Temptation: a billionaire erotic romance

by Christine Elliott

  “That’s the other thing,” Jacques said. He reached forward and tapped the letter that was on the table. “He asked that you read that once I had left. I suppose it’s a private letter.”

  Serena nodded numbly.

  “I presume it’s about Harlow,” he continued. “Something has come up.”

  She hated the way his tone had turned.

  “What is it, Jacques?”

  He looked into her eyes, some new pain in his expression. At first, he seemed as if he was ready to be strong and say it straight, but he choked. Instead, he looked down and sighed. “He’s giving in. We’re giving in. To Harlow.”

  “No, no you’re not,” Serena said in a daze. “Val told me before. He said you were just pretending … He said you were just pretending, and you would get Harry back, and ….”

  Jacques shook his head.

  “Something has come up. We’re not pretending anymore, Serena. We can’t afford to. In a little bit, we’re going to Harlow, and we’re turning ourselves in.”

  “But Val … Harry….”

  “Harry will come back, we’re sure of that much,” Jacques said, squeezing her hand again. “There’s that at least.”

  “But Val….”

  “Stop. There’s no use in being torn up about it. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.” He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. “Just accept it.”

  Jacques stood up.

  “You need to stay away, Serena,” he said. “For the good of both of us. And for your protection.”

  “But—” she stammered, standing up to go after him.

  He put a hand up, stopping her in her tracks. “Please, Serena. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  With that, she watched her last chance walk out the door.

  *****

  Serena lay on her bed, staring at her ceiling, alone. The crying had stopped a few hours ago. It wasn’t because she had stopped being sad, of course—she doubted that would ever stop.

  She had lost Val. She had lost Harry. She had lost everyone and every chance she had.

  No, she had stopped crying because crying couldn’t express fully her sadness anymore. It was as if she had sobbed so much she had no tears left, only the dull throbbing in her chest and the soreness in her throat.

  She knew she should get up and do something, anything. Laying here like a corpse did nothing for her, and it only left her with her depressed, hopeless thoughts. But what could she do? Val had been her only hope, and now she had blown it.

  He was gone, all because of her carelessness. She would never be with him again. She had lost him, and he wasn’t coming back.

  She turned her head to the alarm clock on her bedside table, watching as it clicked from 7:59 to 8:00.

  She wanted to get up, to run to the mansion and demand to see Val. But what could that do? He would chase her out again. No, not even that. He wouldn’t even face her, he would send Jacques again to tell her to leave. Or maybe Ellen. She didn’t think she could handle that, seeing wonderful Ellen coldly tell her to go. Jacques, she could handle; he was a businessman after all, and even though she could see it hurt him, at least she knew it was nothing personal. But Ellen she felt something more for, something warm and loving as if Ellen was her mother. To have her reject her too would be totally unbearable.

  For what seemed like the millionth time, Serena dragged herself out of bed and to the table where the letter was. Her eyes raked over its words, still unwilling to believe what they said. She felt her eyes sting with welling tears as she read over it yet again, the meaning of it still not fully sinking in.

  Typed on Val’s official letterhead was a message:

  Dear Serena,

  If you have received this letter, I trust Jacques has visited you and explained everything. I do not wish to see you again—this is an order I am giving you as your master. Something has come up, something very big, and I am no longer able to be with you. I will be turning myself over to Harlow within the next few days. You are not to contact me and not to visit; this is for the protection of both of us.

  Your Master,

  Valentine Marquette

  She read his name over and over.

  Valentine Marquette, like something out of one of those trashy romances novels her mother used to read. Val, who made her laugh and cry and frown in confusion. Val, who did things to her sexually that she would never understand. Val, who was going to die now because of what she had done.

  She rested her head down on the table. How could she have fucked up so royally? How could she have done this to herself? To the both of them?

  She remembered what Jacques said that night at the party, the night she learned what Val really was and everything changed. She remembered the way he had looked at her when he warned her not to let on that she knew. And then she went ahead and did it anyway, and now look what had happened.

  And then those horrific meetings with Harlow’s men. She had never hated Spencer and Edwards so much. Well, Edwards was anyway. She wasn’t sure if Spencer was even still alive.

  She remembered the disgusting, snake-like look of Edwards’ eyes when he had come to that last meeting to accept Val’s proposition to Harlow. Or any of the other meetings he had come to, the way he always looked so cold and dead.

  And then the first meeting when he had looked her dead in the eye, the coldness of it shocking her, and said, You would do well to talk some sense into your friend, Ms. Nicoletti. It’s the only way he’ll survive.

  God, she had failed him, hadn’t she? She—

  Wait.

  Stop.

  You would do well to talk some sense into your friend, Ms. Nicoletti. What about that was so strange to her? Why did it make her stop so harshly? She sat down numbly, her mind reaching out. She was approaching something big, and she knew it.

  Her name.

  Oh God, that was it. How had he known her name?

  That was the first meeting, they had never met before. He would have no reason to know her name unless he had talked to someone who was an insider, who knew Val personally. Someone like … Jacques?

