by Gemma James
A fist of melancholy constricts my heart. No matter what Sebastian says, a part of him will always belong to Lilith now. My expression must speak volumes, because Elise tilts her head, sympathy softening her features.
“Sebastian told us about Lilith.”
We walk for a full minute without saying a word, the sun at high noon shining on our companionable silence. I come to a halt and gaze at the sea. From this viewpoint, the waves almost appear calm—a gentle push and pull that’s incongruent with the powerful force of gravity. The setting is an illusion of serenity, because under the surface lies an undertow just waiting to yank the weak and frail into chaos.
I’m neither weak nor frail. If I’ve learned anything from the past five months, it’s that I’m stronger than I ever imagined.
“When I first found out, I was shocked.” Brushing my hair out of my eyes, I meet Elise’s expectant gaze. “Then I was hurt and angry. I don’t know how he’s going to handle the situation, but after thinking about nothing else since I found out, I know I can’t stop loving him.”
She nods as if she knows exactly what I’m talking about. “I’m pretty sure he feels the same.”
“I know he does,” I say, recalling how he teared up when it came time for me to leave his house.
It’s only been days, but it feels longer.
“I’m glad you believe there’s hope for you two,” Elise says, looking over my shoulder. “Because he wants to talk to you.”
“What?” My eyes going wide, I whirl and find the subject of our conversation walking toward us on the path. I turn back to Elise, jaw clenched.
“Don’t be mad,” she pleads. “Landon thought the two of you should have some time to talk.”
“So today was just a ruse?” I wave my hand between her and me. “I needed a friend, Elise. Not a meddler.” As his steps near, shoes crunching over debris on the path, my former lady takes a step back.
“You need to talk to him. I’ll wait over there.” She points toward a bench several yards away. “Take all the time you need, my queen.”
“I’m not your queen,” I call after her, knowing the protest will dig under her skin. It’s petty, but so is the sense of betrayal rising in my throat, and I can hold back neither. After Elise is out of earshot, Sebastian halts at my side.
“You shouldn’t have come.” I fold my arms, averting my gaze from the tempting sight of him. It hurts too much to be this close without being allowed to touch him.
“No, I shouldn’t have let you go without having this conversation.”
I shoot him a surreptitious look, and that’s when I notice the yellowing bruises along his cheekbone. Forgetting my ire and my place, I reach for his face.
“Miles didn’t tell me he returned the punch.” As my fingers trace the bruises, he folds his hand around my wrist and gently pushes me away.
“I’m surprised he told you anything at all.”
“He’s told me more than you have,” I accuse, turning to face him fully so that Elise’s chaperone of a gaze is at my back.
“Did he tell you we came to an understanding?”
“What kind of understanding?”
“If he doesn’t treat you with respect, I’ll put him in the hospital next time.”
That explains the change in Miles I witnessed the morning after dinner, and his subsequent call for a truce. Part of me grows warm at knowing Sebastian is protecting me, even now.
The other part wants to slap him upside the head for demanding another man gives me respect without doing the same himself.
“Respect. Yes, let’s talk about that.” I hold his brilliant blue gaze, ignoring how his hair rustles in the breeze, begging for the comb of my fingers. “Did you figure it out yet?”
“Figure what out, exactly?”
“If your duty is to me or Lilith.”
“I already answered you, princess.” He grits his teeth, as if trying to temper his anger. “The morning you left, I made it clear where I stand.”
“You want me, yes, but you didn’t think it was important to share details, so what am I supposed to think or believe?”
With an exhale, he lets go of the anger. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came here to talk.”
“Then talk.”
“Opening up has never been easy for me, Novalee.”
“I understand that.” Without elaborating, I take a step back, my stance remaining firm. If he wants forgiveness, then he needs to spill the entire truth and his reasons for keeping it from me.
“Okay,” he says with a decisive nod. “Lilith has no interest in being a mother.”
I spin his words in my mind, studying them from every angle, but I still can’t make sense of them. “But you said she’s keeping the baby.”
“She’s continuing the pregnancy, but she doesn’t want to raise a child.”
I blink, completely thrown because his explanation is the last thing I expected. “So what does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to be a father.” He pauses, letting three heavy seconds pass. “And this baby is going to need a mother, Novalee.”
In a land where men rule, women are subservient, and children are used to propagate such a vicious cycle, how is Lilith allowed to just walk away, washing her hands clean of her own offspring? How can she do it when Sebastian can’t bring himself to do the same? The role reversal shakes the ground under my feet, because I feared he was like the rest of the men in the Brotherhood.
A liar.
A keeper of secrets.
A masterful architect of betrayal.
But he is different, taking responsibility when he doesn’t have to—when the law of the land doesn’t require him to.
“Are you telling me you want to raise this baby…with me?”
His lips twitch into a hint of a grin. “Who else would I want to raise a child with?”
“I thought…I feared this would come between us.”
“That was my fear, too.” He’s hesitant, taking a step toward me, narrowing the distance. “Landon accepted Elise’s child as his own without a second thought, and I didn’t understand how he did it so easily. I thought you wouldn’t want to do this with me, and I wanted to choose you so badly, but I can’t turn my back. I just…I can’t.”
