“That is something I would ask you to share with Lucian. When he hears about those boys who are now men, he will ask for names. I would be pleased to lead a team to their homes, and if you would like, I will record their castration so you will have something to watch anytime you remember your less than stellar past.”
Aw, shit. She melted like an ice cream cone in July. Why did she have to respect their way of dealing? Why didn’t it shock her and make her want to run through the streets screaming about castrating murderers?
“Fine. Get up here.” He came up the last couple of stairs and she looped her arm through his. “You’re making it very difficult not to like you, you savage.”
He pulled away from her. “Do not touch me, Ms. Michaels. Lucian would not approve.”
“Oh. Uh, sorry.” She squinted and pretended a sudden interest in the other tourists bundled up and wandering around hoping to spot Dracula. “I can get handsy when I feel comfortable with someone.” She craved human contact. Always had. But she’d rarely gotten the kind she needed. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I am well aware of that. But Lucian would not approve,” he repeated, his tone as apologetic as the pat he gave her shoulder.
She nodded and attempted to block the loneliness she could feel skirting around her ankles. “Why did you ask about my childhood?”
“I was told if you talked about yourself I should encourage you and get as much information as I could.”
She tipped her head and gawked at him as big snowflakes began to fall. “How can you stand there and admit that?” She should probably appreciate that he and Lucian were both so straightforward. She’d never be left wondering. But it made her uneasy. Their…openness. She didn’t offer shit to anyone unless they had a badge and a goddamn good reason for asking. Well, normally she didn’t.
He shrugged. “As Lucian often says; anything but the truth eventually becomes a nuisance. You must know by now he can be brutally honest.”
“Hurtfully so.”
“I would suggest you are the same during your time together. Do not pretend. And do not lie to him, Ms. Michaels, because I can guarantee you would only do so once.”
TWELVE
Lucian stood at the front window in his office, his hands clasped behind his back, the conference call he was in the middle of now on hold. His focus was on the entrance to the lane leading off the drive. The last three hours had been productive but unenjoyable. The next two would be the opposite, he vowed just as the front end of the Bentley came into view.
The knots twisting his muscles loosened, and a slow breath passed through his lips.
Safe.
He clasped his wrist tighter as the word whispered through his mind. When had this woman’s well-being become so important? It shouldn’t be. She should be replaceable.
Yet she wasn’t. There was not one female body he wanted in place of hers. Not one mouth he wanted under his but hers. There was no other female voice he wanted to hear shouting his name while her body went rigid in the midst of an orgasm. Just hers.
His eyes went to the rear door as Sorin pulled the car around the garden in the center of the drive. When he got out and went around to open and help Yasmeen from the car, even Lucian’s demons moaned in pleasure at the sight of her. The hood on her cape was down, and her hair was a dark shiny mass all around her shoulders and down her back. They disappeared up the stairs, and Lucian turned to watch them enter the castle through the security feed on one of two monitors.
Secure.
When his phone went off, he brought it to his ear since he was already holding it.
“Sorin.”
“Shall I bring her to you?”
“No. Put her in our room. Do not give her any instructions. Just leave her to go through her packages. They arrived a few minutes ago.”
“What packages?” Sorin’s voice instantly sharpened. “Get over by the wall,” he said to Yasmeen in English. Lucian saw him help her along and stand with her at his back.
Protected.
“Do not move. Lucian? She did not buy anything.” He’d reverted to Romanian. “Who delivered these things? Who allowed this delivery? Jesus Christ, the packages are in your rooms? Who the fuck—”
“Sorin,” he cut in gently. “Relax. Spencer was with you. He flew in this morning, and I sent him out directly after he arrived here. I knew Yasmeen would not use the money I gave her, so if she showed an interest in anything, I instructed him to purchase it.”
His friend and protector’s gaze came up to look directly into the camera, proving he knew Lucian was watching. “You did not think I needed to know this?”
Lucian smiled. “Did you not catch sight of your shadow?”
“I trained that shadow. Of course, I did not catch sight of him.”
“Then you trained him well,” he commended before getting back to his pet. “Tell me, what did Yasmeen do with the money?”
“After the color came back into her face, she put it in the cup holder.”
