Taken

by Jennifer Dawson

  “You’re bleeding again.” His voice cracks.

  I try and smile. “I’ll be good as new before you know it.”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t make me feel better.”

  I touch my fingertip to his palm. “It’s over.”

  “I shouldn’t have let him get to you, I should have been there.”

  I grip his wrist. “You’re not responsible.”

  He finishes washing off my lip and throws the cloth on the small table next to the bed. He shifts, putting his elbows on his knees and bending his head. “Over the years, I’ve watched men care for their women. I’ve watched them hold them tight, crooning in their ear and kissing their temple as they push sweaty hair from their cheeks. I’ve listened to them talk about their responsibility, protecting what’s theirs, love.”

  He pauses and I don’t speak, waiting for him to continue. He swallows hard as he clasps his hands tightly between his splayed knees. “I’ve always done my best to mimic that behavior, knowing that’s what was right, what I was supposed to, but I never felt it. I went through the motions, detached and emotionally unavailable.”

  He glances at me, his blue eyes stark and afraid. “I liked it that way. I don’t like feeling vulnerable. I don’t like feeling out of control. And I sure as fuck don’t like feeling powerless.”

  It’s his armor. The wall he’s built around himself as protection. To change and become the man he wanted to be. It’s a shield, to stay removed from the world. And it’s crumbling because of me.

  I shift on the bed to rest on the headboard and whisper the words I’ve been wanting to say. “I love you.”

  He jerks his head up, and his hands clench. “I love you too, Veronica.” He runs his fingers through his hair, aggressive. “I hate this.”

  Not what a woman wants to hear the first time the man she’s devoted to says he loves her, but I nod. “I know.”

  “I feel like I failed you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  He puts his hand on his chest. “But it sits there, burning inside me.”

  I tilt my head. “We can do this, I know we can.”

  His gaze sweeps over my body. “You should rest.”

  He goes to move, but I take his hand and hold it steadfast. “Stay with me.”

  He nods, kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed next to me. His strong arms curl around my waist. He kisses my temple. “Sleep.”

  I close my eyes and let myself drift off. Somehow I’ll make him believe.

  * * *

  Brandon

  I don’t know why I wanted to come here, but it was a compulsion and I didn’t resist. Maybe it’s because it’s where I came last time I felt my life spiraling out of control and I didn’t know where else to go.

  As we’ve made the trek up the Swiss Alps to the resort nestled in the side of the mountains, we’ve been mostly silent. We’d stopped, gotten clothes and supplies, and the whole time Veronica watches me with patient, wary eyes, but not questioning my actions.

  It’s part of what I love about her. That she doesn’t fill the space.

  When we finally make it to our location and settle into our room, I turn to her. “Can we go for a walk?”

  “Yes.” That one simple word sends a shiver of lust down my spine, tightening in my belly. I haven’t touched her because I am afraid I might hurt her, but I want her like I want my next breath. I want to climb inside her, forceful in my possession and need to claim her, but I refrain. I don’t have gentleness in me right now.

  I take her hand and we walk outside, up the path to the scenic vista point overlooking a lake that looks like glass, with the mountains in the distance. I study the scene before me, in all its majestic glory, waiting for peace to wash over me.

  It doesn’t come.

  “It’s beautiful,” Veronica says, shading her eyes from the sun. “I’ve never been here.”

  I nod, willing that calmness and surety to seep into my bones, but it continues to elude me. I clear my throat. “I came here that summer I took off for parts unknown to find myself. I did some of my best thinking in these mountains.”

  Out the corner of her eye, she glances at me. “Is that why we’re here?”

  I look down at this woman who’s somehow become integral to my life. “I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.”

  She takes my hand. “It can make you strong if you let it.”

  I grip her fingers. God, this needy feeling sitting in my chest is relentless. I can’t stand it. “What can?”

  She smiles, but it’s marred by the split on her lip and the dark yellowish bruises that have formed along her jaw. “Loving me.”

  I frown. “How do you know?”

  I shrug a shoulder. “Because loving you has made me strong.”

  The statement gives me pause and I contemplate her. “How has it done that?”

  She looks out over the vista, exhaling deeply. “Can’t you see how you’ve changed my whole life?”

  I release her hand and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close. “You did that all on your own, Veronica. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve accomplished, you’ve done despite me, not because of me.”

  She laughs, tilting her chin and pressing a kiss to my jaw. “Don’t be dumb. You don’t know anything about it, Brandon.”

  I cock a brow. “Name one thing that doesn’t involve orgasms.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Do you honestly think that’s all you give me? Because that’s ridiculous.”

  It strikes me then that orgasms are all I’ve ever given a woman. All I’ve ever wanted to give. And now that I’m in love I can’t figure out what comes next.

  Veronica pulls out of my embrace and faces me, her expression hard and serious.

  I can’t help getting distracted by her appearance. People will probably think I abuse her. The thought sends a shudder through me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to lay a stern hand on her again. And what really jars me, what turns my stomach, is that I experience a sense of deep loss at the prospect.

  What kind of person am I? To feel upset that I can’t hurt her?

