Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5)

by Nancy Haviland

  “Then you will not get away with it for very long. During our brief but satisfying interactions, have I left you with the impression I am a man who will be denied what he wants?”

  She said nothing but continued to look up at him.

  “Right now, I would like an answer from my pet.”

  “If you continue calling me that, all you’re going to get is a hand print on the side of your face.”

  “Ah, to match the one I would then put on your ass. Your insolence will not be tolerated for long, draga, so allow it to run its course now.” He leaned to the side to look at the swell of her buttocks. “Or don’t.” He came back to offer her what he hoped was an accommodating look. “Would you like me to have Sorin prepare your coffee? Maybe the familiarity of a caramel macchiato will help you feel more at home.”

  Her forehead pinched, putting a deeper groove between her subtly arched brows. “If I were to smell my addiction right now, I’d probably bawl my eyes out, so, no, thank you. How do you know about my love affair with Starbucks’ overpriced drink?”

  A pang of resentment struck. Over how she’d reference a hot beverage? He changed the subject without answering. He really was beginning to annoy himself. “Tell me about your parents. I am curious about your heritage.” He stepped into her and stroked her throat after seeing her swallow. There was something about the delicate shape of it that drew him.

  “You and me both.”

  He tipped his head as impatience nipped at him. “That means what?”

  “It means I never knew my parents, so I have no idea where they were from. One of my foster mothers was Filipino, and she swore I was ‘one of them.’”

  She’d air quoted as she looked anywhere but at him. He sensed the beginning of one of the nervous chatter-fests he had so enjoyed listening to the last time they were together. Over dinner, she’d gone on about the most mundane things but had made them amusing with her quirky comments and sarcastic add-ons. He’d found her charming. Entertaining.

  Now, he didn’t want to be entertained. Not unless it was sensory entertainment. Tactile. He didn’t need conversation. He yearned to see her perfection bared and open for him to use. He wanted soft breasts in his face, hard nipples on his tongue, a firm navel to stroke before he devoured it. He needed the tight pussy he remembered so well, the one he would kill to sink his cock into while the long legs of his pet trapped him and her cries of pleasure rang in his ears. He needed her dirty and desperate, no boundaries in sight.

  But, because he wasn’t a complete savage, he didn’t stop her when her nerves came out in the form of speech.

  “I was eleven when I was with Ms. Torres and her boyfriend, but they sent me back after only three months. That always happened when babies became available. ‘She’s not what we’re looking for.’ That’s usually what the mothers of my families said before I found myself being dumped on the steps of Holy Cross. I didn’t mind, though, because the nuns became my fam.” The smile she flashed was brittle and forced. “Sister Cherise, who did nothing but knit and pray, always had a brand new pair of scratchy wool socks ready for me. She died before I was old enough to think to ask how she knew I’d return.”

  She slid her long fingers and their multitude of rings through her hair to swipe it away from her face. She wore three on one hand and only one on the other. Knowing she had a cat gave him some insight into why one of her rings was the outline of a feline’s head.

  “My regular social worker—the one that always taxied me to and from my homes—once told me a piece of paper had been in the blankets they found me in. Apparently, it had a Belarus address on it, but it was misplaced before anyone could investigate it. I wondered for a long time if they just didn’t bother. Maybe they didn’t think it was possible I could have had a grandmother or aunt over there that might have wanted me. Or, I suppose I should say over here, now that we’re…here.” She shrugged and twisted at the strap on her bag. “Or who knows? Maybe they did check the addy and my social worker was being nice by not telling me some old lady told them to keep me. I dunno.”

  Her shoulder went up in another shrug, and she shoved the bag under her arm as though annoyed she kept toying with it. She was twirling her hair in the next second, clearly agitated by what she was needlessly sharing.

  She came around to face him. “Will you please bring me to the airport, Lucian? I don’t want to be here. I’m very uncomfortable being away from home. This isn’t right what you’ve done.”

