by Dori Lavelle
Midnight Storm
(Amour Toxique Book 2)
Dori Lavelle
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
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Midnight Storm (Amour Toxique Book 2)
Copyright © 2016 by Dori Lavelle
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Dori Lavelle
Editor: Leah Wohl-Pollack
Prologue
I watch you sleep at night, coiled up tight, a rosebud on a bed of silk. I long to dip a finger between your petals, deep enough to awaken you from your sleep, to feel you tighten against my flesh.
Rosebud, I'm dying to steal you back from your dreams, to bring each of your petals to my lips and kiss them one by one, to taste the drops of rain clinging to your skin. But you're fragile yet, so broken, and I refuse to settle for less than the best of you.
So I choose to wait and bide my time until you're ready to let me in. Until you realize I'm not the scorching sun, but your morning dew.
Chapter One
I inhale the cocktail of leather and citrus that drifts past my nostrils.
Soft fabric whispers against my skin. My breathing and the thud of my heart are audible in my ears.
Relief—that I’m alive—is the first emotion to trickle into my veins. It’s short-lived, followed by fear that spirals through my body and punches me in the gut.
The last thing I remember is Judson pressing a cloth to my mouth while still fucking me.
My eyeballs roll behind my lids, which feel like sandpaper.
I’m thankful for the weak lighting in the room. Harsh light would be torture to my sore eyes. How long have I been out? And why do I still feel as though I’ve been running a marathon and haven’t slept for days?
I roll my head to one side. A river of spittle pools at the corner of my mouth. I don’t wipe it away. Saliva is the least of my problems.
Some feet away, my captor sits on a leather armchair, wearing a black, long-sleeved cotton V-neck, his well-formed chest and biceps straining against the fabric. A newspaper rests on one denim-clad thigh, a casual hand over it. His intense gaze is fixed on a blazing glass fireplace, like he’s searching for something in the flames.
The crackling fire casts shadows on his face, accentuating his chiseled features. Nothing masks evil quite like good looks.
My chest tightens. This man, this devil in disguise, is the man I once fell in love with. The man whose words melted my body. The man who took my virginity. The man who turned out to be a criminal in more ways than I ever could have imagined.
Before I can think of something to say, he turns his head in my direction. He must have felt my eyes on him. Or perhaps he smelled my fear.
“Hey there, sleepy head.” His voice is like warm, thick honey—gentle and syrupy smooth. I hold my breath as he rises and flings the newspaper onto a coffee table.
He’s taller than I remember, but then again, how would I know how tall he really is? When I visited him in prison, he was always sitting behind the glass that separated us.
I blink several times in an attempt to clear my clouded mind. Traces of whatever drug he used to knock me out are still present in my system.
A smile tips the corner of his mouth as he strides to my bedside. I part my lips to say something—anything to keep him away from me. The words don’t come fast enough.
My mouth is parched, my tongue like paper as he places a warm, dry hand on my forehead.
Adrenaline shoots through my veins, bringing life into my body. I shrink away and shove his hand off me.
“Don’t—don’t touch me.” My voice is broken, but the words push their way through my throat anyway. I run my tongue around my mouth. I’m desperate for a drink to get rid of the dryness and the sour taste at the back of my throat. But he’s the last person I want to ask for help.
“Hey, hey,” he whispers, studying my face. His emerald eyes darken in the soft light, but I detect concern in them. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m here. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You don’t want to hurt me? Really?” Laughter builds up within me, but I push it back down. “You kidnapped me.”
I lift my head, but pain slams against my temples. Teeth clenched, I lower myself back down onto the plump pillows.
He sits down on the edge of the bed next to me. His closeness makes my muscles tense.
“You can’t kidnap someone who belongs to you.” He sweeps a strand of hair from my forehead, pushing it behind my ear.
“I... don’t belong to you. I belong to no one but myself.” With my body still at war with whatever drugs he gave me, my slurred words are the only thing I can depend on to save me.
“Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “That came out wrong. What I meant was that you belong to me, and I belong to you. We belong to each other.”
“Wrong,” I retort, my voice weak but firm. “Before you tricked me and kidnapped me, I wanted nothing to do with you. What we had was sex and nothing more.”
He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, then opens his eyes again. “You stopped returning my letters. You ignored me. You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Wrong again. I should have done it sooner.” Now that my anger is boiling to the surface, I can’t stop it from spilling over. “I was a fool to give you the benefit of the doubt. You’re nothing but a stinking criminal—a murderer, a kidnapper, and God knows what else. Nothing would make me happier than to see you rot in prison.”
