I delete the message without listening to it, finish my tea and am about to go upstairs when the doorbell rings.
With a sigh, I go to the front door to open it. I have to remember to close the gate.
Outside are two men each carrying two large black boxes with gold ribbons around them.
“Persephone Abbot?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you.” Without waiting for me to invite them in, they enter, and I step aside as they set the boxes on the floor when they don’t find any tables to put them on. Apart from the coat rack and an old grandfather clock I couldn’t bring myself to part with yet, it’s empty.
I don’t need to ask who the boxes are from. I know.
“If you can sign here,” one of the men says, producing an electronic device out of his pocket.
I sign and once they’re gone, I take the card that’s tucked between the ribbon and the first box, recognize the name of the boutique.
These cost him a pretty penny, but I guess he has enough pennies.
I open the letter and read it.
Looking forward to the fashion show.
Hades.
He refers to himself as Hades. Should I find it strange?
“Arrogant bastard,” I mutter to myself and balance the boxes to carry them up to my room in one go. I lay them on the bed and pull the ribbon off the first one. I hate to admit that I’m curious.
I fold back layers of perfumed black tissue paper to unwrap a stunning deep red lace dress. I take it out of the box and hold it up. It’s a mermaid style with a deep V cut down the front and a deeper one at the back.
The size is right, and I have to admit, it’s gorgeous. I try to remember the last time I wore red. Or a gown like this. The dress I’d worn last night—was it just last night—was beautiful but nothing as extravagant as this.
The next one is a deep emerald green silk that feels amazing. It’s floor length and off the shoulder and will hug every curve.
The third is a halter dress in rich sapphire that has a back so low, I’m not sure it would be decent to wear out.
The final box contains matching high-heeled shoes and accessories to go with each dress.
Pretty penny, indeed. I guess he wasn’t taking any chances on my wardrobe considering what I looked like showing up at the club today. I wouldn’t either if I were him.
But before I have to think about dinner or the auction or anything else, I need to get some sleep. I’m so over-tired, I can’t think straight.
9
Hayden
The gates stand wide open when I drive the Range Rover up to the house to park along the circular drive.
It’s snowed all afternoon and it’s already a foot deep when I step out. I open the trunk to lift out my duffel bag and climb the stairs to the front door. I slide my key into the lock, but find it unlocked.
Opening the door, I shake my head and walk in. I hang my coat on the rack, noticing hers there along with several others. At least one is her father’s. She should clean his shit out of the house. He’s not coming back. She has to know that.
The house is quiet, and the only light is coming from the kitchen. I check the time. It’s about fifteen minutes before eight.
My footsteps echo as I walk toward the kitchen, but no one’s here.
I peer into several rooms, finding most of them empty. They were furnished last night but I remember her telling me Sotheby’s would be back today.
The study is the only room that still seems to contain most of its furnishings.
I climb the staircase up to the first floor. It’s quiet here too.
Irina’s gone and good riddance. She jumped at the chance to get out of here and it’s worth every penny. I can’t stand that woman. Never could, even before Persephone came into the picture.
I don’t knock when I get to Persephone’s bedroom. Instead, I open the door and step inside, remembering how it looked last night when I’d left the envelope on her pillow. How even the carpet was gone, only the bed, a lamp and an old dresser left.
Quincy Abbot fucked up and his family is paying the price. This isn’t how I wanted it. Not the sequence at least. I wanted him to witness the destruction of his family.
I set my bag down when I see her. She’s lying on her side, her back to me. The boxes containing the dresses I sent are on the floor but at least she’s opened them.
I check the time again but I’m not wrong.
I go to the bed, look down at her.
As if feeling my presence, she moves, rolling onto her back. I think she’s going to open her eyes, but she doesn’t.
Well, I did tell her to get some sleep.
She stretches an arm over her head. She’s wearing a tank top and her hair’s strewn wildly about the pillow. Her face is relaxed, soft and sweet and I’m tempted to strip off my clothes and get into the bed.
But I need to remember why I’m here and why she’s here.
I think about what we talked about. About Hades staining Persephone. I want to stain her. I’ve never wanted to mark a woman more than I do her. It’s always been like this with her.
I think about her earlier today. My fingers inside her. The shocked look on her face which makes sense now.
A virgin.
I smile. I didn’t think it would matter but it makes a difference, this piece of knowledge. I sit on the edge of the bed. She still doesn’t stir which I find strange.
And when I see why, a brick settles heavy in my gut.
Bending, I pick up the bottle of prescription sleeping pills lying on the floor beside the lamp. I recognize the name of the pills and my heart hammers against my chest.
What the fuck is she doing with these? These of all the options out there?
But I keep reading. They’re not hers. They’re Irina’s.
“Christ.”
I twist off the lid and look inside, count the half-dozen pills then pocket the container and look at her again.
“Persephone.”
Nothing.
I peel back the blanket. She’s in a silk tank top and panties and I take in all that skin, those long limbs, the expanse of taut belly between her panties and top.
