Wanted Too: A Scorching Valentine Royal Romance (Wanted Trilogy Book 2)

by Dee Palmer

  “Who the fuck are you?” My voice is a pitched cry, and my hands thump at the immovable mass weighing me down. And where the hell is Jørgen?

  “I’m your wake up call, pretty.” Beady dark eyes come into focus as the unshaven, unfortunate-looking man leers down at me. He has one droopy lid over his left eye, a thick unkempt beard, and lank greasy ginger hair that is kept long in a fruitless attempt to cover the bald patches.

  “Waking nightmare more like. Get the fuck off me!” Struggling to buck the half tonne orangutan from me, I can feel my bones creak under his weight. I twist and turn, my thoughts racing, searching around for anything I can leverage against or maybe use as a weapon, or see if I can spot a phone that’s fallen on the floor. And where the hell is Jørgen?

  “Oh, yeah, baby, I like ’em feisty. And you can stop looking for your friend; he’s busy with my mates. But don’t worry, they’ll be finished with him soon enough, and they won’t want to miss a sweet little thing like you. Still, I ain’t much into sloppy seconds, though, so I’m gonna start without them.” He presses his slobbery wet lips against my cheek, having thwarted his target with a timely twist of my head.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I’m exhausted already, and I haven’t so much shifted him an inch. Reasoning is all I have to try and get out of this bleak situation in one piece.

  “I know I don’t have to do this. I want to do this.” He grinds his stubby, denim-clad erection against me, and I thank the lord his hands are busy pinning me down, and he’s not managed to take that thing out…yet.

  “No, I mean you don’t have to be this man. This arsehole that makes bad life choices and blames everyone else but the fucking arsehole in the mirror.” My reasoning techniques might need some work.

  “Shut the fuck up!” Spittle flies into my face when he sneers his curse and yells at me.

  “Truth hurt?”

  “Not as much as you’re going to—”

  Struggling like a wildcat, I cut him off, grunting and groaning with the effort to get my words out as he tries to capture both of my hands in one of his and also fumble with his zip.

  “I’m gonna cut your fucking balls off, if you so much as—” His free hand punches my cheek, and my head bounces off the flagstones. It feels like my eye socket has shattered into a million pieces. Stars and darkness dance at he edge of my vision, and I almost wish it would pull me right under. This is a battle I’m not going to win.

  “And I’m gonna choke you with my dick just to shut your goddamn mouth. You’re ruining this for me.”

  “I’m what?” A bitter humourless laugh blurts out. “Ruining it for you? I’m sorry, did you want scented candles and sweet nothings whispered in your ear while you rape me?” Moving my head from side to side each time he looms close, exhaling an exhausted breath, I let myself go a little limp. This is going to hurt me more than him. My cheek is pulsing with agony, but it’s the only move I have left. He dips close once more, and I jut my head forward cracking my forehead on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even flinch as blood explodes out of his nostrils and drips onto my face.

  I snap my mouth shut, because as much as I want to scream with the pain shooting through my skull like I’ve been hit with a pick axe, I don’t want any of that in my mouth. I start to struggle again, hoping, by some miracle, he’s seeing as many stars as I am right now, and that his balance is off. Before I get the chance to test my theory, I can suddenly breathe again. His heavy weight is lifted from my body, and the massive man is tossed like a light salad up and over Jørgen’s shoulder to the floor behind him. Jørgen spins and kicks the man in the chin just as he’s trying to crawl to his feet. He flies further back across the kitchen, and Jørgen is on him like a wild animal. I had no idea he was that big. It’s like I’m seeing him transform into a different person before my very eyes. Not that he didn’t have that aura of dominant danger, but this is something else, something primal unleashed. So fucking hot, he is so my type.