  I’ve always looked at my dominance as an extension of my control. Not only over the girl, but over myself. Yes, I made her suffer, but it wasn’t out of anger, or rage, or any emotion at all.

  The complete opposite of how Veronica makes me feel.

  I can’t risk being out of control with her because I cannot bear to hurt her any more than she has been. But I can’t begin to translate my chaotic emotions into all that measured action. It’s an endless loop that has no solution.

  I hate myself for needing it right now. Wanting it. Especially when she needs care, not ruthlessness.

  She sighs, and cups my jaw, pulling my chin to force me to look at her. “You and I, don’t you see? Don’t you understand? We’re different sides of the same coin. It’s what we recognized in each other that night out on the balcony. We fit. We complement each other. We make each other stronger. You push me and I push you, and we end up in a better place because of it.”

  “I don’t see how I’ve helped you.” I’m being stubborn, but I can’t seem to help myself. This empty pit in the bottom of my stomach won’t let me go.

  She rises to her tiptoes and brushes her mouth against mine. I want nothing more than to sweep in and lay claim to her. Because, fuck, it’s like a live tangible thing inside me, but I restrain my baser emotions. She brushes my cheek with her fingertips. “You made my world Technicolor.”

  The words don’t bring me any sort of peace. Instead, they irritate me, because I’m putting her in a position where she has to soothe me. She’s taking care of me. It should be the other way around. It needs to stop.

  I need to take care of her. She’s the one that’s hurt. She’s the one that suffered. I’m responsible and I didn’t protect her. Maybe, if I take care of her now, properly, this turmoil will ease.

  I take her hand and press a kiss to her palm before lift
ing my head. I tug her back toward the resort. “Come on, you need to rest.”

  “I’m fine, Brandon,” she says in a tone that would normally incite some sort of correction from me.

  But I ignore it. Tamp down the desire to reel her in. I smile back at her, and keep walking up the hill. “I need to get ice on your face. I’ll take care of you, Veronica. Trust me.”

  She sighs, long and heavy. “I do.”

  * * *

  Veronica

  * * *

  Not going to lie, I’ve been appeasing Brandon, and after a week of him taking care of me I’m beginning to go a bit crazy. Currently, we’re sitting in the resort restaurant, eating lunch, and I’m acting like a petulant child. I cross my arms over my chest and puff out my now mostly healed lip. “I want to be on the conference call.”

  “You should rest,” he says in a calm, gentle tone. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I don’t want to rest. I’m tired of resting. I’m fine.”

  “You still have bruises.”

  Argh! This is all wrong. I cannot stand him treating me like I am a fragile flower that might break at any second. At first, I indulged his need to protect me, assuming it would fade right along with the marks on my skin, but I see now that was a huge mistake. I should have stopped it the first day.

  I need him to twist me in that way he has. I need him to call me out on my defiance. I need him to take me in hand. But no matter how much I goad him, he doesn’t respond. I roll my eyes. “Barely! It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  “It’s better to be safe than sorry. And I don’t see how the rest can hurt you. It’s a vacation you should be relaxing, not taking work calls.”

  “You’re taking work calls,” I point out, in hopes he’ll see reason.

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?” I throw up my hands in exasperation.

  “I’m the boss.”

  I raise a brow and snap. “Are you sure about that?”

  It’s a bratty thing to say and his jaw tightens in response. For a split second hope surges that he’s going to stop being careful and call me out, but it’s dashed when his expression turns mild.

  With his fork, he gestures to my plate. “Finish eating and we’ll take a short walk before we get you into bed.”

  Not too long ago, Brandon saying he was going to get me into bed would have induced heart palpations as I imagined all the wicked, evil things he might do to me. That’s no longer the case because now getting me into bed means sleep. Rest.

  I know this because Brandon will not touch me, at least not in the way I crave.

  No matter what I do.

  Or how I try and seduce him.

  His only physical response is soft kisses, and tucking me against him to hold me close. I’m going mad. Last night I thought I got him. Lying in bed, I’d pressed my ass against his cock. He’d been hard. I’d rubbed, and tension flared. He’d gripped my hip and thrust against me only to instantly still. Then the bastard turned to his back, nestled me against his chest, and told me to go to sleep.

  So. Much. Sleeping.

  It’s so, so…frustrating.

  I want to scream.

  I can’t stand it one more second. I won’t. I slam my hand on the table, making people jump and glance in our direction. “I don’t want to sleep.”

  All pleasant like, he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his dimples or his eyes. And there’s certainly no menace. It’s…paternal. “The fresh air will tire you out.”

  I stare at him, and shake my head. “Brandon, you have to stop this.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Stop mothering me. Stop making me nap. Stop pestering me.” I drag my hand through my hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “I’m taking care of you.”

  “You’re acting like a robot, I can’t stand it.”

  His forehead creases, and something I can’t decipher flashes over his features for a split second before he says, “Let’s walk and you’ll feel better after.”

  “What’s wrong with me will not be cured with a walk.” I hiss the words.

  His brow furrows. “Do you need to see the doctor?”

