The Seduction

by Jessie Jones

  "I love John like a brother, man, but sometimes I hate that son of a bitch," Duff sighed, feeling Luther walk up behind him.

  "The woman was pretty upset, huh?" the African guard said as he put his hand on Duff's shoulder. "Between you and me, I think Johnny made a mistake with this one."

  "Yeah, but this will be the first and only time that he'll regret it," the Scottish man replied softly before turning to Luther to add, "Let's go get a drink, mate. I'm buying." The two men then climbed in the Escalade and drove away.

  Chapter 6

  Gillian's eyes feasted on the magnificent, two-story structure that rose from the French countryside as her car pulled into the circular driveway. The 17th century home was made of limestone and was surrounded by acres of well-manicured landscape. There was no way that this was the house! The chateau was made for royalty, not one, simple American doctor. Maybe there was a small cottage out back that she would be sleeping in instead of the large, stone building. Turning off the car, Gillian stepped out and closed the door. Her eyes then touched on the tall middle-aged blond man standing at the door. "Dr. Campeau, it's good to see you again. Thank you for meeting me."

  "It's my pleasure, Gillian, and please call me Bennet," the handsome doctor replied as he shook her hand. "So, what do you think of the place? I hope it will meet your needs."

  A smile touched her nude colored lips as she looked at her new boss and said, "Meet my needs? It's beautiful! If I am being honest with you, Bennet, it's really too much. I don't even know how I can begin to repay you."

  "You can repay me, Gillian, by utilizing that impeccable surgical reputation in my Parisian hospitals." Bennet smiled softly, his eyes scanning her stunning face and noticing that the woman was truly an amazing creature to look at. "Now why don't you follow me inside, so I can show you around?"

  Gillian followed Bennet inside. As soon as she entered the foyer, she looked around at her spacious surroundings and suddenly felt extremely alone. It had been almost a week since she had left England, and her life was in utter chaos. Not only had she left John Kenric, but she had abruptly moved to Paris to start her life over again. If Gillian was being honest with herself, she was also running from her feelings regarding the Brit but was unfortunately failing miserably. Blinking back tears, she closed her eyes for a moment as the painful ache in her chest grew. The gnawing, uncomfortable sensation she was feeling had started the moment Gillian had left Kenric Manor and had grown in intensity with each passing day. At this point, the pain was starting to suffocate her, but what choice did she have? John had made it clear what he thought of her when he had given her the envelope full of money, and Gillian had no choice but to move on.

  Opening her eyes, she took a deep breath. Trying to forget John for a moment, she gained her composure and looked at the French doctor. "This place is really amazing, Bennet. How long have you owned it?"

  "I don't own it, actually," Bennet replied as he motioned for Gillian to follow him through the house. "It belongs to my half-sister, Tania, but she is so busy with work that she only gets to visit once or twice a year. I just check in from time to time to make sure things are going okay. If you should need anything, there is a full-time staff on premise that actually sees to the daily care of the home. You will also be pleased to know that there is a world class chef on the payroll who is at your beck and call twenty-four seven."

  "Well, while I appreciate the offer, I don't think I'll need a chef." Gillian grinned, taking in her extravagant surroundings. Cocking one dark brow, she said, "So if you don't mind me asking, what is it that your sister does for a living? She must do quite well to have a home like this."

  "She's a secretary." Bennet smiled as he turned to look at Gillian's surprised, confused face. Knowing exactly what was on the stunning American's mind, he offered, "Tania has worked for the same multibillion-dollar corporation for about twenty-five years and is actually the owner's personal secretary. She travels with him all over the world and is at his disposal 24/7. I don't know about you, but I would much rather keep my job as chief of surgery. Seems less stressful, don't you think?"

  Gillian simply nodded at Bennet as she continued to follow him through the house. Her thoughts immediately trailed back to John as her companion switched topics and began to talk more about the house. She wondered what the British billionaire was doing at this moment, but more than that, she wondered if he missed her. With a loud, heavy sigh, a pain tore through her chest at the latter. What the hell was wrong with her? John clearly had moved on. Every time she turned on the television, she saw John and Patrick surrounded by a cornucopia of beautiful women. There was also a lovely, slim brunette who seemed to travel with John everywhere. This same attractive female was also frequently engaged in what appeared to be intimate conversations with the Brit. Clearly, the two had a close relationship, and that hurt more than she cared to admit. Gillian was quite sure that this woman was another mistress whom John had waiting in the wings. Pandora had told her that John had several women all around the world just waiting for his call. Gillian had hoped John had felt the same intense, raw, sexual chemistry that she had, but clearly, she had just been another warm body for him to snuggle up to at night.

  Bennet turned toward the stunning American when he received no reply to the question he had just asked. Gillian's emerald eyes told him that she may physically be in the room, but her mind was not. Taking advantage of the moment, Bennet allowed his eyes to roam up her delicious body to her flawless, beautiful face. One would not guess that the woman standing before him was one of the world's most sought-after trauma surgeons. You would assume that Gillian was majestic, of noble blood, even as she stood dressed in her ripped jeans and an off the shoulder grey shirt. When she had walked into his office yesterday for an interview, Bennet had felt as though he had won some sort of lottery. He wanted this woman, more than just professionally, but there was something about her far-off gaze that told him she was unavailable emotionally.

