“My friends won’t be impressed by gifts from Europe, and Miranda definitely wouldn’t have bought your bullshit. She’s freaking out.” While she unwisely baited him, she stared at the painting that hung between the tall windows.
“Are you aware of what you are doing right now, Yasmeen?”
She tipped her nose up at him and exchanged the pillow for the sheet. “I’m not letting you know I’m unhappy. And I’m sure not cuddling after some great sex.” She brought her knees up and laid her head on them with her face turned away.
He’d insulted her by repeatedly snubbing her need for affection. Or, more accurately, her need to offer him affection. “It is the great sex I’m after. Not the cuddling.” She stiffened as he habitually pulled on the cuffs of his shirt to straighten them. “I feel I should warn you that during your stay, you will be used hard.
“Oh, yeah?” she drawled without looking at him. “How much will I be expected to endure?”
“Endure, draga? That soaked pussy I just fucked into giving me those orgasms makes that a bad word choice.”
She gave an un-lady-like snort and muttered something about a body’s natural response to stimuli.
He paused with his zipper halfway up as she completely discounted the unique attraction between them. “Is that what that was?” He nodded, his mouth tightening right along with his chest, and continued dressing. The very idea that she didn’t feel the goddamn pull that was tying him in knots made him see red. “You asked what you will endure? The answer to that would be many more orgasms. I’ll be curious to see how spectacular your ‘body’s natural response to stimuli’ is when I bring in a couple of associates of mine. It should be quite impressive when more than one man is coaxing that response from you, hmm?”
Her shocked gasp was music to his ears. “No! Lucian!”
He watched her scramble to clutch the sheet to her front as she tripped her way off the bed. She came to him, her head going from side-to-side, revulsion emanating from her in waves that heated his skin.
“You can’t do that to me! I lied, you bully. And you know it.” She gripped his arm, sinking her long nails in. “It’s you. You’re the only one who’s ever made me go crazy like that. I swear to God. Please tell me you only said that because you’re mad that I insulted your skills. Please!” She tried to shake him then shuddered so hard her teeth made a little ticking sound. “I swear on my life; I will fight the bloodiest fight you’ve ever witnessed if you allow other men in here to rape me.”
How juvenile that he’d wanted to shock her into verbalizing something he already knew. That it was him and him alone who “made her go crazy like that.”
He reached out and jerked the sheet away. Dropping it on the floor, he caressed her shoulders and down her arms until he could take her hands in his. He brought them up, but rather than kiss her knuckles; he bit them. Hard enough to make her wince.
“I know it is me who brings out the whore in you. I can see it bothers you, and you may be foolish enough to try to fight it, but you will not win.” He held fast when she went to pull free, as expected. “At the gallery where we met. At the restaurant I brought you to that night. At your place of employment. At the visitation the other day, and then at the church, and later at the Waldorf. In every situation, you appeared classy, utterly beautiful, yet distant. You are intimidating and unreachable to most men.” He squeezed her fingers. “But not to me. I am the one who knows how that demeanor falls away. I am the one who knows how you morph into what I just spent the last two hours lost in. You should understand that a man does not covet a whore, Yasmeen. He covets his whore. And rest assured I will be the only one to reap the rewards of your erotic transformation from art connoisseur to insatiable sex kitten.”
When she pulled again, he allowed her freedom. She kept a wary eye on him as she bent and took up the sheet again. She held it to her chin with one hand, seemingly unaware the covering had failed to hide the swell of one breast and its rose-colored nipple. With her hair a mass of silky tangles all around her shoulders and over her arms, her mouth red from being used so hard, she was the most exquisite picture. He would have paid millions to commission the painting before him.
“Will you do me a favor?”
He raised his brows and turned his lips down as he nodded in a we-shall-see gesture.
“Will you stop using those cheap scare tactics? I wouldn’t have thought you’d have to sink to methods like that to get what you want.”
How naïve she still was. “Draga. Something you should know. When you disrespected what this is,” he motioned between them, “my first thought was to make you suffer through the touch of other men so you’d learn the difference between what they would make you feel and what I make you feel. It was your reaction and subsequent confession that saved you from such an experience.” And the fact that he would likely decapitate anyone who laid one finger on her. He’d put that body-less cranium on prominent display so everyone would know what was in store for them if they touched his property. Men and women alike. “Do not make the mistake of thinking I will not follow through on something I say.”
He distantly realized that sharing her was the second threat he’d made against her that he had no intention of following through on. Was he showing weakness where she was concerned?
Of course, he was. That was one of the reasons he’d stayed away from her for so long. He’d known this would happen. His mouth compressed as his father’s image drifted through his mind, and he looked at Yasmeen with new eyes. Cold eyes. His father had allowed his mother to get away with the most heinous things because of his obsession with her. Until the day she’d proven her total disregard for him, and in effect, her children.
