Lucky Stars

by Kristen Ashley

  She should have listened to herself.

  She now understood the reason she wrapped herself in cotton wool. To protect herself from this kind of irrevocable damage because it hurt worse than anything she could ever imagine. Worse than a broken arm. Worse than a sprained ankle. Worse than anything.

  She threw open the door to her room and charged in only to come to an immediate, rocking halt.

  And this was because Miles was lying on her bed clothed in his tuxedo without the jacket or tie but still wearing his shoes. He had his arms lifted, his head resting on his hands. He looked, for all the world, like a man in thoughtful repose.

  When she arrived, his eyes turned to her, they took in her face, her hair, James’s shirt and they narrowed dangerously.

  Then his voice, low and trembling with fury, came at her, lacerating her frayed nerves and exacerbating her already overwhelming humiliation.

  “He fucked you,” Miles declared.

  At his awful but very true words, Belle jolted out of her horrified stance and ran to her handbag. Throwing her dress and shoes in the direction of her suitcase, she turned and dug in her purse to find her phone.

  “You let him fuck you,” Miles’s voice said from behind her.

  She pulled out her mobile and bent her head to it, her mind racing, her thumb touching the screen, her shaky hand making her call nearly impossible.

  “Belle,” Miles called.

  He was closer. She could hear it and she could feel it and it terrified her.

  She hit the call button and put the phone to her ear.

  “Belle, I’m talking to you.” Miles’s voice was changing, his tone had turned biting. She didn’t have to look at him to know his anger was fierce.

  She’d heard that tone before, dozens of times and her fear escalated alarmingly.

  The call connected and she asked to be put through to a taxi service.

  “Belle, put down the fucking phone,” Miles demanded but the call went through and Belle moved. Digging in her bag, she pulled out a pair of jeans.

  “Belle, I said put down the fucking phone.” Miles’s voice was getting louder but Belle, beginning to panic and almost unable to cope with her stifling humiliation, ignored him, focussing solely on escape.

  The taxi service picked up and Belle said in a tremulous voice, “I need a taxi at Chy An Als Point. Immediately. It’s an emergency,” she semi-lied.

  It wasn’t a true emergency, just an emergency to her.

  But in order to get away, she was willing to lie.

  She’d worry about the black mark against her soul later.

  A lot later.

  “Belle.” Miles’s voice was an ugly warning.

  “What’s the name?” the lady at the taxi service asked in her ear.

  “Belle Abbot,” Belle answered.

  There was a brief pause then a breathy, “The Tiny Dynamo?”

  Belle shut her eyes tight at the hated, ridiculous title the papers had given her as she felt the fury emanating from Miles hitting her.

  “Yes,” she replied, not willing to extend the energy to fight it.

  “And it’s an emergency?” the lady asked.

  “Yes,” Belle semi-lied again.

  “Someone will be right there, love. Don’t you worry,” the lady assured her and Belle felt immense relief mingled with guilt for leading the nice taxi lady on.

  “Thank you,” Belle whispered, only the relief evident in her voice then she touched the screen to end the call.

  She threw her mobile on top of her purse and shook out the jeans, still ignoring Miles.

  “So, you think you can come to my home, meet my mother, spend the night fucking my brother while I’m at the party searching for you, half mad with worry and then just go home?” Miles’s dangerous voice asked.

  “Go away, Miles.” Belle sounded exactly as frightened as she felt and she didn’t care. She yanked up the jeans, fastened the button fly and then dashed around the room, gathering her things and running back to the bag, shoving it in.

  “Go away?” Miles asked quietly as she did this.

  “Yes. Go away,” Belle repeated, rushing around the room, blindly grabbing her belongings, not looking at him.

  “Go away,” Miles whispered and it was a sinister whisper. A whisper that sent shivers of fear up her spine.

  Belle didn’t respond, she pushed her hand into her bag, found her flip-flops and pulled them out, dropping them to the floor.

  She felt him get close when she shoved her feet into the shoes.

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  “Go away,” she whispered, thrusting her stuff into the bag so she could do the zip.

  She felt fingers tighten brutally around her upper arm and with an instinct borne of experience, she braced minutes before he shook her by her arm savagely so she turned to him.

  His face was frighteningly red with clearly evident wrath and Belle sucked in a terrified breath at the sight right before he roared, “You fucking whore!”

  She flinched then belatedly tried to jerk her arm out of his grip.

  This didn’t work.

  Fear spiralled through her belly as he took her other arm in his grasp and shook her so hard her head snapped back.

  He was shouting loudly when he said, “A month I’ve been taking you to the finest restaurants, feeding you the best food, dancing fucking attendance on you like an absolute jackass and you barely let me put my tongue in that sweet mouth of yours. Yet, in one fucking night you open your legs for my fucking brother when I’m under the same goddamned roof.” He shook her roughly again and yelled, “You fucking whore!”

  “Let her go, Miles.”

  Belle and Miles’s eyes swung to the voice that came from door.