She makes a sound, scrunches up her forehead. She draws her arm down. She must be cold. I get it. It’s fucking freezing in the house.
“Persephone,” I say again, this time a little more forcefully. I take her shoulders, give them a squeeze, a shake.
She groans but settles back into sleep and I wonder how many of the pills she took. Wonder what the fuck she was thinking.
“Time to wake up,” I tell her, pulling her to a seat.
“Mmm.” She flops onto my shoulder, arms useless at her sides.
I smell her sweet skin, pick up a hint of vanilla.
“All right,” I say, standing, taking off my jacket and tossing it on the foot of the bed.
She rolls onto her side and I get a view of her ass, the fabric of the panties not covering much.
Leaning down, I lift her up in my arms.
“Hades,” she mutters. Her head lolls against my arm.
“How many of those pills did you take?”
She wriggles in my arms as I carry her into the bathroom. When I switch on the light, she tries to hide her face in my chest.
“How many pills, Persephone?” I ask, setting her on the edge of the tub, keeping hold of her as her head flops forward and she goes quiet, her breathing leveling out.
“Fuck. Look at me. Open your eyes and fucking look at me,” I tell her, holding her by her jaw and tapping her cheek in an effort to wake her. “Persephone. Look at me.”
When she doesn’t respond, I reach around her to keep hold of her and undo the cufflink at my right wrist, then left. I pocket both, then roll the sleeves up to my elbows.
I reach to plug the tub and switch on the cold water, my arm still around her back.
“Here we go,” I say, picking her up. “You are not going to like this.”
&nbs
p; I slide her into the tub and her reaction is instant.
Her eyes fly open and her shocked gasp is almost a scream as she turns her body toward me, hands clawing at my arm to get out of the cold water.
“Awake now?”
She looks up at me, her expression one of confusion, disorientation.
I splash water at her face.
She sucks in a shivering breath. “Stop! What are you…are you insane?”
“How many pills did you take, Persephone?”
She’s trying to get to the tap to turn it off herself.
I grab her wrist, make her look at me. “How many?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Four. Five maybe.”
“Never these. Do you understand me? Never these!”
“You’re hurting me!”
I look down at where I’m holding her wrist. Hard. I clear my throat, loosen my hold.
“They don’t work anyway,” she says.
“Fuck.” I switch off the water. I take a towel from the rack and turn to find her trying to climb out. “Jesus Christ. Wait a fucking minute,” I say as she slips, and I catch her just before she knocks her face against the side of the tub.
“What are you doing? Are you trying to freeze me to death?”
“No, you’re doing that yourself with the heating switched off during a fucking blizzard.” I wrap the towel around her. I pull off my own shirt, which is pretty much soaked, and hold her to me to warm her up.
She’s shivering and doesn’t fight me, but tucks her arms between us, laying her cheek on my chest.
“I’m so cold.” Her teeth chatter.
I draw her back, pull the wet tank top from her, then wrap her tight in the towel and lift her up.
“Why isn’t the heating switched on? And why the fuck are you taking Irina’s sleeping pills? And four or five? You don’t even remember how many you took? If you’re trying to hurt yourself, you’re being a fucking idiot.”
“Hurt myself?” she asks, blinking heavily, rubbing her eyes.
I stand her before the bed to drag her soaked panties off and toss them aside before I sit and pull her onto my lap, holding her against my chest.
“Yes, hurt yourself.” I hear it myself, understand its meaning.
Is history repeating itself?
She draws back. “I’m not. I wouldn’t.” She shakes her head, clearly upset by what I just said. “I just…I can’t sleep. The pills don’t work so I…I took a few more.” She glances away, pushes her fingers into her hair.
“Well, that’s fucking stupid. No more pills and certainly not these.”
She looks up at me and I see the moment she realizes that she’s naked on my lap.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I wouldn’t,” she says, trying to extricate herself.
“The front door was unlocked, the gates left open. Anyone could walk in here.”
She opens her mouth but closes it again because she knows she’s being stupid not closing the gates.
“And why is it so cold in here?” But I realize why as soon as I ask it. “Fuck.”
Tears fill her eyes and she pushes against me. “Let me go.”
“No.”
“I said let me go.” She shoves harder.
“Fine,” I drop her on her ass on the carpet.
She’s surprised but recovers quickly. Stands.
“You want to know why it’s cold in here?” she asks wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s fucking cold because we have no money, remember? In case you haven’t noticed, the house is almost completely empty of furniture and just today, I signed a contract selling myself to you so I could buy time. So I wouldn’t have to tell my fifteen-year-old sister that we’re homeless.”
“Homeless is an exaggeration.”
“Is it? It’s fucking freezing because you stole our house out from under us. You stole everything while my father lies dying in that fucking hospital bed!”
I’m on my feet in an instant feeling a familiar rage. One that I know doesn’t belong to her.