“For instance,” he went on, his tone more rigid than ever. “When I spoke of using you hard, in clear, precise terms that means I plan on fucking you day and night, whenever the mood strikes. If I see you pass by my office on your way to the library, and the urge to have you comes, I will follow you to that sweet smelling room and send you to your knees surrounded by my many first editions. I will sink into your tight throat and expect you to swallow what I give you, no matter who is around us. If I walk into the kitchen and see the curve of your ass as you bend over to take an apple from the crisper, I will hold you in that position, likely rip a hole in your pants rather than take them down, and I will fuck you to a place where you will not care that the cook and his assistant are witnessing the explosive act.”
When she shook her head, her gaze imploring him not to follow through on anything he’d just said, he dealt with her visible distress by laying a hand over her eyes so he couldn’t be affected.
“You are Lucian Fane’s pet, Yasmeen. That title is a threat in itself because it means any attention I am not giving my business interests will land on you. How fortunate pleasing your owner seems to come so naturally. I have yet to see you have to make a real effort.”
He brushed a kiss over her brow to get one last taste of her on his lips then went for the door, warning over his shoulder, “But that time will come.”
♦ ♦ ♦
After a shower spent wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into, Yasmeen followed her warden’s instructions and dressed comfortably. From the fully stocked closet of items all in her size, she chose a pair of black leggings, black leather boots with a three-inch heel, and a warm, bulky knit in winter-white.
You are Lucian Fane’s pet.
She was gnawing on her lip as she hesitantly left the security of the bedroom, hating that she was no longer outraged by the title. When he claimed he was her owner, her hair sprang up. But when he called her his pet, she was beginning to like it. Both reflected ownership, but to her, being a pet meant he’d chosen her for companionship out of scores of others. Being owned, well, that was all about control and she wasn’t looking to be some wealthy mobster’s puppet, sexual or otherwise.
The way in which the tenderness between her legs thumped with a needy beat proved her a liar, b
ut she pretended not to feel it. She had to find a phone. She needed Miranda’s ear. Badly.
She didn’t get the chance to unload her problems on her best friend, but Yasmeen did get hopelessly lost roaming the deserted hallways that seemed to grow darker and quieter by the second. By the time she caught a whiff of freshly baked bread and followed the delicious aroma down a narrow set of stairs—that weren’t the ones she and Lucian had used earlier—she was furious and trying not to hyperventilate. If there was anything she hated more than the dark, it was being alone in the dark.
She entered a massive kitchen that looked as if it had been plucked off a lot at Universal Studios. Of course, the medieval set with its mix of stone walls and modern appliances was staffed with a couple of grumpy-looking cooks.
“Excuse me. Hello.” The two older men turned to stare at her, an eight-burner gas stovetop behind them. “The bread smells heavenly,” she said first as her stomach growled loudly. She was too upset to care that they must have heard it. “Could you tell me where I would find our—” She slammed her lips shut, catching herself before giving Lucian that stupid fucking label. “I’m looking for Lucian. Do you know where he is?”
They looked at each other and shrugged a little before coming back to her. One of them rubbed his big belly. His small smile made her skin crawl. Of course, no English.
After receiving a couple of hated once-overs, the smiling one licking his lips as he tried to see her breasts through her sweater, she left without another word. Fucking idiots.
She spent another fifteen awful minutes wandered, trying locked doors and looking through stained-glass windows that showed nothing but darkness outside so that she couldn’t even tell if she was at the front or back of the fortress. She attempted to distract herself by wondering if her neglectful host meant to give her a room of her own during her incarceration. She would be demanding separate accommodations after this.
“Simple directions would have been helpful,” she said aloud as she jumped when she heard what sounded like a door slamming. She whimpered a little and continued talking to herself if not just to hear a voice. Flashes of the dark attic one of her families had made her sleep in kept coming to her, making her stomach churn.
“Spooning would have been even nicer,” she bit out, increasing her speed when she pictured the lecherous cooks. Her neck was beginning to ache from constantly looking over her shoulder. “Fucking hell. This is worse than walking alone through old man Tavares’ auto wreckers on a Friday night. Lucian!” she finally shouted, once more feeling the stark sense of rejection she’d felt when he’d blocked every touch she’d attempted to land after their frenetic coupling. God, he was good. So, so good. But his aftercare sucked. He hadn’t wanted any part of her once the sex was over, and she’d been left floundering. After what he’d done to her, the things he’d made her feel, she’d been afloat and in need of an anchor. One he hadn’t provided. That had made her bitchy, but he deserved it.
She turned yet another corner and spotted an arched opening much larger than an average doorway about thirty feet ahead. She started jogging for it, confident it would lead to the massive foyer. That was when something whizzed by her head. Already at the end of her rope, there was nothing she could do to swallow the blood-curdling scream that belted up her throat when flapping registered. It came again, but it wasn’t until her hair was slapped at that she gave up running and stopped to throw her fit.
It was only seconds later that she heard footsteps. She was yanked into a hard chest and wrapped up good and tight. “Shh. It is okay. I have you, pet.”
She realized who the deep murmur belonged to at the same time as his scent registered. That familiar scent that burrowed into her and made her want something she knew damn well she was never going to get.
She pushed away from the too-little-too-late and swatted around her head a couple more times for good measure. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled as she looked around, wishing the ceiling was better lit. Sorin stood a few feet away. “Is it gone?”