He raises his hand as though about to strike me, but drops it again. He massages his temple and the storm swirling in his features disappears. “You don’t mean that.”
“I mean every word.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I should have tried harder to stay away.”
He sucks in a breath and reaches under the covers, enveloping my hand in his. I try to pull away, but he holds tight. “Let’s not fight, rosebud. You need to get your strength back. You’ve been asleep for a while. Allow me to take care of you.” He draws my hand from under the covers and brings it to his lips, kisses my palm, and lowers both our hands onto his warm thigh.
Taking advantage of his relaxed grip, I yank my hand away.
He squares his shoulders and sighs. “This can be a new beginning for both of us. I’ll give you the family you never had. I love you. But you have to stop fighting me.”
/> “Go to hell. How can you say you love me while holding me hostage? What is this place, anyway?”
“Where we are is not of importance.” He rolls his shoulder. “Let me make one thing clear. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not holding you hostage. I brought you here so we can be alone. We’re together now. We should celebrate our love.”
“You’re delusional.” My hands curl into fists. “You seriously think I can love you after what you’ve done? Never. No wonder Jennifer left you. You’re sick.”
“Don’t ever say that again.” He raises his chin, jaw tight. “Fate brought us together. You said you loved me once; I know you still do. I’ll be a devoted husband to you, and the best father to our kids. Together we can create the perfect family… the perfect life.”
“I don’t marry monsters.” I moisten my dry lips and press my leaden head further into the pillows, wishing they could offer me shelter. “You’re crazy if you think you can keep me here against my will. I’ll find a way to get away from this place, from you.”
“I’m afraid that would be a little complicated. This winter paradise is accessible only by helicopter. But don’t worry: we won’t be staying for long. I wanted to have you to myself for a few days before we go home to start our life together.”
He places a palm on my hot cheek. I turn away, leaving his hand suspended in midair.
“You have to stop resisting.” His voice pounds against the back of my head. “Let’s enjoy our honeymoon.”
My neck pops as I turn to look at him. When our eyes meet, a cold shudder reverberates through me.
Before I can get any words out, he puts a finger to my lips.
“No need to talk. I can read the questions in your eyes.” His shoulders rise and fall as he lets out a breath. “You’re my wife, Ivy. We’re married. I won’t let you walk out on me.”
Chapter Two
“You’re a fucking liar.” My hands encircle my throat as I force myself to breathe. I feel as though someone has pushed me from a helicopter without a parachute.
Judson has to be toying with me. There’s no way I’m married to him.
But the pressure in my chest reminds me anything could have happened while I was in the dark. I’m unable to hide from the truth: he brought me to this unknown place in the middle of nowhere, tucked me into bed, maybe even had sex with me, and I don’t remember a damn thing.
I shut my eyes, squeezing out tears, searching every corner of my mind for lost memories. I find none.
All I hear are voices mingled with laughter. My laughter? His? Oh, God. What if it’s true? What if he gave me a drug that made me bend to his will and also erased my memory?
Judson sweeps the palm of his hand over his thigh. “I have to say I’m disappointed at your lack of excitement. But I do understand you’re in shock right now. I’ll wait for you to recover. I pride myself in being a patient man.” He lifts a pitcher of water from the nightstand and pours some into a glass, the clear liquid swirling from the bottom of the glass to the rim.
I’m stiff as he props me up on more pillows and brings the full glass to my lips. “Drink this. We’ll talk more later.”
My tongue touches the water before my lips. I’m too weak and dehydrated to pretend I don’t want a drink, and he knows it. With shaking hands, I take the glass from him and drain it. The water is cool, refreshing. He refills the glass and brings it to my lips again.
With my immediate need met, my anger returns. When he reaches for the glass again, I hurl it toward the fireplace. It hits a standing lamp before falling to the carpeted floor with a thud. It doesn’t break.
Judson gets to his feet slowly, eyes on the fallen glass. He’s trying hard to control his emotions. Any moment now, he might hit me, or worse. But instead of touching me, he shoves his hands into his pockets, as though to restrain himself. When he turns to face me, his eyes are hard but not icy. His jaw is working as though he has a piece of gum in his mouth. “I don’t want to hurt you. But the worst thing you can do is push me to the point where I’m unable to control my actions.”
My eyes meet his. “I hate you.” I take my time with each word, so he understands every ounce of emotion behind it. Lashing out at him could be a mistake; I’m his prisoner and he holds the key. Still, my will to fight back refuses to be contained.
“I’m not your damn wife.” My fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of my palms. The thought of losing my freedom to this man makes me want to jump out of bed and barrel into him, to wrap my fingers around his neck, to hurt him before he has a chance to hurt me further. But only my mind is fit for battle.