  He pounds the man with fist after fist raining down on his body, his stomach, and his face, ending with a hefty kick to the balls, which makes me smile and makes the man fall unconscious to the floor. I manage to shuffle to a sitting position, but have to ease forward as the base of my spine feels like it’s made of raw nerves and shards of glass. Jørgen checks the man’s pulse, which sends a shiver racing across my skin. Not that a piece of shit like him doesn’t deserve to die, in my opinion, but that would not be good for Jørgen, unless he also knows where to hide bodies. Looking at the dark scowl across his face as he approaches me at this moment I wouldn’t put anything past him. My head might be tender and throbbing from pain; however, the turmoil inside my chest is hindering my ability to breathe. Who is this man, and why can’t I have him again? Because of my second rule, which is looking more and more like the big number two that it is.

  Jørgen drops to his haunches, and the furious scowl on his face softens slightly. He still looks terrifying. The tightness in his jaw has the muscles twitching as he grits his teeth.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” I wince when I move, and the smile on my face freezes with the fresh jolt of agony.

  “There’s blood?” He wipes the blood smeared on my cheeks clean with his fingers.

  “It isn’t mine.” Heat is starting to numb the parts of my face I know must be swelling, but I’m pretty sure the skin didn’t crack. The base of my spine on the other hand…

  “Good, thank god.” He drops his head and lets out a heavy breath filled with relief that I happen to share.

  “Ow! Oh, that hurts.” Even a deep breath is too much and pushing myself up to standing just isn’t going to happen.

  “Let me.” He carefully places his arm around me and takes all of my weight, helping me to my unsteady feet. The first waver on wobbly legs has him lifting me into his arms and carrying me out of the kitchen.

  “Um, thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He backs carefully through several sets of doors until we are back at the entrance hall. There is one wingback chair next to a vast open fireplace, and he lowers me like I’m made of glass. To be fair, I do feel a little shattered. “Will you be all right here for a moment? I need to secure that man in the same room with the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Yes, there are a further two men in the cloak room over there and the one in the kitchen. There was another. Unfortunately, he evaded me, escaping in your car.”

  “What! No! That’s my mum’s car! Oh, god, she’s going to kill me. Ow, ow.” Pain rockets through me, instantly trumping my worry and any attempt to go and see for myself. No reason why he would lie about that.

  “Don’t move. I’ve got this.” Jørgen sweeps a careful hand over my cheek and stares into my eyes for what seems like endless intimate seconds, and I find I can’t quite look away or breathe, for that matter.

  “You need to breathe,” His broad smile relaxes me, as does the playful tap on my nose. The sexual tension, however, one still couldn’t cut through with a machete. His searching gaze checks me over one more time before he stands and walks back down the corridor toward the kitchen. My whole body aches with utter exhaustion, yet I can’t quite get comfortable in the large chair where Jørgen placed me. The cushions are lumpy. The threadbare fabric is so thick with dust, I can’t work out what the original colour was, let alone if it held a pattern at one time. I forgo resting my head and fight to keep my eyes open. A few minutes pass, and I can feel my head swaying with the drag of fatigue, when in the distance, I can hear a dull scraping sound. The sound becomes more distinguishable and louder and then stops. The next second, Jørgen kicks open one of the doors off the entrance hall and appears, dragging a body behind him. He has one foot of the unconscious man tucked under his arm while he causally paces the length of the entrance hall and over toward the cloakroom, as if he’s taking out the trash. I guess he is. He unlocks the cloakroom door and disappears inside for several minutes.

 
When he returns, he’s carrying a box, which he places beside me before crouching once more to his haunches. He takes his time checking me over with careful fingertips, concern etched on his handsome face.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “What have you done with him?” I look over to the cloakroom where it is suspiciously quiet.

  “I asked first.”

  “I’m fine, sore, my arse hurts, if you must know, and I can’t get comfortable.” My face screws up in agony every time I try and move, pain shooting every which way, and I can’t quite work out what hurts the most—my throbbing face or my arse.

  “I see. He didn’t—”

  “Not that kind of hurt.”

  He visibly relaxes, and I’m inclined to do the same, if every muscle in my body didn’t hurt so damn much. I must have the lowest pain threshold ever. I feel obliged to clarify, since he is still staring so intently at me. “When I landed on the floor, I felt a crunch. I’m sure it’s fine, just very tender. Now your turn.”