  With a sigh, he shook his head and grinned before he once again asked, "Gillian?" When her lovely emerald eyes shot to his, he said, "Well, that ends our tour. I would show you the second floor, but that is the staff quarters. Do you have any questions?"

  "No, I don't," the ebony haired beauty replied, slightly embarrassed to be caught thinking of John. "Again, I can't thank you enough for letting me stay here. If you don't mind, I'm going to unpack a few things from my car and get some rest. I guess I will just see you in the morning at work?"

  "No, take a few days to get things in order and relax. You can report to work Monday morning." When Gillian nodded in response to Bennet's comment, he took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the palm. Stepping back, he smiled before saying, "Well, it has been an absolute pleasure meeting you. I look forward to working beside you in the operating room. Now if you will excuse me, I have surgery in about an hour. If you should need anything, please don't hesitate to give me a call. I'll show myself out."

  Gillian watched her new boss turn and head toward the foyer. Hearing the door close behind him, Gillian let out a loud, heavy sigh as she looked around the massive room that was ideally designed. The room was a perfect contradiction to her life at the moment. Not only had she been running from John and her feelings for him, she was also running from Galen Stavros and his twisted father. Gillian had contemplated finding another place to live in London, but when she had gone back to work, Galen had dropped by the hospital. The moment she saw him, Gillian had fled. Galen had not only brought himself but four of his henchmen. The man had made it clear that he would kill her if he ever got his hands on her again, but that would be after he and his father raped her. Gillian would rather kill herself before she allowed Galen to hurt her like that. Moving to France had not been her first choice, but it was the best she could do in a pinch. It, at least, gave her time to come up with a better plan.

  Running from Galen was not Gillian's only problem. The lovely, American doctor had spent her entire life living in tot
al and complete anonymity, but John had left her vulnerable by exposing her identity to the world. The British billionaire had intentionally linked himself to her, and her picture was now plastered all over the television and internet. Her only saving grace was that no one knew her name. Media outlets were reporting that Gillian was John's fiancée and could not get past his open displays of affection with her. They also found it curious that John had allowed Patrick to be openly intimate with her. The two men were extremely private with their personal lives and had never "shared" a woman publicly before. Plus, media sources had never observed John Kenric displaying any type of emotion in public toward a woman, let alone shutting down an entire high profile event so he could be alone with her. Gillian desperately wanted to believe the reports, but somehow doubted that she was the first woman John had openly expressed feelings with, especially when he had appeared to be one, raw exposed nerve with her.

  Pushing aside her thoughts, Gillian began moving what little she had into the chateau. Dropping down into the plush chair, the beautiful doctor closed her eyes for a moment. She was both physically and mentally exhausted. Not only had she been unable to sleep for more than a couple hours since leaving the British billionaire, but every time she did close her eyes, all she saw was John. Truth be told, he and Patrick plagued her thoughts almost every minute of every day. Why the hell couldn't she seem to get over the Brit? John had made his feelings for her clear when he had kicked her out of his home. His feelings for her had changed so abruptly from the night before. John had been so affectionate, passionate, and tender as the two had made love for hours into the wee morning. Why had he left her bed for Pandora? Not only had he gone to the exotic beauty but had openly admitted it. Gillian had felt a little piece of herself die when John had spoken those words. Never in her life, had someone hurt her as deeply as John had. She regretted slapping him in the face and could not get the hurt she had seen flash in his eyes out of her head. Even after he'd treated her like shit, Gillian still wanted John Kenric. Stop thinking about him, she chastised herself as she opened her emerald eyes and wiped away the tears. He didn't give a damn about her, so why should she care about him?

  "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle," the petite, middle aged woman said softly as she walked into the room. When Gillian shot to her feet and vigorously wiped at her eyes, the blonde in the simple, beige dress said, "I did not mean to frighten you. My name is Brigitte, and I am the manager of this chateau. I wanted to introduce myself and see if you needed assistance with anything."

  Tucking the fallen strands from her ponytail behind her ears and feeling embarrassed for being caught crying, Gillian quickly said, "No, I'm fine. It must be my allergies making my eyes water."

  "Are you sure, mademoiselle?"

  "Yes, I'm fine, Brigitte. I just have a lot on my mind," the ebony haired beauty sharply replied as she forced a smile.

  Understanding that the stunning American woman clearly did not want to talk about her problems, the house manager decided to change the subject. "Chef Christophe is preparing lunch, Dr. Morgan. I will have one of the girls prepare a table for you in the courtyard."

  "No, Brigitte, that won't be necessary," Gillian said as she approached the servant. "Look, I don't mean to be offensive, but I don't need you and your staff waiting on me. I can take care of myself. Plus, if I'm being honest, when I start work on Monday, you won't see much of me. I would rather you act as if I am not even here."

