, needing more, so much more. I thrust my pelvis forward, but his grip stops me. He peers up at me from under those thick eyelashes; I take in the sight of his handsome face framed between my thighs and moisture pools between my legs. "Saint," I pant, "don't stop."
"You aren't completely recovered from your episode," he replies.
"Fuck that." I toss my head.
He chuckles, " I am proving to be a bad influence on you."
"Oh, please," I frown, "I was swearing long before I met you."
"Oh?" He tilts his head and his eyes gleam. "And this?" He slips his finger up to brush my pussy.
A moan spills from my lip
s.
"Were you doing this as well?"
"You know I wasn't. You are well aware that you're my first."
"And your only." His gaze intensifies, "I plan to keep you so happy, so satisfied, that you'll never want for anything..."
My panties grow damper. Damn it, how can he bring me so close to the edge with simply a glance?
"Except for your orgasms, of course." His lips twist in that sneer-smirk that is so very Saint.
"Stop that," I huff.
He chuckles, "What's life without a few games between us, hmm?" He rubs his nose up my pussy lips, and even through the double layers of fabrics, his hot breath sears my delicate skin.
"Oh," I gasp, "please come inside me. I need you inside of me."
He pauses, leans back on his haunches, "I don't want to hurt you."
"What happened was a fluke," I reassure him.
"I don't want it to happen again. If something goes wrong, I swear..."
"That's why you have a helicopter stationed above, ready to rush me to a hospital, huh?" I jerk my chin upwards.
He frowns, rolls his shoulders, "Still."
"No," I shake my head. "No excuses. Please, can you make love to me?"
His blue eyes turn that dark turquoise I am beginning to recognize as the first sign when he is out of control. He firms his jaw, "You sure?"
I scowl, then release him, to shove my fingers under my dress and drag down my panties. They catch on his hands as I tug, and he releases his grip on me. I angle sideways, then shimmy the fabric down to my ankles, straighten and kick if off.
"That clear enough for you?" I ask.
A low chuckle rolls from his lips. He rises to his feet, scoops me up in his arms. Turning, he walks out of the living room and up the steps. "I never did give you the grand tour," he rasps.
"I've seen enough to know the house is beautiful."
He takes the steps two at a time. When we reach the landing, he turns into a hallway, heads toward the double doors at the end. He carries me into a large room, with a familiar four poster bed mounted on a platform.
To the right, a bank of floor to ceiling windows open out onto the sprawling slope of Primrose Hill.