  I let out a screech. “No! I need…” I’m a loss for the words. “You!”

  “I haven’t left your side.”

  “No! Not like this.” I lean across the table, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you want to take control of me? Don’t you want to fuck me? Torture me? Twist the knife?”

  His jaw hardens. “We’ll talk when you’re better.”

  “I am better. I’m fine.”

  He nods. “Maybe we can head farther up the path today then.”

  I blink at him, and can’t stand it one more second. I need to get away. Tossing my napkin to the table, I stand up. “I’m going out.”

  He moves to follow.

  I hold up my palm. “Alone, Brandon.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t give a shit what you think. I’m leaving.” I turn on my heel and say over my shoulder, “Don’t follow me.”

  Despite the beauty surrounding me, I need to escape.

  I stomp my way to the concierge. “How can I arrange transport into the village? Immediately?”

  The elderly gentlemen, decked out in his starched suit, smiles graciously. “We have a car that can take you.”

  Excellent. “Can they leave now?”

  “I’ll have the driver pull around and meet you out front, Mrs. Townsend.”

  I blink at the name. My heart skips a beat at the man’s assumption. The sound of Brandon’s name being mine causes an ache deep in the pit of my stomach. Some of my righteous anger fades away and is replaced by sadness. I nod. “Thank you.”

  Ten minutes later, after I’d grabbed my purse and phone, I’m in the car taking me to the village. My shoulders slump and defeat washes over me. He didn’t follow. My Brandon would have followed. My Brandon would have chased me down, tossed me over his shoulder, and taught me a proper lesson.

  This Brandon lets me go.

  And I don’t know if I can return.

  24

  Brandon

  Okay, maybe I took the protective thing a little too far. But I was just trying to take care of her. To show her how much she means to me. Isn’t that how men prove they love a woman? By cherishing her?

  After Veronica stormed off in a huff, I’d searched the hotel for her, only to be told by the concierge that Mrs. Townsend had taken the hotel car into the village and hadn’t returned yet.

  At first I’d been confused as to why he was talking about my mother, only for it to dawn on me he referred to Veronica. My heart skipped a beat at the thought of her being my wife. I’d never once thought about marriage. I’d always assumed I’d never get married.

  Since the man said it, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.

  I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I contemplate if I should go after Veronica.

  There was a van taking tourists into the village in an hour, but what if I miss her coming back up the mountain as she’s already been gone a couple of hours. I weigh my options, and in the end I decided to give her space.

  Because, maybe, we both need it.

  What I’m doing isn’t working, she’s clearly unhappy. I’m not happy either, but I’m not sure what to do about it.

  I know what she wants, what I want, but I can’t seem to take the steps to make it happen. I don’t know why. When the urge rears up in me, I coil tight to strike, but then I hit a wall.

  It’s as frustrating to me as it is to her.

  With a sigh, I walk into the bar and over to the counter. The bartender, a pretty Asian girl with long sleek hair and dark, mysterious eyes, smiles at me. “What can I get you, sir?”

  “I’ll take your best bottle of whiskey.”

  She nods, and grabs a glass. “Neat or on the rocks?”

  I shake my head. “No. I want the whole bottle. Char
ge it to my room.”

  She furrows her brow. “I’ll have to ask my manager.”

  “Fine.”

  I wait the few minutes necessary for her to discuss this with the person in charge, and when she comes back, she hands me an unopened bottle. I don’t even look at the label, just sign the tab and take it.

  Back in my empty room, shades drawn, I sit on the winged-back chair, overlooking an unlit fireplace, and twist off the cap. I don’t bother with a glass. I drink straight from the bottle. An hour passes with no sign from Veronica and I start to worry in my alcohol-dulled state. I’m not drunk yet, but I’m well on my way.

  I need at least to check in on her.

  I call her, but it goes straight to voicemail.

  I text her, and I’m not surprised there’s no response.

  She’s angry and suffocated. I can’t even blame her.

  To think, in my circles I’m known for having a gift with women. I scoff into my drink before taking another sip. What a joke.

  After stewing for an indeterminate amount of time, I glance at the clock and with a sigh, call the only person I can think of that might help.

  Michael picks up the phone. “It’s after midnight, so I’m assuming this is important.”

  “Nice hello.” My voice is thick and bitter sounding.

  Michael sighs. “Hang on, let me go to the other room.”

  There’s shifting and background noise, and a murmured—go back to sleep—to Layla, before he comes back on the line. “What’s up?”

  I clench my teeth. “I’m losing Veronica.”

  There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Explain.”

  And I do, I tell him about the trip, how I thought it would somehow bring me the same clarity it had the first time around, but that I’m more confused than ever. I explain that, somewhere along the way, I’ve lost my sense of dominance over her, to the point I question if it was ever there to begin with.

  “She wants it, she walked off in a storm because I won’t give it to her, but…” Throat tight, I manage to croak out, “I don’t know. Whenever I think of trying, all I see is her crumpled up on the floor, bruised and clutching her stomach. So, instead, I end up insisting she rest. Which is driving her crazy.”