  "But, mademoiselle, I was instructed to address your needs personally by Mr.—" Brigitte replied as the phone began to ring. "One moment please. I must answer the phone." Gillian then watched the servant answer the phone. The woman's face seemed to pale before she quickly rattled something off in French. As soon as Brigitte hung up the phone, the servant walked past the American doctor and simply said, "I apologize for my behavior, mademoiselle. I must go now and tend to my duties. I will not bother you again."

  "Bizarre," Gillian muttered to herself as she watched the middle aged woman quickly exit the room. She shrugged her shoulders and let out a sigh as she looked at the suitcases and boxes at her feet. The last thing she felt like doing was unpacking. If she began the process of settling in, then her relationship with John was definitely over. Who was she kidding? It was over anyway. The British billionaire was getting on with his life, so she should too.

  As Gillian attempted to unpack her bags in France, Patrick drove his blue, vintage 1961 Ferrari along the busy, London streets. He allowed Billie Holiday's haunting voice to flow over him, but it did little to calm his soul. The Irishman ran an agitated hand through his blond hair before flipping off the car in front of him. Patrick had just flown in from a meeting in Scotland and was due to meet John for lunch at an exclusive bar in the Kensington neighborhood. This would be the first time he had seen his best mate since the night they had slept with Gillian. Patrick, like John, had buried himself in work for the past few days. He had hoped the distance away from England would help him to get the American out of his system, but his need for her had actually only grown exponentially.

  He shifted in his seat when he felt the all too familiar stirring in his groin as his thoughts drifted to Gillian. Patrick let out an expletive as he adjusted the swelling cock in his designer suit. If Gillian was here right now, he would fuck the hell out of her with or without her permission! Patrick was so damn tired of jacking off, and for the first time in his adult life, he had gone almost a week without plunging inside of a warm, soft female. He had called several women to come over for a quick fuck but had cancelled the encounters before they had arrived. His favorite secretary, Keira, had even dropped to her knees to suck him off, but Patrick had found himself bored with the full-figured red head before she had even touched the belt on his jeans. Since fucking the damn American witch, the Irishman was completely incapable of being intimate with another woman. The thought literally made him sick to his stomach, and the feeling was completely foreign to him. Patrick often buried his feelings in alcohol and women, and since he couldn't have the latter, he had spent his nights drinking himself into oblivion.

  The sound of ringing had Patrick glancing at the phone that sat in the passenger seat. Seeing the name of an occasional female fuck on the screen had him rolling his eyes. If Patrick was being honest with himself, he was tired of the endless string of bitches coming in and out of his life. Catching a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror, he let out a string of profanity. Patrick had been told by others his whole life how beautiful he was, but he viewed his looks as nothing more than a curse. He was so sick of hearing how attractive he was and wished that women saw more than just his pretty face and fortune. Patrick had allowed himself to trust a woman once as a younger lad, but she, like the nuns in the orphanage, had betrayed him and made him suffer emotionally, mentally, and physically. Even as a child, his angelic, boyish features had drawn inappropriate attention from the priests, and he still dealt with the shame and pain of those encounters. If it wasn't for John, Patrick would have died years ago. The Irishman literally owed the Brit his life, and he would spend the rest of his repaying him.

  As Patrick pulled his car up to the valet and got out, a smile played on his lips. The world thought they had John and Patrick all figured out, but the two men tightly orchestrated how others perceived them. Although John was the king of the underworld and a ruthless businessman, he was also the most compassionate, selfless man Patrick knew. The elite ton would shit themselves if they knew how much money each man anonymously gave to charity and the less fortunate. Hell, most of the people who worked for Patrick and John were individuals whom the two men had rescued in some way and, because of that, were fiercely loyal. Patrick, himself, was the owner of several schools for abused children called Bellwitch. There, boys and girls under the age of eighteen who had suffered as he and John had, could live and attend school at no cost. Only their immediate inner circle knew the kind of men John and Patrick really were. Yes, they had killed and would do so again, but sometimes that was a ne
cessary evil that came with the territory.

  Walking into the restaurant, Patrick's turquoise eyes looked around the empty room until they landed on John sitting in a booth. The Brit appeared to be in deep thought and was on his laptop computer. The billionaire was the only true family that Patrick had now, and that thought had an incredible sadness spreading across his chest. He loved John and knew the other man loved him deeply, but sometimes their relationship was a complicated, codependent one. Both had been horribly abused, and John had saved him from being raped by Father Joseph at the age of four. John had almost paid for it with his own life, and they had taken their revenge on the priests, but neither man really spoke of it, let alone their feelings regarding their past. Patrick wanted to deal with his feelings instead of drinking and fucking whores, but John was always pushing him to just get over it. The Brit, however, never practiced what he preached.

  "What's wrong?" John asked in concern as his eyes momentarily met Patrick's. "Are you okay? Has something happened?"

  "Nothing's wrong, boyo. I was just deep in thought." Patrick half-smiled. The two men had an uncanny way of communicating without using words. Even miles apart, they knew when the other was hurting. Walking over to the Brit, the Irishman embraced him as he stood up. The billionaire looked like he had not slept in quite a while, and his neatly trimmed beard was in need of a shave. John was always so meticulous about his appearance, so something must be wrong. "Fuck, you look like shit, mate! Why haven't you called me?"