For all Intents and Purposes (MidKnight Blue Book 6)
Page 10
A half hour into a conversation about the United Nations, Geneva saw Jeremy slip out the side door of the drawing room. After a moment’s hesitation she followed. Coming through the doorway, she was surprised to find him lounging against the opposite wall, as if waiting for her. He had been.
“I’ve been watching you,” Jeremy said, his voice low.
“I know you have…”
Jeremy watched her for a moment longer, then pushed off the wall and took two steps, bringing him face to face with her. Without a word he pushed her against the door she’d just come through and closed behind her, his lips coming down on hers in a crushing kiss. Minutes later, he took her by the hand and led her down the hallway to one of the guest bedrooms. There he removed her dress and took her on the bed. The entire time he was making love to her, Geneva could think only of Christian. It was thoughts of the blue-eyed devil that made her reach her climax, not the man inside her.
“Do you read?” Sarah Sinclair asked, glancing over her shoulder at Christian.
“I can,” Christian said, his look direct, his lips set in a wry grin.
Sarah laughed lightly, turning to face him. “I meant do you like to read?”
Christian looked contemplative for a moment, his eyes on the floor, then looked back up at her. “Reading’s not one of my favorite activities, no,” he said, his voice screaming a come-on.
“What kind of activities do you like then?” Sarah asked, watching him. He was sitting casually on the edge of her husband’s desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He had removed his jacket, and his hands rested on either side of him, gripping the desk. She was pacing like a nervous animal, and Christian loved it.
“More… physical ones.”
“I see…” Sarah said tremulously. She continued to move about the room, as if looking for a way out but not really wanting it.
Christian pinned her with a look, making her stop. “Come here,” he said, his tone commanding. She did as he said, moving to stand in front of his outstretched legs. He pulled his legs in, grabbing her hand as he did and pulling her toward him. His lips met hers, and she groaned at the contact. He held her waist and lifted her so that she straddled him. Drawing on many of the things that Geneva had taught him, Christian made love to her. Eventually they moved to the leather couch, and he proceeded to excite her beyond all of her expectations. As he took her, his body sliding into hers, he felt a stab of guilt, but the hard knot of his heart refused to acknowledge it. As he felt her reaching her climax, he pulled back and looked down at her, his light blue eyes so like his father’s.
“I want to hear you say my name, my given name,” he said, his tone harsh with restrained desire.
“What is it?” Sarah asked, barely able to think coherently, her body screaming for release.
“Christian,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. He moved back into her, even as he saw her eyes widen. She searched his face even as her body responded to him. Again he brought her to the very edge of her climax and pulled back, looking down at her, his eyes narrowed, breathing heavily himself. “Say it,” he said, his voice a husky command, his body moving to edge her closer, making her willing to say or do anything.
He continued to move in her until her nails dug into his back as she reached her climax, crying out, saying his name over and over, not caring what it meant.
Afterward, he stood, staring down at her. She looked back at him, her eyes reflecting shame and surprise. After a long minute, Christian moved to pick up his discarded clothes, the muscles in his back rippling. When he was dressed, he turned around. She was sitting up; he tossed her dress to her. She pulled it over her head, but her eyes didn’t leave his, a question clear in them.
Without saying a word he walked out of the room and through the house, a very satisfied grin on his face. He had accomplished what he’d wanted to. He made his way out to his car and lit a cigarette. He stood leaning against the Jaguar, staring up at the dark sky. The guilty feeling returned, but he pushed it away angrily.
Later that night, Christian sat on Geneva’s bed, watching her get undressed. He still wore his suit pants and the white shirt, now unbuttoned and open. “So did you get him or not?” he said conversationally.
Geneva looked over at him from her dressing table. “Jeremy?”
“You fuck someone else tonight?”
“Blue…” she said, starting to chide him for his language but realizing she’d just end up in a fight with him. “As a matter of fact, I did,” she said, standing and moving to the bed, looking down at him. She longed to see a flash of jealousy in his eyes, but none was forthcoming.
“Was he worth the effort?” Christian asked derisively.
“Yes…” Geneva replied, forcing enthusiasm into her voice.
Christian looked at her for a long moment, then reached a hand up, moving it down her body from her shoulder to her waist. Geneva shivered involuntarily. He pulled her down to him, sliding her body along his. His light blue eyes stared directly into hers, pinning her. “Was he as good as me?” he asked, without even a hint of jealousy in his voice but a truckload of seduction.
Geneva couldn’t even think to lie to him. “No,” she replied simply, giving in to her desire for him and kissing him. He spent the next two hours reminding her how good he was.
Afterward, he lay on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow under his head, his face turned toward her. She lay on her side, facing him, her hand resting on his shoulder. She always tried to keep some physical contact with him, when he’d let her.
“So why did you want me to sleep with Jeremy?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Just so you could show me how much better you are than a lord?”
Christian looked at her for a long, measured moment, then shrugged. “No, so I could fuck his wife.”
Geneva pulled her hand away from him as if she’d been burned, staring disbelievingly at him. He laughed, his eyes glittering in the semi-darkness of the room. “What kind of devil are you, Christian Collins?”