“I want you, Sebastian, and anything that comes with you.” I’d give anything to be able to take his face in my hands, to feel his lips on mine and his strength surrounding my body.
The urge is intense, but we’re out in the open where anyone can spot us. Blinking back tears, I retreat by a few steps, my gaze glued to the waves several hundred feet below the cliffs.
“Jesus, princess. I’d hold you right now if I could.”
Biting my lip, I nod. “You can’t.”
Too much is at stake.
He brushes his hair back. “The rest of this year is going to be hell. That place is empty without you.” He nods in the direction of the tower. “The highlight of my fucking day is watching you walk.”
“You’ve been watching me?” While Miles spends his mornings pounding the pavement on the road winding down the hillside, I’m drawn to the cliffs. Or maybe, on some subconscious level, I knew Sebastian was looking down from those windows. It’s the only connection we’re allowed now that I’m no longer in his house.
“I lost count of the times I almost came down here to talk to you, but I…” With a sigh, he swings his attention to Elise. “I only have so much self-control, and it’s imperative I keep my goddamn hands off of you.”
Said hands fist at his sides, a visual of a desperate fight for control.
I suck in a breath, my heart skipping a beat. “I should go,” I say, taking a step toward Elise, seeking her presence as sanctuary against the temptation standing before me.
“Wait.”
“Sebastian—” The protest dies on my lips as he pulls me close, his hollow breaths fanning over my face.
Slowly, he lets go of my hand, but not before his warm finge
rs imprint on my own, leaving behind a phantom caress that tingles through my nerve-endings long after he withdraws his touch.
“That morning, before you left…” Swallowing hard, he tucks a braid behind my ear. “I meant what I said. There’s no one else. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”
His vow makes it difficult to find my voice, and when I do, it’s a choked sound of heartbreak. “I’ll be as loyal to you as I can.”
Guilt winds around my heart as I think of the nights I’ve shared a bed with someone else, naked and intimate, despite Miles never setting a finger on me. But eventually, he’ll get what he wants. They all will.
“Don’t let your mind drag you down, princess.” A tick goes off in his jaw. “I can’t say I’m not jealous as hell, but it’s not your fault.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, he backs away. “You should go before I kiss the shit out of you.”
There’s a note of vulnerability in his voice, a dangerous tone that threatens to weaken my resolve until I take what I want, consequences be damned. Before I make a mistake that’s fatal to our future, I pivot and head toward Elise.
Walking away from Sebastian feels final this time, and as my eyes sting with fresh tears, I remind myself that seven months is nothing compared to a lifetime with him.
But right now, my fragile heart doesn’t know the difference.
9
Warm skin over taut muscles. The earthy spice of his essence surrounding me. A moan floating through the air. Part of my psyche knows it’s a dream, that Sebastian isn’t spooning me, his hot mouth on my neck as he palms my breasts.
I squirm, pressing my tingling thighs together as I bunch the sheet against my sex. Reality or not, there isn’t an atom of my being that wants to vacate this dream. Especially when reality is hazy, and I’m on fire in Sebastian’s arms, the space between my legs throbbing for his touch.
“Please.” My gasp turns into another moan, and I expect him to wedge a hand between my thighs, slipping a finger down my wet slit to give me sweet, aching relief.
A cold hand shakes my shoulder instead.
“Wake up, my queen.”
That’s not Sebastian’s voice, and it’s definitely not how he’d address me. To him, I’ve always been Novalee, or princess, or even the occasional baby. He’s refused to call me by my title since the day I met him, and if he were to ever use that word, it would drip with scorn.
With a startled gasp, I jerk upright. It’s still dark enough that I can’t see Miles clearly, but the first hint of the morning sky filters through the windows, and I discover him sprawled on his back with one arm flung over his eyes. His chest heaves as he grits his teeth.
“Are you okay?” I ask, unsure of what to do or say.
He doesn’t move, and without thinking, I plant my hand on his chest to get his attention, worried I lashed out in my sleep and accidentally caught him in the face with a flying elbow.
“Don’t,” he says, shoving my hand off of him. Flinging the bed covers back, he hauls his legs over the edge.
I cover my mouth, heartbeat racing at my collarbone. “D-did I hurt you?”
Miles laughs, shaking his head. “Not unless your wet dream was a weapon.” He drags a hand through his short hair. “Though watching you moan…well let’s just say I’m past the point of comfortable.”
A hard swallow, a lick of my lower lip, and I struggle to speak. “What does that mean?”
“It means my cock wants out to play.”
“But you can’t.” My mind goes to the jewelry wardrobe where I hid the key. If he thinks I’m going to hand it over now, he’s mistaken.
“No, I can’t, which is why I’m going to take a cold shower.” He stands, and the gradual light of dawn brings him into full view, tight end and all. He heads toward the bathroom with an undeniable swagger—as if he knows I’m eying his impressive backside. Upset with myself for even noticing, I focus above his waist.
