by Jane Henry
I stepped toward the humidor. I’d expected a fresh shipment of Cubans to arrive in time for my arrival, and as I was bent on seeing the newly-wrapped packages, I missed Annabelle’s response to the room. When I turned to face her, her hands were up to her mouth. She spun around slowly, taking in the massive bookshelves I’d had built into the walls, filled to the brim with classics, fiction, non-fiction, anything I’d wanted and more. I’d kept my mother’s small collection of paperbacks tucked away on one shelf. On another, I had every single work of Shakespeare and Chaucer, as well as some other famous British novelists I could not part with. I had a large collection of contemporary fiction but an even larger assortment of classics. She walked about the room on tiptoe, as if she were afraid of waking someone.
“You like it, Annabelle?” I asked.
Her eyes met mine in shock, as if she’d forgotten I was there. Spellbound, she walked over and pulled a hard copy of Paradise Lost from the shelf, allowing it to drop open in her hand, running her fingers along the smooth ivory interior as if she were smoothing away the wrinkles of a skirt.
“Like it?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
Overcome with something I could not name, my heart constricting in my chest even as a dull sort of ache clenched in my belly, I swallowed hard against the emotions that threatened to overtake me. “I don’t like it,” she whispered. “Like is a paltry word that doesn’t do justice to the magnificence of this room. I can’t even…I don’t even…” Her voice trailed off. “I do not like it,” she repeated. “I am madly in love with this. I can imagine no other place in the entire world I’d rather be than right here, right now, surrounded by these books and…” Her breath hitched as she lowered her eyes shyly. “With you.”
My throat tightened, and my nose tingled. She’d touched me in ways I could not quite fathom. She’d moved me, and my reaction had to be just right. She’d confessed to being happiest here, not only surrounded by her beloved books, but with me. The big, bad beast.
“You’re welcome to come here any time you like,” I said, my voice husky as I sought to control my emotions. “I know it won’t be easy for you to travel to Paris, but you only have to say the word and I would make it happen. This room is yours, all of it, the books, everything in it. Well — everything except the cigars,” I finished dryly, fairly certain that she’d not be too worried about that.
She laughed out loud, and it was the prettiest thing I’d ever heard.
“That’s not very nice of you,” she said with a coy look, her head tipped to the side, teasing me. “What if I happen to like cigars? What if I’d like to smoke one out on the balcony?”
She sauntered closer to me, her eyes fixed on mine, heated and challenging. When she was close enough to touch, I reached for her, pulling her to me firmly. “That’s quite enough,” I said. “Don’t even joke about doing such a thing. I’d have to take you over my knee, you know.”
Her eyes flared wider and her chest rose as she inhaled. “I know,” she said. “Makes me want to light up right here and now.”
I fisted my hand in the hair at the back of her neck, drawing her closer to me, when a sharp knock sounded on the door.
“Mister Gryffin?” Stifling a groan, I turned to see Worthington standing in the doorway, his brows arched curiously.
“Yes?”
“Your first meeting is in five minutes, sir. Would you prefer to take it in the library instead of the conference room?”
I released her, and stepped back. She cast her eyes down shyly.
“I’ll take it in the conference room,” I said. “I’d like to give Annabelle time to explore in here while I work. But when I’m done, I’d like our lunch brought out to the balcony, please.”
Worthington nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, after he’d departed.
“I need to,” I told her reluctantly. “I have to take this call. I have a laptop set up with wifi in a little office on the balcony, and your phone should work here as well. Why don’t you check on things at home? See how everyone’s doing? We will return in the next few days, and it will be about that time that I am planning the interview about your being my wife. Sound good?”
She nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” she said. “I would like that very much.”
I pulled her to my chest, my cock tightening in my pants. God, would I ever get used to her calling me that? Would I ever feel that it was right? Would I ever get past the idea of scandalizing her, of taking advantage of her innocence and naivety?
She frowned, and her little hand came to rest on my cheek, her brows furrowed in concern as she looked at me.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Suddenly, that haunted look is back. The look you get when whatever eats you up inside has reared its ugly head again. Was it something I said?”
My hands clenched into fists at the very thought of her being at fault for what I’d done. I shook my head, one quick jerk. “Of course not.”
“Something you’re afraid of, then?” I wanted to ease that worry line between her brows, soothe it with the softest touch of my hand. I wanted to pull her up against my chest and hold her, and tell her there was nothing to fear.
But it would be a lie. There was plenty to fear, and the biggest of all was yours truly.
I could destroy her so easily. I could hurt her. I could break her. I did not want to. But I’d done it once before, and who was I to think that somehow I’d overcome who I once was? Who was I to think I was anything but the horrific beast the townspeople said I was? I had a whole room of letters and articles and evidence to prove it.
I let her go and turned away. “Make yourself at home,” I said. “And I will join you for lunch as soon as my first meeting is over.”
I felt her behind me. I could sense her hurt. I wanted to reach back and tell her I hadn’t meant to be an asshole. I didn’t mean to shut her off. We would make it right, the two of us, together.