His eyes narrowed at her use of his given name, but then he grinned. “The one and only.”
“You don’t think I actually believe you slept with Sarah Sinclair, do you?” she said, sitting up and looking down at him.
“I don’t care if you believe it or not. It wasn’t for your benefit—it was for mine,” he said, his voice cool.
“And what did you get out of it?” Geneva snapped, thinking Sarah had enticed him away with more money.
“I got to fuck my father’s wife and hear her scream my name.” His eyes captured hers. “And his.”
Geneva stared back at him, horrified. “Your father’s wife?” Christian nodded. “You’re telling me that you’re Jeremy Sinclair’s son?”
“Yes.”
Geneva looked at him for a long moment, and she knew, she knew he was telling the truth. Suddenly she could see all the resemblances, the eyes, the build, the strong jawline, and the cruelty too. “You used me,” she said accusingly. A ruthless smile tugged at Christian’s lips, even as he stared back into her eyes. He wasn’t ashamed. “You bastard,” Geneva breathed, her eyes narrowing, her hands curling into fists. She threw herself at him, her fists flailing, seeking to hurt him as he had just hurt her. She raked her nails at him, catching him on the throat before he defended himself.
He caught her wrists, holding her away from him. His hands tightened as she struggled against his grasp. His eyes were light blue pools of fire as he narrowed them at her. “Don’t make me hurt you, Eve, because I will.”
“You can’t hurt me any more than you have, you monster,” she screamed.
“I can break you in half, Eve, and don’t think I won’t if you push me too far.” His voice was like cold steel, and Geneva couldn’t believe what he was saying. She couldn’t believe she actually loved this man. Maybe he was, as he had said many times, the devil himself.
“Let go of me!” she said desperately. “Please…�
� Her voice softened as she looked down into his eyes. She saw no caring there, no love, no emotion other than antipathy.
Christian released her, shoving her away from him. He got up from the bed, moving to pull on his pants, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. When he looked at her, she was sitting on the bed. She had tears in her eyes, but they didn’t even faze him. She had used him for six months. She had used his face, his body, and his presence to make all her friends jealous. She had allowed everyone to look at him, as if he were an animal on display. She’d traded sexual comments with them, talking about him as if he didn’t exist. Now she was getting her comeuppance, he couldn’t even begin to feel sorry for her. Without a word he picked up his jacket and walked out of the house. He strode to the Jaguar KX8 and climbed inside, starting the car with a roar. He threw it into gear and drove away.
Christian spent the next hour speeding through the byways of England’s countryside. The stereo cranked Def Leppard’s dark-toned album Slang. The song “Deliver Me” captured his mood perfectly. It started out low and dark and turned grinding and angry at the chorus; the words were fitting as well.
Eventually he made his way to a London pub and drank the night away. Ironically it was the same pub Joseph Michael Sinclair had spent many a night in twenty-two years before.
Christian spent the next week alternating between the bars and lying passed out in his flat. Geneva called, leaving numerous messages on his machine. After two days he turned it off. One evening, after a long drinking session, Christian was dropped at his apartment by a cab. He went up to his flat and promptly passed out on his bed. He woke to the sensation of someone touching him. A hand trailed down his cheek, sliding down to touch his chest. Christian lashed out, grabbing the hand.
“Blue! It’s me!” Geneva cried. She was kneeling next to him on the bed.
Christian shoved her away from him with enough force to make her fall to the floor with a yelp. He sat up, looking down at her in the half-light from the hallway. “What’re you doin’ here?”
Geneva drew herself up, narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m still paying for this apartment. I have a legal right to be here.”
“Get outta here, Eve,” Christian growled as he lay back on the bed.
“I own this apartment,” Geneva said haughtily. “I paid for the clothes on your back, the food in your mouth, even the alcohol in your veins right now. I own the car you drive. I own you.” The last was said with as much venom as she could muster. She had stood, looking down at him. She was surprised when his hands shot out, grabbing her by a handful of her coat.
Christian dragged her face to face with him, his eyes blazing, reaching up to grab a handful of her hair. “You own me, do you?” he grated, sounding more drunk than he had before. His eyes glittered as he stared into hers, his face a mask of barely controlled fury. “You own me… You have title to a great fuck, is that it?” His tone was cutting, with a tremor to it that should have set off warning bells in Geneva’s mind. But she wasn’t thinking about how dangerous Christian Collins was; she was thinking about how much she wanted him at that moment.
“That’s right,” she said, her tone still arrogant.
Christian’s hand twisted in her hair, making her wince in pain, but she refused to cry out. She wasn’t going to allow him to get the upper hand this time. She did own him, and she would make him do what she wanted him to. He let go of her coat and brought his hand up to her throat, staring back at her. Her eyes challenged him.
“And what is it you want now?” Christian said.
“You,” she breathed, her body pressing against his illicitly.
“Of course you do,” Christian replied disgustedly, even as he yanked off her coat, tearing at her clothes.