  “He is tied up with his friend. They are secure in the cloakroom.”

  “Are you sure they won’t escape?”

  “I said I tied them up, and I’m rather good at it.” His tongue peeks out, slowly wetting his bottom lip. The sinful insinuation in his tone is sweet as syrup and just as thick. Liquid heat pools between my legs, as all my rules and reason begin to fade to black. When he touches me, all I can see is glorious Technicolor.

  “If you do say so yourself.”

  “Quite.” He smiles, and I have to blink to break the charge, sever the connection, and quell the sexual tension which is about to burst its banks.

  “Have you called the police?” His frown deepens with my sudden and deliberate change from his suggestive subject matter.

  “No,” he replies flatly.

  “Why not?”

  “My phone was in your car.”

  “Did you check the men? They must have had phones.”

  “One of them did, but it had no battery. I did check.”

  “Oh, shit, so what happens now?”

  “How far is it to the nearest village from here?” he asks, and we both share a knowing look.

  “A good ten miles as the crow flies, maybe fifteen by road. It’s one of the reasons we fell in love with the place—its isolation.”

  “Right. Well, it looks like we are here for the night. I’ll walk over and get help in the morning.” He stands and shucks his jacket, folding it neatly over the back of my chair. He starts to roll his sleeves as if he is settling down, about to get comfortable for the night and I’m awash with panic. This isn’t happening.

  “Can’t you go now? We have no heat, no food, I’m not even sure if there’s water.” My garbled concerns elicit nothing more than a raised brow and a wry smile.

  “There is water; I checked, and I’m not leaving you.”

  “Then I’ll come too, ow, ow.” Leaning to push myself up, I’m crippled immobile with shards of pain slicing into my lower back.

  “It would take until morning to get to the end of the drive, Hope. Face it; we’re staying here. I’ll go and see what I can gather to make the night more comfortable.”

  “There’s nothing here, it’s a shell.” I sag tentatively back into the chair.

  “This was outside the front door and it’s addressed to you.” He kicks the large box with his foot, the one he dropped earlier, and bends to pick it up. It has a logo I recognise emblazoned all over it.

  “That’s one of the salon suppliers. They said they were sending a sample packet of new products, but it never came. They must’ve sent it here by mistake.” He starts to walk off carrying the box. “Wait! Where are you taking that?”

  “We’re not staying in the entrance hall, Hope. I think the library will be more suitable.”

  “Oh, right, yes, probably.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” He hesitates, and even as I nod, I glance over to the locked cloakroom door.

  “Yes, sure, but maybe don’t be too long?”

  “They can’t escape, Hope. You are quite safe.” The emphasis he places on my name makes the hairs on the back of my neck tingle, which I endeavour to ignore. Just one night, Hope, keep it together for one night, or more specifically, keep your legs together.

  “Famous last words in every horror movie I’ve ever seen.” I divert my wayward thoughts, and, bam, he volleys them right back to me, front and centre.

  “I didn’t say you were safe from me, if that helps.”

  “Not so much, Jørgen. Luckily this is strictly business right?” I can only hope he can’t hear my resolve crumbling as I fight to keep this, whatever this is, professional.

  “Of course.” His eyes lock with mine, and any train of thought in my head officially leaves the station. At this moment, I don’t think I could even tell anyone my name.

  I LET OUT A BREATH I didn’t realise I was holding when he turns and walks away. The door clicks behind him, and my whole body relaxes. What the fuck am I getting into? This isn’t my overactive imagination; this is as clear as the ink scribed down the side of my waist.

  He wants me.

  Suddenly, the whole “mixing business with pleasure” seems a flimsy excuse, when I just bet the pleasure of fucking him is going to be worth it.

  No, Hope, keep it professional. One fuck is not worth the risk, even if it would be phenomenal. This is how my mind paces back and forth the entire time Jørgen is gone, two steps forward and one step ‘flat on my’ back.

  My head is a mess, and trying to focus on anything else just makes things worse. I’m out of time. I didn’t even notice the build-up of tears in my eyes until Jørgen’s deep voice brings me out of my downward spiral. Blinking, fat isolated tears drip down my cheek as I shake my head in response to his concern.