But it would be a lie. I couldn’t promise what I could not give her.
I never should have brought her to Paris.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Annabelle
Would I ever get used to the torrential mood swings of Sawyer Gryffin? Hot as blazes one minute, then cold as ice the next. My ass still stung from the spanking he’d given me, and my panties dampened at the mere memory. He was a man to be obeyed, a man who would never take no for an answer.
And God, was he a man. Nothing like the boys of my youth, and everything I could want. He ran deep, like the chasms of the Grand Canyon I’d visited just once in my youth, before my father passed away. I remembered what it was like standing on the precipices of something monumental and larger than life, knowing that what I could see with my naked eyes only barely scratched the surface of what lay deeper. And once I’d descended into the depths, I’d been held in rapt wonder at the majestic, fearsome, overwhelming beauty of it all.
Sawyer’s passionate, broken, possessive, tortured self was beautiful to me. He needed a soft place, someone to come home to, a place where he could rest.
I wanted to be his soft place.
I wanted him to come home to me.
Deep down inside, I knew that if only I could get him to let me in, I could be what he needed to heal, the one he would trust.
I never knew what I was missing until I met him. A part of me even wished for a moment that I’d met him when he had no money, with no bargain or agreement standing between us, but I knew deep down in my heart that it wasn’t his wealth that attracted me to him, but so much more. He was brilliant, and the depths of his passions ran deep. He was arrogant, I knew, and he was a man who liked to be in control
But hell if I wasn’t a girl who liked to submit.
I wouldn’t submit to just anyone, this I knew. I couldn’t. I would never. But Sawyer? He unleashed in me forbidden desires I never knew were there. He made me feel alive, and special, and even now I longed to rush through the door
s that separated us and reunite with him. He had his meetings in Paris later, but he’d return home and when he did... I’d run my hands along his back and neck, and watch the tension seep out of him. I’d listen to him when he had something to say, and offer my own perspective.
I wanted companionship. Passion. A real man, who could take on all of me and not crumple. I needed him.
I stared at the door for a good long while before I remembered that I was standing in the largest, most opulent, most exquisite library I’d ever seen in my life. I’d have all day to wonder about our relationship. Now I needed to get my hands on these books.
I pulled over a gleaming sliding ladder, and went up a few steps until I got to the very top. I just wanted to see what it was like up here. When I did, my head swam. It was crazier than I’d even imagined. The floor lay a good twelve feet below, and suddenly the ladder I held onto didn’t seem so sturdy. I turned back to the bookshelves, and pulled one off, drawn to the emerald-green leather binding. The Hobbit.
Oh, no way. I flipped it open, the gilded-edged pages smooth beneath my fingers. Turning one page after another, I inhaled the fragrant scent of paper and ink, leather and bindings, the most calming smell of a library. Amazing.
I tucked that one under my arm, then chose a leather-bound copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets, followed by a fetching hardcover version of Madeline. I would curl up on a chair and read about the little Parisian girl while sitting in Paris.
Paris! I’d almost forgotten we’d come all this way. I stepped down the ladder quickly, and walked out to the balcony. I sank into a cushioned chair with my books. Was this Sawyer’s chair? I smiled softly to myself. I loved it.
The sun had risen a little while ago, and now was high in the sky, the warm rays beating down on me in my secluded corner up on the balcony. The comfortable chairs nestled next to a fireplace that was built straight into the wall, covered with an overhanging ceiling that I assumed would allow us to enjoy the cool evening air even during inclement weather. Office supplies were tucked away on a makeshift desk, pens and papers and a small, slim, silver laptop sat on top. They were all tucked so far into the desk area that the rain or sleet would never touch them.
An office in paradise. Astounding.
I put my feet up on the outdoor ottoman, and leaned back in my chair, propping up the copy of Madeline on my lap. I had just started when a buzz came at my elbow and a voice I didn’t recognize came over a little speaker.
“Ms. Symphony, do you need anything at this time?”
Oh my. “I think I’m fine for now, thank you.”
“A cup of coffee? Some food to tide you over, perhaps?”
A cup of coffee sounded delicious. And how often would someone bring me coffee and food while I sat on a balcony in Paris?
“Sure,” I said. “A cup of coffee would be perfect, and maybe a little something to nibble on.” I was feeling pretty hungry.
“Right away,” came the voice, one I didn’t recognize. Shortly after, I heard the door to the library open, and soft footsteps approaching me. Moment later, a young woman with her hair tucked into a little bun came over to me, a tray with coffee and pastries.
“Oh, this looks delicious,” I said, extending my hand.
“Annabelle Symphony.”
The girl took it with a smile. “Maria,” she said. “Pleased to meet you. Please do let me know if I can assist you in any way.”
“Certainly. Thank you.”
With a bow, she took her leave. I chose a flaky croissant and placed it on a plate next to a steaming cup of coffee. Then I simply savored the moment, enjoying the view of the garden below us while sipping my coffee, which was deliciously dark, laced with cream, just how I liked it. After a few sips, I placed the cup down and picked up my book, squealing to myself in delight. I was in Paris.