  She shook her head violently. No. No, there was no way. Jacques was Jacques, he was a friend. She was only coming up with these crazy conspiracy theories because she was unwilling to accept the truth, that Val no longer wanted her.

  And yet….

  Something kept gnawing at the back of her mind, egging her on. She sat down, drawing up more memories.

  She begged herself on the inside for anything, anything at all that might help her sort this out. Something to clear Jacques of guilt. Something to clear herself of the guilt of blaming Jacques. She thought long and hard, fighting back doubt.

  What about that last night with Val?

  His reaction had seemed … strange. It made sense that he would be furious about her snooping into his past when he had chosen to not share it with her, yet that wasn’t what he was mad about, was it? He had been angry that she had accused him of being a criminal.

  What had he said? ‘That’s what you think I am? A criminal?’ Almost as if … no, it couldn’t be. What had he said after that? When she brought up Belladonna?

  That cold look, and then he had said, ‘The only people who know about Belladonna are me and Harlow.’

  She froze. Her heart sunk.

  That line repeated in her mind.

  The only ones who know are me and Harlow.

  There was something terribly, terribly wrong with that line, she realized. She bit her lip so hard she felt blood.

  Not Jacques. He hadn’t said Jacques.

  Me and Harlow.

  And if hadn’t said Jacques, that meant….

  The mug slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. It was impossible, it had to be. Val had to have misspoke, hadn’t he? She couldn’t believe it… she wouldn’t believe it.

  Because that meant that Jacques had lied about being with Val through it. Jacques had lied about. And, worst of all, it left one possib
ility:

  Jacques had been told by Harlow. Which meant they were far closer than he had let on. And she refused to think any further, because that left a hell of a lot of possibilities she didn’t want to consider.

  Serena grabbed her purse and began slipping on her coat. to hell with Val if he wanted her gone. She was going to find out the truth about Jacques if it killed her.

  *****

  The drive to the mansion was longer than any other drive Serena had ever taken in her life. Though the speedometer crept past sixty, then seventy, then eighty, she felt as if she was driving through molasses, as if time itself was working against her, laughing at her attempts to reach the mansion. She could feel it with every cell of her body, like they were on fire—something terrible was happening, something she had to figure out before it erupted into an explosion even worse than the one that had torn apart the garden the night of the party.

  Soon, the sight of the mansion appeared through the trees, and Serena sighed a sigh of relief. She soared past the gates (which were open for some reason—she would have to figure that out later) until she had made it to the mansion. She pulled up to the gardens surrounding the front door, parking as close as she could without being in eyesight of the door.

  She paused when she saw the front door open. A figure appeared, brushing down her skirts and laughing at a couple of bluebirds that were fluttering around in the garden.

  Oh God, it was Ellen.

  Serena winced.

  She hesitated, her hand wavering above the key for a moment, unwilling to get up. She remembered her fear of rejection by Ellen, the way it would sting so much worse than the rejection she had gotten from Jacques.

  But she wiped away her fears and pulled the keys out. She had to do this. It wasn’t a choice.

  Before she could stop herself, she left the car and slammed the door shut. She made sure it was loud enough that Ellen could hear, and, sure enough, the lady’s head turned. Ellen’s face broke out into a sunny smile.

  “Serena!” she called.

  Serena frowned in confusion but kept up her walk. She wasn’t quite sure why Ellen was so welcoming, but she was glad she wasn’t being rejected outright.

  Serena met Ellen halfway and gave her a weak smile in return for Ellen’s sunny, wide one.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” Ellen asked, her eyes shining. “Do you want something? Cup of tea? A little chat?”

  Serena smiled wider. Good old Ellen, solving everything with a cup of tea even as the world was collapsing around her.

  “Ellen, where’s Jacques?” she said.

  As much as she wanted to stay with Ellen, she knew she had to clear things up with Jacques first. Ideally, she would have talked to Val … but she was terrified that he would order her out again, and then where would she get answers?

  “Out. He just left.” Ellen hurried to her, her expression confused and concerned. She hadn’t told her to leave yet, so things were going at least a little well.

  Maybe today she had luck on her side.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Serena asked,

  “In a few hours.…” Her face changed, the confusion being replaced by alarm. Ellen raced to her and grabbed her shoulders, peering into her eyes. “Serena, sweetheart, are you alright? You look sick. Do you need to lay down?”

  “No, Ellen, I….” She gathered her thoughts. “I need to talk to Val, then.” It was the only way.

  Ellen laughed, taking her arm. “Unfortunately, Mr. Marquette is gone too. Come in, we need to talk. Seems like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Serena hesitated.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “That I’m allowed in, I mean.”

  Ellen gave her an absurd look, smiling strangely. “What?”

  “Are you sure I’m allowed in?”

  “For Heaven’s sake, Serena, why wouldn’t you be?” she said, pulling her forward into the mansion. Serena hesitated, but Ellen was strong and she couldn’t resist. Besides, if she admitted it to herself, she wanted to be here. This mansion was the only place that felt like home.

  Serena bit her lip, suddenly ashamed.

  “Did you hear him last night? He … he was angry at me, because I knew too much about him, things he didn’t want me to know. He told me to leave and go home. And not come back.”