  He watched those ribbons of honey waver through the added moisture once more flooding her eyes. He came in close and cupped her face. He waited, holding fast when she would have pulled free. Then he watched intently, the trails two fat tears made when they overflowed. They stopped when they reached the sides of his thumbs and seeped in to dampen his palms that were pressed to her cheeks. For only a moment, he allowed his demons to latch onto and rage over her treatment; an innocent baby girl abandoned, shuffled from home to home, made to feel unwanted. Possibly abused by the women, and used by the men—

  He reigned them in with a snap. Was there currently an emotion available to him and his new friends that didn’t bring about the need to wipe out a healthy chunk of the population residing on the eastern seaboard?

  “This will be the last time you will shed tears in my presence.” He swiped his thumbs beneath her eyes to rid himself of the sight. “Now, do not be upset, draga. I will take you home—”

  His words stuck and his breath caught somewhere in his chest when her face instantly lit up, the illumination stunning in its beauty. Her posture immediately corrected itself from the dejected weight her shoulders had been bowing under. Ah, yes, he thought as his body came to life just as she did. Here was the woman he’d been coveting.

  She grabbed his wrists and squeezed, flashing a brilliant smile. He wanted those delicately pointed canines in his skin while he claimed ownership of her body.

  “Seriously? You’ll let me go home? But out there you said— Oh, uh, never mind.” She laughed uneasily and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe her luck. The motion made white lilies and deep ocean waters plume around them. He’d almost embarrassed them both at the Waldorf when her scent had stirred a craving for her that had yet to settle.

  He shut down the thought when reminded of why he’d been at the infamous hotel, and what he’d done before leaving it.

  “Thank you, Lucian.” She threw her arms around his neck in a hug meant to convey appreciation. For a misunderstanding. He savored it because it might be the last one she freely offered. She lingered in his arms. “I don’t care what changed your mind. Just, thank you. You don’t know how relieved I am. My job is everything to me. It’s all I have, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.” She drew back and placed a hand on his jaw. Her look took in his entire face, and the kiss she pressed to the corner of his lips was as unexpected as her next words. “I knew you had to be in there somewhere.”

  She turned away, leaving him wondering about that remark.

  “Now, maybe I can enjoy my remaining time on the other side of the world. Are we really in Romania? Is this a real castle? That freaks me out. But in a good way. Kind of. It’s not haunted, is it? Why is it so warm? Is there a dungeon?”

  She took her coat off and hung it over her arm. He watched the movement of her body as she wandered. It was too bad her dress would be in ribbons soon as it hugged her curves to perfection. She gazed with interest at the carved wooden pillars polished to a dark shine, the gleaming marble tile, and the grand staircase leading to the upper floors. There were minimal furnishings but for the art and light fixtures. There were two tables, but they were bare. Clutter was distracting, and he avoided it at all times.

  Her hair shimmered as she tipped her head to look straight up at the thirty-foot ceiling. She was so relaxed, the change in her marked now that she thought she was getting her way. He hated to ruin that, but did anyway by going over and getting her moving with a hand on her back. He guided her onto the
dark red carpet that ran through the center of the foyer and carried on up the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” She spoke absently, and paused, once more putting off the inevitable. “This place is ridiculous; you know that right? Are you aware that just because you have the money to afford this, it doesn’t mean you have to play the part of eccentric billionaire by purchasing a freaking castle in…oh. Was this your family’s home? Are you this arrogant because you’re royalty of some sort? That’s probably why you always look so uptight; you feel naked without your crown and scepter.”

  An amused grunt sounded from the direction of the front sitting room, signifying Sorin was openly eavesdropping. He was entertained by Yasmeen’s nonsense.

  “This was not my family’s home; we are not royalty—that I am aware of—and if I appear uptight, it is because my suits are not always as comfortable as the designer claims.” Was he feeling insulted? “Come. I am currently feeling uptight because I have not been out of a three-piece in the last few days.” His tone said yes.