He reaches down to touch me again, and I slap his hand away so hard that he grunts and takes a step back. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “It’s clear our conversation today won’t go anywhere. In that case, this is what I suggest. You should eat something. And you’ll stay in here until you’re ready to behave.” He points to a round mahogany table between two cushioned chairs at one end of the room.
For the first time, I cast my eye around the space. It’s larger than the living room of my childhood home in Boston.
Heavy chocolate drapes hang at the frosted windows and spill to the carpeted floor. Through an open door, I spot a Jacuzzi-style tub.
The fireplace, thick carpet, and shaded lamps all contribute to a romantic atmosphere. Except nothing about this situation is romantic—not to me.
I ignore the pain splitting my head and my weakened body. I’m all adrenaline as I push back the covers and jump out of bed, then attempt to shove past him. He blocks me with a tight hand on my shoulder. “I wouldn’t try to run if I were you.”
“Let me go.” I yank myself away from him and use every ounce of energy to get to the door. I don’t even make it halfway across the room before he’s clamped his strong hands around both my shoulders. He spins me around and draws me to his body, holding me in place. His thudding heart makes his hard chest vibrate against mine.
I attempt to free myself, but my strength is no match for his.
“This is where you belong. Best you come to terms with it now.” His breath is hot on the top of my head. Instead of releasing me, he lifts me off the floor and tosses me onto the bed. I curl up into a ball. Tears burn my eyes, but I don’t give them permission to fall.
His eyes challenge me to do or say something to contradict his plans for me. “As I was saying, there’s food on the table. Eat, rest, and when you are ready to discuss our future calmly, I’ll return.” He crosses the room to the door, but turns back to face me before he opens it. “Until then, I’ll be watching your every move. There are cameras installed in this room.”
The door shuts behind him and I hear a key turn in the lock. Hot tears trickle down my cheeks. I don’t care about wiping them away. It’s not easy to hide a broken soul. All my life I craved freedom, which I earned by distancing myself from my mother. Now I’m about to lose it all over again, and this time it could be forever.
I spend what feels like a whole hour crying, screaming, throwing things, and trying to find a way through the barred windows and locked door. Without a clock, I have no way of telling how long he’s been away. Finally I fall silent, my body sore and drained of energy, my eyes swollen. He doesn’t return.
Chapter Three
I sink to the floor next to the bed, my head heavy in my hands, shaking with rage. Much as I want to continue wrecking the room and screaming, I’ve come to the conclusion that being emotional won’t get me anywhere. I need to pull myself together, to think. I don’t have the physical strength to fight him, but I have my mind. All I can do now is find some peace, and do my best not to go crazy.
The last thing I want to do is depend on his provisions, but my body’s needs are undeniable. Swiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I haul myself from the floor and drag my body across the room. First I go into the bathroom to use the toilet and wash my face. Then I head to the table. I uncover the plate of food—steak, rice, and vegetables. At least he
’s not feeding me like a prisoner.
I sink into one of the chairs and pick up the spoon. When the hairs at the back of my neck prickle, I glance behind me. I don’t see the cameras, but the cold sensation under my skin warns me he’s watching.
The food is delicious, but then again, when you’re starving, you’ll enjoy whatever’s in front of you. When I’m done, I pick up the glass I had thrown onto the floor earlier and fill it with water from the pitcher. I gulp it down and put the glass on the nightstand.
As I climb back into bed, I notice for the first time that I’m not wearing the clothes I wore when he kidnapped me. My ivory lace crop top and skinny jeans have been replaced by black silk pajamas.
I slide under the covers and fold myself into a ball, hugging my knees. Something digs into my left ankle. I sit up again and lift one pajama leg. The offending object is a thin, gold band. Frowning, I twist it around my ankle in search of a clasp. I find none.
What the hell?
“Don’t bother. You won’t be able to remove it,” Judson’s voice pours into the room from hidden speakers. “That’s the symbol of our marriage. I hope you like it. It was personalized for you.”
My head snaps up. I study each corner of the room, but I can’t determine where his voice is coming from. Somehow it fills the entire space.
“I thought a traditional wedding band would be too easy to get rid of, don’t you think? That bracelet will remain on your ankle until you accept our marriage.”
I shake my head, my desperate fingers still clutching the bracelet. “Hell no. This has to be some kind of sick joke.” Despite my determination to get a grip on my emotions, my calm is slipping.
“If you still don’t believe we exchanged vows, have a look in that drawer—the one under the pitcher of water. You’ll find a copy of our marriage certificate in there. We exchanged vows in a romantic little chapel in Las Vegas yesterday.”