  Ellen rolled her eyes. “Ignore him.”

  “But—”

  “He didn’t mean it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Ellen sighed. “Oh, you know him. He gets in one of his moods and he says things he doesn’t meant. As soon as he gets back I’ll smack some sense into him.”

  Serena wanted to protest, but she caught sight of the grandfather clock in the middle of the reception room. Her eyes grew wide. It was almost seven, and here she was, wallowing in her own self-pity, whining to Ellen about her love life.

  “Ellen,” she said suddenly, “do you know if Jacques has an office here? Anywhere he might work?”

  “Oh yes,” Ellen said. “Mr. Lepin has an office on the second floor, the one right next to the library. I believe it’s locked, however.”

  “I need the key.”

  Ellen shot her a look as they passed into the next room. “I don’t break confidences like that, Serena. That would be an enormous intrusion into Mr. Lepin’s privacy.”

  “Ellen, please. Val’s life is in danger.”

  Ellen stopped in her tracks. “What?”

  Serena gathered her strength and looked into her eyes, her expression pleading. “You have to trust me. Something has happened, something big, and I think Val is in danger. I have to do this. I promise you, you know I wouldn’t lie about this kind of thing.”

  Ellen considered it for a few moments. She drew out a key from her apron.

  “Alright,” she said, dropping it into her hand. “Five minutes. But that’s all, and then I need an explanation.”

  “Thank you, Ellen,” Serena said, darting to the staircase to the second floor. She had snapped out of her depression, now totally focused on the need to save Val and find out the truth. There was no time for depression when Val was in danger.

  She found Jacques’ office easily, unlocking it as quickly as she could and slipping inside. It was dark and smelled of cologne. Normally it would have smelled wonderful, but now the thought of Jacques and anything associated with him repulsed her. She pinched her nose as she sifted through his papers.

  God damn it. Nothing. Everything was normal—business papers, letters to friends or associates, tax returns, things like that. There was absolutely nothing here that would help her—

  “Oh, and there’s this,” Ellen said, entering the room behind her. In her hand she carried Jacques’ briefcase. Serena watched her place it down on the desk. “Jacques forgot it, and he was in such a rush that I had no time to give it to him.”

  Serena once again thanked her lucky stars.

  Ellen was apparently feeling extra charitable to her that day because she let her take it and dig in it, despite her earlier warnings about invasion of privacy. Serena at first found nothing, but then she saw it. She pulled it out slowly as if it was fine china that could shatter at any minute.

  It was the paper she had seen that first morning, the morning Jacques had come to convince her to return to Val. The cover page read exactly as it did when she had read it then: HARLOW GROUP TO MR. VALENTINE MARUQETTE—CONCERNING BELLADONNA.

  She flipped to the next page, the page he hadn’t given her. Her heart sunk when she read the first line:

  To J. Lepin

  And then the next one:

  From S. Harlow

  “Oh God,” Serena breathed.

  “What is it, dear?” asked Ellen.

  “It’s a letter,” Serena said, her mind swimming. “No, it’s instructions. It’s instructions from Harlow to Jacques.”

  Ellen paused. “Are … are you sure?”

  Serena read it over, her heart sinking with each word. She was sure, and for the first ti
me she wished with all her soul she wasn’t. Suddenly disgusted with the letter, she dropped it and threw it away from her. She began digging through the drawers more intensely now, unable to stop herself.

  A stack of papers in the bottom drawer, shoved so far back she almost missed them, caught her attention. She fished them out and held them up, inspecting them.

  She felt sick as she realized what they were.

  Stolen letterhead. Most likely taken from Val’s desk without his knowledge. The same kind of letterhead that the letter from Val, the one ordering her to stay away, had been printed on. Her heart sank hard and fast.

  “It was printed on letterhead,” she groaned to herself. “Val never types his letters to me, he writes them. Oh God, it was forged, wasn’t it?”

  “Serena?” Ellen asked, not understanding.

  “Ellen, are you sure that Val really doesn’t want me away from him? Are you sure he doesn’t want me to stop contacting him?”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft. She placed a hand on Serena’s shoulder. “Why on earth would Valentine order you away?”

  “I told him I knew about his past as a criminal,” Serena said, a tear running down her face. “And he told me to leave.”

  “A criminal?” Ellen laughed. “Well I’d kick you out if you were having delusions like that too.”

  “Delusions?” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. Val was a criminal, that’s why Harlow’s after him…”

  “Criminal?” Ellen laughed. “Val? Please, the boy couldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve been taking care of his sorry ass since he was in diapers, and the worst thing he’s ever done he was steal crayons when he was in preschool. Honestly, girl, where are you getting these ideas from?”

  “Jacques,” Serena said. Her eyes widened. She wasn’t crazy, was she? Jacques really was a lying, conniving, slimy son of a bitch. She was starting to see that now.

  “Jacques?” Ellen repeated. It was her turn to look confused now. “Sweetheart, what do you mean?”

  Serena sat down, her mind buzzing. This was all too much at once. How could she have not seen through him before?