  Her face softened as she slid a finger under the length of his tie. She patted it into place on his chest, twice, then blinked and stepped back as if realizing the intimacy of her actions. “Sorry. Your suits, as sexy as they are, must be pretty awful to wear for any length of time. Please don’t let me keep you from going up to change. I don’t mind waiting a few extra minutes.”

  Heat spread through his groin. “You think my suits are sexy, Yasmeen?”

  She didn’t blush but offered him a droll look. “Like you don’t know that. Why else would you wear them? Because you enjoy lack of movement and sweating?”

  She drifted away to trail her fingers over the corner of a framed painting he’d won at a Christie’s auction a few years ago. He still occasionally saw the Arab prince he outbid.

  “So beautiful. Some people are so adept at capturing what the original artist was going for.” She came back to him. Now her cheeks were flushed. “Did you buy it local? Replica art is a huge business.”

  “That is the original.”

  She looked at the massive canvas and laughed. The musical sound brushed over him like a thousand open-mouthed kisses. “Uh-huh. You’d have to have some bankroll to be able…” Her humor drained and her gaze danced away. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to for a second.”

  “I would rather you do not make that a habit.”

  “I’m sure. I bet it doesn’t happen often.”

  “No.”

  “Because you forbid it?” Her smile was gently baiting and unintentionally alluring.

  “If I forbid it, it would not happen at all.”

  Tiny sparks of pleasure entered her eyes. When her lips parted, he knew for certain she was feeling the undercurrent that never failed to swirl, strengthening little by little if they were together for any length of time. “Er, were you taking me to a restroom?” She cleared her throat of a husky note that struck him deep in his lower gut. “I hope so. You were right when you said I needed one.”

  He nodded and put his hand out, palm up. She glanced at the four exits off the foyer. Hoping to see a sign that read WC?

  “Yasmeen?”

  “You can just point, you know. I’m also pretty good at following directions if you’d rather go that route.”

  He waited.

  In seconds, she was reluctantly placing her hand in his. Small victory.

  He took her coat and bag from her. “Will you need anything in here?”

  “No. Not right now. But it would be great to come back down and find my phone in working order.”

  He disregarded the veiled sarcasm and placed her things on the table below the painting. As he started up the stairs with her in tow, he could hear the muted thud of hammers and the sound of a saw somewhere in the castle. The renovations he’d started some time ago were coming along nicely. He would have to put them on hold for the time being. He would rather not have a multitude of workers, the majority of which were men, wandering the halls while his pet was in residence.

  “Where are we going?” she muttered, dragging her feet.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Yes. I got that part.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “You can’t tell me there isn’t a restroom on the main floor. There must be more than a few considering the size of this place.” There was a new wariness in her voice that proved she was a smart girl. “Do I hear people working? Or am I imagining that?”

  “People are working. And you will use the restroom up here. It is better stocked than those on the main floor.” He went right when they reached the first landing, and climbed another short set of stairs. If he were to take another right, it would take them up a longer flight to the third level where the ballroom was featured along with a theater room and twelve other suites and sitting rooms. He brought her down the second-floor corridor instead and opened the third door they came to. “Take your time.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  He closed her in and wasn’t surprised when he heard the lock go. Soon, she wouldn’t feel the need for such foolishness.

  FOUR

  Forcing herself not to think for the moment, Yasmeen used the surprisingly modern facilities in the gold and white bathroom. She looked out the window and stared at a small snow-covered courtyard and what looked like stables. She couldn’t see any animals or footprints, though, so maybe it wasn’t in use. The freaking moat surrounding them was absurd and romantic all at the same time.

  Romania. He’d brought her to Romania.

  Her shoes made quiet clicks as she crossed the floor to wash up. She fixed her face as best she could without supplies, and was happy to see a small bottle of mouthwash and disposable toothbrushes in a basket filled with a wide variety of toiletries—definitely well stocked. She used both before fluffing her hair. Then she paused and looked at herself in the mirror. She licked her lips and squinted.