He chuckled. “Did she mention it to you?”
“No.”
As he suspected. She wasn’t one to open up to just anyone about her feelings. “Is there anything you want to share about your time together?” Sorin was an intuitive man who paid attention.
“She misses Miranda and feels adrift without her to lean on. She is afraid being here, but at the same time she likes it; that appears to bother her. I say this because I startled her while she was…what did she call it? Self-loathing. One doesn’t do that unless they are enjoying something they think they shouldn’t. Have you self-loathed lately, Lucian?”
“No, Sorin. I have not had the time,” he drawled. “What else?”
“She is very curious about the strangest things, and she was willing to take a donkey out of town rather than a train, though she did only ask to leave once. She is very amusing.”
“Yes, she is,” he agreed.
“She fought hard growing up. Hard and dirty.”
He’d already guessed that. “Is that all?”
“No. I get the feeling she was starved for affection when she was a young girl. I think it would be cruel of you to use that as a weapon against her.”
“Noted. Join me when she is settled. We have some business to discuss.”
He hung up, and as he went back to his overseas call, the marked difference in his mood made one thing clear. His pet would not be leaving the castle again without him.
♦ ♦ ♦
As Yasmeen opened the bedroom door, she was still wondering about Sorin’s odd display in the foyer. For a moment, she’d thought the roof was about to come down on them. Then, from one blink to the next, he’d gone back to chatting on his phone while he led her up the stairs.
She closed the door behind her…
She blinked and stared at the packages spread all around the loveseat and floor. Walking over, she peered into one of the bags and saw the handbag she’d admired as Sorin had spoken to a vendor. In another were the strappy heels she’d looked at through one of the beautifully decorated storefront windows. And in another, was a bright pink bomber jacket she’d known would look fantastic on Miranda’s petite body.
She heaved a sigh and got to work toting it all into the closet so the room wouldn’t appear a mess. “Lucian, Lucian. What am I going to do with you?”
Once her task was done, she freshened up, and seeing as the heavy clouds that had brought in the snow had muted the daylight, it was through shadowed corridors that she went in search of her grieving owner.
She didn’t get lost. But she also didn’t have to wander aimlessly, looking for Lucian’s office. As she entered the foyer, she heard voices coming from the front sitting room. One was the accented rumble she was in need of, so she went over, but paused after only a couple of steps into a room that had exposed pale-gray brick walls and honey-colored hardwood floors. Okay. This place was gorgeous. The massive fireplace made it look more like a ski chalet than the sitting room in
a castle.
Four men stood next to a grouping of four high-back chairs. Lucian was one of them, Sorin another. They quieted when they noticed her.
“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
The other two were strangers who wore black suits and gunmetal overcoats. Sorin, who had clearly been interrupted mid-workout, was in black sweats and a soaked tank. Holy shit. She wasn’t sure what was more impressive, his physique or his ink. Damn, she wanted to go over and explore it because, hey, art was art. From this far away, she couldn’t say for sure, but she was almost certain he and Lucian shared a tattoo artist.
“Yasmeen.”
Lucian’s sharp tone brought her to attention, and she realized she was staring at his meathead. Her ears got impossibly hot when she looked over to see her lover was glaring at her. Lover, she scoffed silently. Rather than prolong the awkward moment by explaining that she was only admiring what appeared to be the freaking Sistine Chapel on Sorin’s hulking shoulder, she forced a bright smile. As usual, her nerves came out in the form of nonsense.
“I heard voices and thought my Uber showed while I was upstairs. Did I miss it?”
She held her smile when Lucian’s jaw clenched, his hard gaze raking down her form. Out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she saw Sorin smile before he turned away.
“No Uber driver would survive after breaching my front gates,” the cranky warden murmured. “Come. Sit. We were just finishing up.”
He pointed the men to the door as she moved toward the uncomfortable-looking sofa.
“Behave yourself, draga,” Lucian murmured with a caress to her hip as he passed by.
She wavered, and her limbs felt loose when she reached her destination. She fell to the firm cushions, and the men began talking in Romanian again as they disappeared.
“Uh, Sorin?” she called before he could leave through a narrow door in the corner. Questionable if he could fit. “I’m sorry for staring. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I was only looking at your artwork. It’s very beautiful.”