  “Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

  “No, yes…sorry, I am in pain… it’s not that.” Wiping my cheeks dry with the palm of my hands, I force a fake smile that falters when his eyes look deeply into mine, searching for some truth. I take an unsteady breath and decide to let it all out. I might as well; it’s done, it’s over. “I needed that contract signed, Jørgen. I mean, I needed it signed today, and now—”

  “It is signed.” His interruption is light and dismissive. It feels like a cruel joke.

  “That’s not funny, Jørgen. I put my home on the line, and that contract is in my car and god knows where by now. It’s over.”

  “I signed this morning. The first tranche of money hit your bank before I left the office.”

  “No, it didn’t.” My brattish response holds no foundation, and my suspicion that he’s lying disintegrates when I can clearly see the sincerity in his deadly serious face.

  “Do I look like someone who would joke about money?”

  “You don’t look like the sort of person that jokes period.” Sniffing out a humourless laugh, he does at least placate me with a warm smile.

  “Well, I do joke, but not about money. Did you not receive a confirmation email and notification from your bank?”

  “I don’t know. I was driving and nervous. I didn’t even check my phone when we got here.”

  “You were nervous?”

  “I had a lot riding on this, Jørgen. I thought this visit was a make or break thing.”

  “Not at all. This has always been a good investment.” His assertion may stroke my business ego, but the intonation and gravelly timbre of his voice has me purring my response.

  “Then why are we here?”

  “Because I wanted us to be here.”

  “Do you always get what you want?”

  “With one exception.” The catch in his voice is laden thick with unspoken sorrow I can only imagine. The eye contact he is holding breaks with a glassy slow blink, and my chest buckles with the weight of sadness he holds in that one movement.

  “I’m sorry, Jørgen.” I reach and cup his cheek in my hand, welcoming the pressure against me as he leans into
my touch. Beyond intimate, he turns his face and plants a tender kiss in the centre of my palm.

  “Stars are only visible in the darkness, Hope. Loss is part of life. The only thing sadder would be to ignore the lessons life offers ” He takes my hand from his cheek and holds it between his.

  “And what lesson is this?”

  “You feel it. I know you do.” It’s an emphatic statement, and I feel something fundamental shift inside me.

  No, no, and no, denial is the best form of attack. Even if I know I’m outgunned, he is seriously packing. He’s an assault on my senses and sanity on every level. Still, I won’t go down without a fight or at least a healthy dose of scepticism and sarcasm.

  “Sexual attraction is hardly a subtle emotion. I think it’s as base as it comes, so, yes, Jørgen, I feel it.”

  “That’s what you think this is?”

  “Yes.” Honestly, I have no idea what this is.

  “Interesting.” He seems amused, and I’m becoming more and more worried. This is a fresh level of hell I didn’t know existed. My resolve is crumbling like a Berocca in the rain. I don’t do this…this penetrating eye contact, a heart beating so fast it feels like my chest is going to explode. And what the hell is with these damn butterflies? What am I, fourteen?

  “You’re wrong.” I pull my hand from his as if feeling his bite for the first time.

  “About what?” He smoothly reaches and takes it back, his thumbs stroking the back of my hand, soothing as if I’m some skittish prey.

  “Thinking this is something. I’m attracted to you, of course I am. I have eyes and other senses, but we are in business together. My business depends on your business. This is a bad idea on every level.”

  “That’s your only objection?” He casually pushes his arm under my knees. The other, he puts around my waist, and lifts me from the chair. Cradling me against his strong muscular body like I’m something precious, he carries me toward the library. His footsteps echo off the empty corridor and high cracked ceilings.

  “Not my only objection, no,” I say, feeling a weird mix of awkward and safe in his arms. “Look, no offence, but you don’t look like a ‘one nighter’ type of guy, and I don’t do—” A flash of ‘what-if’ images bombard me, and I hesitate as the truth prevents me from finishing my own sentence. With him, I just know one night wouldn’t be enough.