  “Why do you look like this, you idiot?” she whispered.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Her heart was beating faster and faster, and her nerves were buzzing almost loud enough to hear.

  She was no longer afraid.

  She felt fucking excited.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She did have some residual fear and anger twisting around inside her that continued to come and go because she had a brain in her head. But something was overpowering it. The incomprehensible thing she felt for the man standing on the other side of the door.

  “Oh, you stupid woman. Hold onto the fear. Find the phone. Get the hell out of here. Simple.” Something stretched awake inside her, looking for him. “He has no intention of bringing you to the airport!” she mouthed a little frantically.

  Excitement. No fear. She could have sworn her body just sighed with relief.

  She turned away, leaned her ass on the counter, and concentrated on what was happening to her. She was hot. She was bothered. A softness that felt so good was wrapping around her heart. Every time she looked and found Lucian watching her, she got hotter. When she concentrated on the new darkness in those amber depths, she became more bothered. And that softness making her heart swell? That was the most dangerous of all.

  She went back to the physical stuff—it wasn’t as pathetic. Was she really going to let her attraction to him wipe out what he’d done to her? What if she lost her job?

  Lucian was one of the most powerful men in New York. If he or his people were the ones who’d arranged her replacement, her boss wouldn’t turn around and fire her the moment she returned. Would he? Not if Lucian forbid it.

  Adrenaline and pure lust seeped into her muscles at the thought of him putting the hammer down with only a few cutting words. It had to be the new edge. It should repel her, yet every time his expression allowed her to see it, she wanted more.

  “You’re losing sight of the very simple goals you set for yourself. Twenty minutes ago you were ready to scratch his eyes out. He feeds you a line of bullshit that you believed for all of tw
o seconds and what did you do? Kiss his fucking beautiful mouth.” She groaned and rubbed at her face, knowing that was when things had changed. The covetous expression he hadn’t tried to hide had reeled her in like she was the easiest mark on the block.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you and your libido around this guy? Your feelings for him are derailing you, and you’re letting it happen. You have to go home,” she wailed under her breath, and wanted to slap herself for suddenly feeling anxious at the very idea because she now kinda-sorta wanted to stay.

  To stay with him.

  He was obviously hurting enough to have done something that could get him into a shit-ton of trouble. Maybe instead of bitching and moaning about going home, she could be his friend and try to help him through his grief.

  Okay. She straightened. She could do that. Consider it a vacay, like Sorin said.

  And, really, did she have any other choice? She was on the other side of the world with a powerful, obscenely wealthy man who was acting completely out of character. Or so she could only assume since she didn’t know him well enough to make a definitive judgment. Maybe this was him. Or maybe he was teetering on the edge because he’d just buried his murdered brother. Sympathy filled her as she absently took stock. She had no money, no passport, no ID at all…

  Her stomach cramped. Okay. She was completely at Lucian’s mercy. What if he—

  “All right. Stop it.” She shook out her hands. “Get out there and deal with it as it comes.”

  As she smoothed down her dress that had traveled well considering it was a thrift shop buy, she opened the door.

  Lucian was across the way. He wasn’t casually leaning on the wall, striking some lame pose. He was standing there, completely at ease, with his hands resting in his pockets and his head hanging forward. When she appeared, his eyes came up to lock on her, and the blast of desire that smoked through her body nearly had her hair rising as if an electrical current was passing through her.

  Jesus. What the hell was that? It had been there from the moment they’d met. She’d been on her way home from a job interview, discouraged because she’d already known she would be passed over for an applicant with more experience. She’d dropped in at the gallery she now worked in and had turned from staring too long at a particular painting that had reflected her mood. Lucian had been standing ten feet behind her, his gaze lazy but intent, and not on the art surrounding them.