Persephone takes one look at me and turns to run. But I’m blocking her exit and she corners herself when she backs away. When her back is to the wall, I slam my hands against it, making her jump
“I didn’t steal anything,” I say, my voice low and tight. “Everything I did was legal.”
“Legal but cruel.”
“Your father wasn’t the man you thought he was.”
“He was a kind man. That’s all I need to know.” She shakes her head. “He is a kind man!”
“Bury your head in the sand. It’s easier that way.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck me?”
“Fuck. You.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’re a monster. That’s all I need to know.”
“Be careful, sweetheart.”
“I’m not scared of you, Hayden Montgomery!”
“No?” I lean my head down so my forehead is touching hers. “You’re not scared of me? Maybe you should be.”
I watch her throat work as she swallows. Watch how her hands have fisted at her sides.
“Get on the bed, Persephone.”
She stares up at me.
“I said get on the goddamned bed. Don’t make me make you. I was gentle this morning.”
“Gentle?” Her forehead furrows, any rage-fueled confidence vanishes as she processes. “You humiliated me.”
“Your pussy was wet.”
“I—”
“Get on the bed.”
Her pulse races at her throat and for a moment, I’m not sure if she’s going to do it or if I’m going to have to make her. I’m not sure which I want.
I lean away, give her an inch of space.
She glares up at me, and when she drops her head, her hair falls like a veil between us. I look at her like this, shoulders slumping in a little as she hugs her arms around her middle before shifting her gaze back to mine.
This is hard. This is fucking hard. Looking at her like this. Watching the sheen of tears glaze her violet eyes.
But she steels her spine, her hands fist as she forces them to her sides.
“You’re going to have to make me,” she spits the words and before I’ve even processed them, I’m on her. I’m gripping that hair and dragging her backward like a fucking caveman as she stumbles, arms windmilling to keep her balance.
I think she’s calling for me to stop. Calling my name. But I can’t hear her, not right now. I deposit her on her ass on the bed and set one knee between hers.
I make her look up at me, holding her head at what I’m sure is a painful angle, because I want to be sure she hears me.
“When I say jump, you fucking jump.”
“And when you say for me to spread my legs, I spread my legs?” she says through gritted teeth.
“Exactly.”
“You’re a monster. A fucking monster.”
“You agreed!”
“It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? You’ll take even if I don’t give!”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You think I would take that from you?”
She pauses, sucks in a choked breath. “You’re hurting me,” she finally says.
I look down at her and I see us. See me holding her. Overpowering her. She’s no match for my strength.
I let up a little, release her altogether.
“Christ.” I back away, give her space as I run a hand through my hair.
She’s right. I am a monster. But I’m not that kind of monster.
When I look at her again, I find her sitting on the very edge of the bed, wide eyes on me, arms covering her breasts. Her wrists are tucked between her tightly closed knees. I can hear her short breaths and watch her shudder with cold or fear or both.
Fuck.
I go to her and she leans away just a little. I look at her, brush her hair back from her shoulder. I don’t know what it is with her.
No other woman has ever stirred such havoc inside me. Not a single one.
“I wouldn’t do that. Take that. Not unless you gave it.”
She just watches me.
I touch her hair and when she doesn’t squirm away, I take her face in my hands and kiss her. It’s our first real kiss. I’m starved for it and I can’t stop kissing her. My fingers tangle in her hair so when I finally draw back, she’s breathless like I’ve stolen the breath from her. Her eyes are so deep a violet they’re almost black and she’s so fucking beautiful.
I wipe a tear from her cheek, and she watches me closely as I crouch down, my hands on her knees.
“I want you, but I won’t take what you don’t give, do you understand? I won’t hurt you,” I tell her.
She’s silent.
“Do you believe me?” As I ask, I wonder if I believe me. Because I will hurt her, won’t I? Even if I’m telling the truth, I will end up hurting her.
She nods. I’m not sure if it’s because she believes me or if she’s trying to appease me.
“Hades knew he’d condemn her when he gave her the fruit,” I say. Did Persephone know she’d be damned if she ate it? That she’d be bound to him? Maybe that’s the important question. The one I don’t know the answer to. “Open your legs for me, Persephone.”
“Hayden—”
I shake my head. “Hades.” I hear myself, how I sound. My voice low, hoarse. “When it’s us, like this, you call me Hades.”
It’s who we are. Hades the monster. Persephone the innocent
The abduction of Persephone.
The rape?
No. Not that. Never that.
“Hades.” She tilts her head, studying me. I wonder what she sees.
She opens her legs just a little and I shift my gaze to look down at her little pink pussy, the pretty lips parted, and all I want right now is to kneel before her and look at her, smell her, touch her, taste her. I want to worship her.
I shift my gaze back to hers. “Wider.” My voice is raw at the scent and sight of her.
She obeys and I’m harder for it.
I think she’s the most beautiful thing in the world. Like this. Like she is right now. Naked and open for me.
I don’t speak. I have nothing to say. I just need this. Need her eyes on me. Her body beneath mine. Her heat around me.
Descent Page 6