“By the way,” he says, stalling on the threshold and tossing a glance over his shoulder. “It would be very gracious of you to fix me breakfast, since today is my birthday.” A cunning smile follows his request. “I expect your answer then.”
After he disappears into the shower, I flop onto the mattress as fear constricts my throat. I’ve gone stir-crazy these past few days, having only been allowed the occasional walk and access to my art supplies.
In the past week, since I’ve been in the House of Virgo, Miles hasn’t budged on the issue of my studio. He’s made his terms clear, and now I have no choice but to face this day of reckoning. I want to be strong, to resist trading my self-respect for self-preservation, because spending every moment in this house with him, naked and vulnerable, is almost more than I can bear.
The temptation of my work taunts like the devil, using my misery against me. Just a simple surrender, granting Miles permission to touch me, and he’ll allow me back into my studio—allow me blessed time spent clothed and away from him.
But I don’t want to give in, and I’m far from ready to make this decision. Before he comes out of the bathroom, I begin breakfast, deciding on pancakes, since it’s one of the few things I know how to make, and it seems like an appropriate breakfast for a birthday.
I’m flipping the last cake as he enters the kitchen, his hair damp and uncombed from his shower. After sharing space with him for a week, I thought I’d be used to his constant nudity, but every time his presence catches me off-guard, a part of me jolts as if I’m seeing him sans-clothing for the first time.
“Perfect timing,” he says, brushing past me, his warm arm grazing mine. “I’ll take breakfast in the study.”
“You’re working on your birthday?” I tamp down the hope that he’ll be too busy to pay attention to me.
“I don’t require fanfare for my birthday. The only thing I want, Novalee, is the answer to my question.” His gaze darts over my perky nipples before landing on the golden pancakes. “And some of those. They smell delicious.”
He exits the kitchen before I can reply. Rather than prolong the inevitable, I top the hotcakes with sliced strawberries and whipped cream before serving him in the study.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. Happy Birthday, Mr. Sinclair.”
He raises a brow. “There’s no need to be so formal.”
Sometimes, I address him that way to highlight the fact that despite my forced nudity and sleeping arrangements, we’re still strangers.
“Do you have any plans for today?” I ask, bypassing the subject of formality.
“Only one.” He takes a bite of his hotcakes and takes his time chewing, eyes on me as he lets his answer dangle between us.
A hanging threat.
And I realize I fell right into his trap.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me then, I should freshen up for the day.” I turn and head for the open door, nervousness fluttering in my chest.
“Not so fast, my queen.”
I stall two feet from my escape, but I don’t turn around. “I really do need to shower.”
“You can shower as soon as you give me your answer.”
“The answer to what?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Novalee. Do I have permission to touch you?”
Folding my arms, I turn to face him. “You’re a smart man, Mr. Sinclair. You know what’s at stake. If I’m unable to work in my studio, I won’t meet my deadline for the fashion show.”
“I’m aware of the stakes,” he says, licking his lips, “which is the reason I chose your studio time as leverage.”
“Your blackmail makes my answer obsolete. Either way, I lose something.”
“Then which do you choose to sacrifice? Your work, or your virtue?”
I think of the number of men who have touched me in various ways. Sadly, adding one more in exchange for the freedom to do what I love seems inconsequential in the big picture. At least, that’s how I justify the answer I’m about to unleash in the air between us—six words strun
g together in treasonous surrender.
“Take what you want from me.”
I arm myself against his triumph, but it doesn’t come. Instead, his mouth takes on the form of a displeased line as he rises from the chair, breakfast forgotten on his desk. “The choice was a test.”
“What are you talking about?”
“As much as I want to touch you, I wanted you to value your virtue more.”
“This game of yours is ridiculous,” I hiss. “I have no virtue left!”
“Of course you do, Novalee. Virtue can’t be stolen.”
“Then you tricked me into giving it away.”
“It wasn’t a trick. I tested your willingness to sacrifice in the name of it, and you failed.”
“So what does that mean?” I glare at him, scorn dripping from each word. “Are you going to punish me for my decision?”
“Of course not. The test was designed to give me insight into your character. I’m not going to punish you for doing what I asked.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take what you’ve given me, when the time is right.” He gestures to the hall at my back. “And you’re free to take what I’ve given you in return.”
A standoff ensues, his iridescent eyes clashing with the ire in my own. Before he changes his mind, I flee the room.
10
Waiting for Miles to make his move sits on my shoulders like cement blocks of dread. The feeling is reminiscent of the time Sebastian held his expectation over me during my month in the House of Gemini—except my burden then had more to do with a potential audience than the idea of going down on him. There’d been a factor of anticipation in the mix that isn’t present this time. Now there’s just dreadful certainty that Miles will cash in on my debt to him.
Because I’m not a subscriber to delusions. Every minute of studio time he allows is a minute I’ll have to pay for later, and the cost is astronomically high. To distract myself from the thought of his hands on my flesh, I throw everything I am into work, taking advantage of my freedom and the sensation of clothing against my skin. The week has been long and grueling as my team and I catch up on neglected projects, but I’m grateful for the busy work. Mostly, I’m grateful to have time away from Miles.