He took her a little while later, but it wasn’t with the usual passion she incited from him. He was rough and hostile, hurting her. Geneva found herself pushing at him, trying to get away. Her nails dug into his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She struggled against him, but he held her fast.
“This is what you wanted,” Christian said, his voice a harsh whisper against her ear. “You wanted me… Well, this is me. Ain’t so pretty, now is it?” His voice was as cold as ice and the look in his eyes was vicious.
“Blue, stop! Please,” Geneva said, afraid of what he would do to her now. She could sense that he was still very drunk. She had learned in their six months together that he was a mean drunk. Geneva had realized too late that she had been foolish to push him the way she had, and now she was paying for that folly. His body slammed into hers, making her wince with every thrust. Her struggles only seemed to incite him more, so she gave up. Christian was much stronger than his appearance belied, and she knew he could really hurt her if he wanted to.
When it was over, Christian moved to sit on the side of the bed, panting. Anger still coursed through his veins, even as his breathing calmed. Geneva lay on his bed, watching his back. She could see his muscles tense as if he were fighting with himself, trying to reign in his emotions.
“Blue…” she said, moving to sit behind him, touching his back tentatively. She slid her hands along his shoulders soothingly, moving to kiss his back. He tensed immediately.
“You want to get me started again?” he said harshly.
“No,” Geneva said, fear in her voice. “I don’t want you to be angry anymore. I’m sorry I said all those things. I didn’t mean them. I just couldn’t stand being away from you, and that made me angry. I love you, Blue.” Her voice was soft, and Christian had to swallow against the anger that welled up in him again at the sound of her lies.
“You love me,” he repeated disbelievingly.
“Yes, Blue, I’ve told you that,” Geneva replied softly.
“Yeah, you’ve told me.” He shook his head, not in the mood to argue with her.
“But you don’t love me, do you?” Geneva asked, hating the pleading in her voice.
Christian sighed, looking up at the ceiling, growing irritated again. “I don’t believe in love, Eve. It’s an emotion for suckers who have to find an excuse to stay with someone.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing, making up an excuse to be with you?”
“Aren’t you?” he said, surprising her by turning around, his light blue eyes watching hers. His face still showed the anger he was feeling, and Eve wasn’t sure how to respond to his question.
“Jesus Christ, Eve!” Christian said, appalled. “I just raped you—doesn’t that mean anything to you? Doesn’t it make you mad? Aren’t you the least bit pissed off?” His tone indicated that she had to be, and if she wasn’t something was wrong with her.
Geneva looked back at him, her eyes widening when he used the word “rape” for what she would have described as “rough lovemaking.” She began to see how willing she’d been to accept anything he would give her, and the thought made her ashamed and enraged at the same time.
“Yes, you bastard, it does. Does that make you happy?” she said, her voice taking on an edge.
Christian’s lips twisted in a wry grin. “As a matter of fact, it does.”
“Why? Why do you want me angry at you?”
“I don’t want you to be angry. I want you to hate me,” he said, with more emotion in his voice than she’d ever heard.
“I don’t hate you…” Geneva said, her hand on his cheek.
He reached up, his hand covering hers, and then pulled it away from him, moving to hold her wrist. “You’re not hearing me, Eve,” he said, his voice taking on an angry edge. “I want you to hate me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Blue.”
“Try harder,” Christian said sharply. He started applying pressure to her wrist, making her writhe in an attempt to lessen the pain.
“You’re hurting me,” she cried.
“Good,” Christian said venomously. “I’ve got your attention then. I want to hurt you, Eve. I want to make you mad, I want to make you scream, I want to hear you say you hate me.”
It was Christian’s turn to look surprised. He released her wrist and sat back, watching her in an almost predatory way. “Get out, now,” he said, his tone dead.
“Blue…” Geneva said softly as she moved to touch him again.
“Get out!” he roared, his light blue eyes fiery.
Geneva didn’t stop to think this time. She got up and, grabbing up her coat and the pieces of clothing he’d actually bothered to remove, all but ran out of the apartment.
Christian sat in the dark, thinking about what had just transpired. He hadn’t been able to contain the rage he had felt when she’d told him that she “needed” him. It was a lie, he knew that. What Geneva Glasstone needed was an ego trip, and Christian Collins was the best there was for that purpose. The fact of the matter was, he was tired of being used. Tired of being treated like a mindless idiot because he looked so good. He was fully aware of his looks, and that they alone would get him quite far in this world. The idea of trading on his looks had always been alright with him, but now, because he was literally making a living because of his appearance, it had become too much. He was using his looks to hurt people, and it had started to wear on him. Anger and hatred had become almost a way of life for him. He wondered mildly, as he sat there in the dark, if it was literally starting to eat away at his soul, because that was how it felt.
He fell asleep thinking along those lines, dreaming terrifying dreams of hell and death. He woke to the sound of his phone ringing. Without thinking he picked it up, realizing belatedly that it might be Geneva.
“Yeah?” he said harshly.
“Mr. Collins?” a tentative female voice said.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I’m calling from Prince William Hospital. Your mother is here. We’ve been trying to get ahold of you—she’s very ill. Mr. Collins?”