I leaned back in the chair, comfortably warmed and fed, and began to read but after a moment my eyes rested on the silver computer. I remembered with a start that I really needed to check in with my sister like Sawyer had suggested. She’d wonder where I was after a time. He said I’d have the ability to get onto my phone here. I picked it up, and took it out of my bag, powering it on. When I did, I blinked in surprise. Ten unread messages popped up on my screen.
I clicked on the ones from Melody.
Where are you??? I need you. There’s an emergency with Mom.
I couldn’t believe I’d taken off to Paris without telling Melody, without checking on my mom!
Annabelle? I need to talk with you!
Whatever you do, do not listen to what is on the news!
My stomach dropped, a cold chill making me shiver.
I dialed her number, and she picked up on the first ring.
“Annabelle! Oh, thank God. We were looking everywhere. Even Gavin tried texting and calling you. He sent a crew out to Gryffin’s house to find you but you were both gone. Where are you?” Her voice was high-pitched and unnaturally tense.
“I’m in Paris.” Guilt washed over me. I never should have come here. Who was I to think it was okay to come to Paris? Really?
She groaned. “God, Annabelle! Really? Paris?” Her voice shifted a bit with excitement. “Is it awesome?”
“I have no idea! I just got here. His home in Paris is awesome, I can assure you of that. But forget about that for the moment. Tell me what’s going on!”
She sighed. “Well, you know Mom went to Gavin.”
“Yes...” My fingers clasped my heart and I closed my eyes. I swallowed hard, willing myself to stay calm, an awful feeling of dread coming over me. “Then what?”
“Have you not been online?” she asked quietly. “Annabelle…”
Cold washed over me as I sat at the table, lifting the little laptop he’d said I could use and opening the lid. The second I opened it, the welcome screen flashed on. I clicked the button to take me online, and typed in Whitby local news. The front page of the Whitby Tribune came into view, the headline story with a picture of me no less.
No.
“Annabelle?” Melody’s voice sounded distant. I shook my head. This was…no…I couldn’t even process what I was reading.
The police are in pursuit of none other than the infamous Sawyer Griffin, the man accused of being behind the mysterious death of an innocent female ten years prior, seems to have a penchant for young women. He’s taken Annabelle Symphony into his home and now sources say they are traveling around the country together, against her will.
After the news of her kidnapping broke, Annabelle’s mother was taken into custody for being a threat to herself and those around her. Mental illness is a strong suspect in this case. Local authorities are currently trying to track down Ms. Symphony.
I got to my feet.
“Annabelle?”
“They took Mom into custody,” I whispered. “Where is she?”
Melody’s voice wavered when she spoke. “She’s at McGovern,” she said, referencing the hospital outside of Whitby, the largest nearby hospital. “And they won’t let me see her. They think somehow I’m not trustworthy since I had her here and Mom is telling them I wouldn’t let her go. I don’t know what to do, Annabelle.”
“I know,” I said, rubbing a hand across my eyes. “I will fix this, Melody. I promise, I will fix this. I need to come home.”
“Will he let you? You’ve made an agreement to stay, and you’ll make your agreement null and voice. Maybe he will not allow it!”
A strange sense of defensiveness came over me. “You don’t know him,” I said, needing her to listen to me.
She snorted. “And you do? You’ve known him less than a week, and now you’re suddenly the expert?"
“It isn’t like that.”
“Yeah? Then what is it like? Want to tell me that?”
“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “But not now. I will, though.” She would see, because now that I had him, I was not going to let him go. I was right where I was supposed to be.
Things would work
out.
They had to.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sawyer
I closed my laptop and shut off my phone, stretched back my arms over my head and yawned. When I traveled to Europe, I liked being disconnected, as much as I could anyway. Worthington made sure I wasn’t constantly in the dark, and would feed me headlines as needed, but I mostly enjoyed the quiet.
I’d taken longer than I expected in my last meeting, but the deal was closed. Our clothing line would now be available to some of the most popular retailers in all of Europe. The expansion from American to European vendors was a huge one, and I was eager to celebrate, this time not alone with my cigars on the balcony, but with my girl.
A twinge of excitement tucked at my gut, a feeling I hadn’t had in years, decades even. I had something to look forward to. Sighing, I glanced at the calendar on my desk. Only one more week until our agreement was up, and I’d fulfill my end of the bargain. But I’d taken such good care of her…maybe she wouldn’t want to go home?
Was I fooling myself for thinking that she had any feelings for me? How could she? I was a beast of a man, an angry bastard who didn’t take no for an answer. She hardly knew me.
There was a connection, though…
Or was that in my mind as well?
I pushed myself to standing,
I wanted her, here in my arms. I wanted to kiss her and hold her, and take her out to dinner under the twinkling lights of Paris. I would take her to my favorite restaurant, the little café owned by a married couple that did wonders with cheese and steak, we’d get a little table outside, and she’d order anything she wanted off the menu. I opened the door to my office, and I nearly yelled out loud as she crashed right into me, her pretty brown hair flying behind her, eyes wide and fearful.