  There stood James wearing faded jeans and a black t-shirt that fit snug on his chest and stomach. His black hair was tousled. His feet were bare. His powerful body was held stiff and the expression on his face was downright scary.

  At the sight of James in all his angry beauty, Belle forgot her current physical predicament and tears crawled up her throat, stung her eyes and she didn’t have the strength to hold them back.

  They spilled down her cheeks.

  James’s angry gaze swung to her face, he took one look at her and the obvious anger turned to even more obvious fury and he strode purposefully into the room.

  “Take your hands off her,” he demanded.

  “Fuck you,” Miles returned viciously.

  James got close, his eyes locked on his brother and he warned softly, “I’m not going to ask again.”

  James and Miles glared at each other and Belle stood frozen watching them as the white-hot current of what seemed to be hatred crackled between them.

  Suddenly Miles moved. He tossed Belle toward James with great force, sending her flying across the short expanse and colliding into James’s body.

  James’s arms immediately folded around her to hold her close.

  “Have her,” Miles snapped, sounding like she wasn’t a she but an it. A toy, a plaything, something you could blithely toss around and throw away.

  “We’ll talk later,” James said in a way it was clear anyone in their right mind wouldn’t want to be present at that particular chat and Miles’s ugly expression turned uglier.

  “No, Jack, we won’t. Fuck that,” Miles clipped.

  “We’re going to have words,” James demanded.

  “We’re done talking,” Miles retorted.

  “What’s going on?” Joy asked, her concerned voice coming from the door and Belle had had enough.

  She yanked out of James’s arms and ran to her bag.

  There was stuff in the bathroom but she didn’t care. She’d buy more. She was leaving, immediately, even if she had to walk halfway to town to meet the taxi.

  She started to zip her bag but felt the hot touch of James’s hand at the small of her back.

  “What’s going on?” Joy repeated in a motherly demand at the exact same mome
nt James murmured, “Poppet.”

  At that word, Belle zipped her bag with a sharp movement and whirled around, dislodging his hand, her eyes shooting up to lock on his.

  “Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

  His hand came up and toward her face as he said gently, “Belle.”

  She lifted her own hand, knocking his aside. It registered somewhere that her action made his body jerk and his brows drew together.

  “I said, don’t touch me,” she repeated and turned away. Grabbing her suitcase by the handles, she moved to get her purse. “I never want to see you again.” She turned, her gaze sweeping the room to see Miles was still there, Joy was at the door and Yasmin had joined her.

  The women looked pale, Miles looked furious, James looked concerned.

  All of them were watching her.

  “Any of you,” Belle declared then grabbed her purse, hitched it on her shoulder and started to march to the door but James brought her up short with a hand at her wrist.

  She stopped and looked up at him.

  “Poppet –” he started and at his repeated endearment, something fundamental inside her that was holding together by a miracle broke apart.

  “Don’t you dare,” she hissed, the tears clearing from her voice and eyes. “Don’t you dare. You wanted a crack at me?” she asked and James flinched, his eyes shot to his brother in what Belle read as guilt causing her heart to flutter in an altogether too painful way before they came back to her on her next words. “You got it. Three of them if I’m counting right. You won, James,” she told him and his eyes narrowed when she used his real name. “You can stop playing the game. Just note your hash mark on the board, move onto your next victim and leave me alone.”

  She yanked from his hold and started to walk away but he caught her by the wrist again.

  “Belle, listen to me –” he began when her eyes moved to his.

  “No, I listened to you last night when you told me I could trust you,” Belle shot back. “You lied. I’m not listening to you again.”

  James’s face changed. It took on a look of frustrated but controlled anger and he used his hand to bring her closer as he looked to the door.

  “Get out and close the door behind you,” he ordered.

  “Don’t bother,” Belle said immediately to the women who hesitated at the door. “I’m leaving.”

  “Belle, we’re talking,” James told her.

  That something that was broken inside her started cutting deep, the jagged ends tearing at her insides. The pain was immense and she couldn’t hold on much longer.

  “Take your hand off me,” she demanded.

  “Belle, we’re talking,” James repeated.

  Belle leaned in, overcome by hurt and humiliation, she screeched into his face. “I said, take your hand off me!”

  Then, with force, she pulled free and started running.

  He caught her just feet from the door with an arm around her waist. Joy and Yasmin had begun to move aside but stopped when he swung her around.

  “Get out and close the goddamned door,” James clipped harshly.

  Belle twisted around in his arm to look at Joy. “Don’t close that door!”

  “Belle, darling…” Joy started but Belle didn’t listen. She’d dropped her suitcase somewhere along the line and was struggling in earnest to break free of James’s arm that was held tight around her waist.

  “Go and close the fucking door!” James shouted and Belle heard everyone move around her, including Miles. Someone closed the door but she was still pushing against his arm with her hands and her weight.

  Once the door closed, James used his arm to shake her gently.