“If you are asking after the bat,” Lucian said. “Yes, it flew into—”
“You couldn’t have come back for me?” she demanded, cutting him off. Oh, she was so ready to lose her shit, she was choking up. “You destroy me, leave me to recover on my own, then don’t even bother to come back when you know damn well this place is impossible for someone who’s never been here to navigate—” She stomped her foot when he opened his mouth. “I’m not finished! Couldn’t you have sent someone else? Sent a note? Fixed my fucking phone and sent me a text? That was so inconsiderate of you, Lucian!” Do I mean so little that I’m not even an afterthought? “I’ve been roaming these halls forever, terrified a ghost was going to possess me before your creepy cooks could catch up and assault me!”
She took a breath when her lungs began to burn, and it wasn’t until she paused that she realized she’d been shouting at him. Afraid he might punish her in some way, especially because she was reprimanding him in front of Sorin, she pulled in another harsh breath and forced out an apology.
“Forgive me for screaming like an out-of-control harpy.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “But you abandoned me, and that’s shitty.” She stepped back when it looked as if he was going to lift his arm. “It was inconsiderate and shitty. I just thought you should know that.”
“If you had not been so impatient, you might have been in our room when the person I did send up knocked.” He wasn’t looking at her but at her body.
“I’m. Up. Here,” she said in a quiet tone so poisonous it should have peeled the skin off his face.
His darkening eyes continued to travel up at his leisure, lingering on her swiftly rising and falling chest before reaching hers. Rather than be repulsed, her belly gave a soft roll and waved hello.
“I know where you are at all times, draga. If you want the truth, I thought you might be exploring. Or searching for a way out. I left you to it so you could see there isn’t one.” He pointed up at probably the twentieth little gargoyle head she’d seen mounted just below the…ceiling…
Tears burned her nose. “Those are cameras?” Without looking directly through the crack in the door, she noted the bathroom just behind him and was grateful for the handy exit. Hopefully, that door she was about to slam off its hinges had a lock on it. “Do you know how to read people at all, Lucian? Couldn’t you tell by my expression and body language that I was scared? Or were you too busy admiring your recently acquired T and A to give a shit? You’re not a nice person.” She threw a glare at Sorin, weirdly insulted on Lucian’s behalf when his meathead made a sound of agreement. That didn’t make sense when she was the one slinging the insult, but, whatever.
She brought her attention back to Lucian and was struck by how attractive he looked with a few days’ growth darkening his strong jaw. Explained the bristle burn she had on her inner thighs.
The random thought had her breath catching, and she shivered as she remembered the way his tongue had felt sliding up the center of her body.
“You’re fucking with my head,” she accused quietly, feeling as weak as any addict when faced with their drug of choice. She pointed a finger at him. “I don’t act like this. I don’t even talk like this anymore, but I’m stuck in defense mode and it’s making me revert. I could hate you for that.”
“For bringing out who you really are?”
She swallowed a gasp when he nailed it. She hated that scared, needy girl she’d been growing up, and that’s how she felt when standing before this cold-hearted tyrant. “I haven’t acted like such a silly girl since I was nine-years-old.” That was when she’d realized she had a choice to make; toughen the fuck up or continue to be wrecked every time life didn’t go the way she expected it to. “I’m not even afraid of bats, for Christ’s sake. One of my homes had one that slept above me because they’d shoved me in their attic.” She swallowed the growing lump in her throat and straightened her spine as she scrambled to find one of her masks. Gone went the prof
anity and in came a calmer tone. “You’re messing with my head,” she repeated before brushing past him.
“Yasmeen. Do not—”
“Leave me alone, Lucian. You’re good at that.” She shoved the door open the rest of the way and flicked on the bathroom light.
“That is where the—”
She took great satisfaction in turning and slamming the door in his beautiful face.
And was freaking out and clawing at it to open it in the next second when Mr. Bat swooped down and started banging off the walls. She got the wood out of her way and flew across the hall into her demented Romanian’s waiting arms. She plastered herself to his front after slapping at his solid chest a few times.
“Tell your b-brethren to leave me the f-fuck alone, you bastard.”
As his arms wrapped around her, his fingers gripping the back of her head to tuck her face into his neck, the secure hold gave her the strongest urge to cry like a big baby.
Remembering his warning from earlier, she didn’t shed a tear.
SEVEN
Lucian swept his distressed pet off her feet, half expecting her to protest. She was silent, and it was with a feeling similar to enjoyment that he walked with her down the hall.
“Would you mind bringing a tray up, Sorin? I do not think Yasmeen is in the mood for a formal meal.”
“I see that.”
When they reached the foyer, Sorin went straight, heading to the kitchen, and Lucian climbed the stairs.
“You do not weigh very much considering your height,” he commented.
No response came back to him.
“You will feel better after you have eaten and have had a good night’s sleep. It has been an eventful day for you.”
“I was unconscious the whole time you were bringing me here.” Her reluctantly offered words came out muffled, her breath heating his throat. “How can I be tired?”
Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) Page 7