  “Calm down,” he ordered, his mouth at her ear, the heat of his body pressed against her back.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  “Belle, I don’t know what Miles said to you –”

  “Miles didn’t say much of anything except he called me a fucking whore,” Belle snapped, gained an inch but only so James could turn her to face him then both his arms locked around her. She stopped struggling, looked up at him and added, “Twice.”

  “That’s unfortunate, love, but –” he began but she cut in.

  “Unfortunate? You call that unfortunate? I’ve never been called a whore in my life!” she screamed.

  “Belle –” he started again but she kept talking.

  “And I deserved it. He was right. I know it, you know it. That’s exactly how I acted.”

  He gave her another gentle shake as she watched his face grow hard. “Don’t say that.”

  She changed themes and accused, “You said you’d take care of everything.”

  “It wasn’t me who wanted you to go to your room,” he shot back.

  He was right.

  So right.

  She was such an idiot.

  Then again, if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have known who he was. He would have kept using her and lying to her to rub his brother’s nose in it.

  Until he lost interest.

  And she would have loved every second of it.

  Until he broke her heart.

  “You’re right,” she told him. “It’s my fault.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  She was losing the will to fight so again she switched themes.

  “Let me go,” she demanded.

  That earned her another gentle shake. “I’m not letting you go.”

  “Let me go!” she shouted.

  “You have to give me the chance to explain.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, James,” she retorted.

  At the sound of his name, his arms tightened and she knew he was getting angry with her.

  “Stop calling me that,” he warned.

  “Okay, I will. Gladly. I’ll stop calling you anything,” she returned.

  “Cut the crap, poppet, you know, between us, it’s bullshit.”

  She was right, he was angry with her, she could tell.

  And for some reason, she didn’t care.

  And furthermore, she didn’t know anything.

  Except there was no “us”. There was a one night stand, something else she’d never done in her life and something else that caused her extreme humiliation.

  “I don’t know anything of the sort except you and Miles take sibling rivalry to unprecedented extremes and I got caught in the middle.”

  “That isn’t fucking true,” he snapped.

  “No? So you’re saying me and my winning personality knocked you clean off your feet?” she asked sarcastically.

  His eyes narrowed even as he admitted, “Something like that.”

  She felt anger tear through her at his lie and got up on tiptoe to hiss, “You are so full of it.”

  He glared at her a moment then his gaze moved to the ceiling as his hand slid up her back and tangled in her hair.

  She steeled herself against how good his touch felt, how sweetly familiar it was even though she’d only had it for one night.

  When his gaze came back to hold hers, his anger had disappeared and with one look at his gentle face, she had to re-steel herself.

  “You’re full of surprises,” he murmured.

  “Funny, I was thinking the same about you,” she snapped back and this, for some insane reason, made him grin.

  His head dipped closer and her body froze.

  “Who would have thought the woman I met last night who could barely bring herself to look in my eyes, could stand here this morning in my arms arguing with me?” he asked a question to which he didn’t want the answer and he did it in a voice that said this no longer annoyed him. Instead, it said he found it adorably entertaining.

  It occurred to her what he was doing and she felt tears sting her eyes yet again.

  “Don’t,” she whispered.

  His face got even closer, so close their foreheads were nearly touching.

  “Don’t what?” he asked softly.

  “D
on’t do this,” she told him. “You don’t have to worry. I won’t go flying into Miles’s arms. That ship has sailed.”

  She watched his eyes flare before he lowered his head so their foreheads were now, actually, touching.

  It hit her in a way that wounded her deeply that she liked that.

  It felt nice.

  Calvin had never done that to her. Calvin’s intimacy and affection began and ended in bed.

  “Poppet,” he muttered. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

  “Don’t, James. Just stop it.”

  “Belle.”

  “You played your game, you won. Just score your point and let me be.”

  “That isn’t what’s happening here.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she whispered. “I know who you are. I know who I am. The man you are can’t possibly want the woman I am. You can’t think I’m that stupid.”

  His arms gave her a squeeze. “I don’t think you’re stupid and I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself like that. You need to give me the chance to explain.”

  “I need to leave.”

  “You don’t want to leave.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Trust me,” Belle returned with feeling. “I do.”

  She felt his body go still and his face moved away from hers.

  “You mean it,” he stated quietly, something weird in his voice. Something that sounded like surprise and maybe affront.

  She didn’t reply. She just nodded.

  He stared at her a moment before asking in soft, awful voice, “You’re telling me you think what happened last night was all an act so I could best my fucking brother?”

  The way he said it made it sound ludicrous.

  Then again, it was.

  “Wasn’t it?” she enquired and went on even though his face now held an expression that made him look like he’d been struck and hard and it hurt her to say what she said next but she did it anyway, (self-defence, as it were). “You should feel proud, James. You did a bang up job. I’d convinced myself you were half in love with me.”

  At that, he let her go and took a step back. He did this so swiftly she swayed for a moment without his arms around her.

  She righted herself even as she felt that maybe, just maybe, she’d made a colossal mistake.

  She stared at him for one hopeful second, trying to read his face.