“I think we are both aware ogling is above you.” Lucian came back into the room, and Sorin was definitely trying not to smile as he left. “Would you like a tour?”
She got up. “Uh, okay. I was assuming you’d throw me to the floor and I’d have to suffer through hours-long sex with my jailor, but a tour sounds cool.” She just about jumped out of her skin when her arm was touched. She spun around to find an older woman standing there. She was smiling as she held a tray up, offering Yasmeen a tall glass of what looked like iced tea, complete with the sprig of mint.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there. Please forgive me. That was so inappropriate.” She threw a glare at Lucian. Idiot! He should have told her they weren’t alone. ‘I didn’t know you were there,” she repeated as she swiftly took the glass and a cocktail napkin. “Thank you.” Her face. Was. On. Fire.
The woman just continued to smile as she left through the same door Sorin had used. Fucking secret passages? She downed the entire drink in one go, wishing it was laced with something that would prevent her from getting behind the wheel after consuming.
“You couldn’t have warned me we weren’t alone?” As she struggled through a brain-freeze from hell, she banged the glass down on the table—making sure the napkin was beneath it so she didn’t leave a ring. “I just embarrassed both of us. The poor woman.”
“How was I to know you would beg to have hours-long sex on the floor the moment you saw me?”
She stuck her tongue out and tried not to swoon at his ghost of a smile.
“Do not worry. Teodora was too busy admiring your beauty to bother translating. She speaks maybe three words of English, and two of those are curses her grandson taught her.”
Funny how he could sound so normal sometimes. “Oh.” She rubbed at her temples as the ache subsided. “Well, still. She scared the shit out of me. Is that a secret passageway? Are there others? Do you know for sure if this place is haunted?”
“It is your average back corridor, there are many, and I would assume we are surrounded by spirits even as we speak. If nothing else, you and I will certainly entertain those who inhabit our room.”
A shiver rippled down her body. Caused by talk of ghosts or the X-rated entertainment she and Lucian would supply she didn’t know. She looked around, peering into the corners. “As long as you don’t want to join in, I have no beef with you,” she said to any spirits that might be hovering.
Lucian put out his hand. He was eyeing her body again. “The tour?”
Did he have an interest in anything but her limbs? “Sure. Then what? I mean, will you be going back to work? What kind of days do you put in when you’re having an episode like this?” Too harsh? she wondered when his eyes snapped to hers. At least it got them away from her breasts. “I’m still wearing the pasties if that’s what you were trying to determine.” She felt a niggling of guilt for being mean, and she skipped her way over to apologetically slip her hand into his.
“I’m not sure how much work I will get through during this episode. As this is the first time my brother was murdered, the way of things is still a mystery to me.”
Oh…shit. Instantly contrite, she stepped into him and cupped his expressionless face. Going on her toes, she pressed her lips to his. “I’m so sorry.” She gave him three soft kisses that he didn’t return. “It’s just that you keep looking at my body, and my brain isn’t down there. It’s annoying. But that was so bitchy of me. Of course, you don’t know what you’re doing. I’ll try to remember and not be so insensitive next time.”
He held fast to the back of her head when she went to pull away, and he kissed her. Though his was much more than a few affectionate pecks. He dominated in seconds, and she let him. She opened when he swiped along the seam of her lips. She met his tongue with hers and swirled them together, dancing for a brief moment. She instinctively stepped forward and felt every spot of connection when he snaked an arm around her waist to draw her even closer. By the time he lifted his head, she was breathing heavily, achy, and her fingers were tangled in his silky hair.
“Do not fool yourself into thinking I am not fully aware of exactly what I am doing, draga. My mind may be warped, but it is clear.” He traced the curve of her ass with his palm. “Mmm. You are correct. There is no brain down here. Funny how this mindless area captures my attention nonetheless. That must be where my interest currently lies, hmm?” As a sick feeling presented in her stomach, he whispered one of those ghost kisses on her cheekbone. “You asked yesterday; draga means ‘my darling’ or ‘my dear.’”
The sick feeling dissipated like candy floss in water and Yasmeen suddenly felt special. Needy and pathetic, but unmistakably special.
She smoothed his hair down and gave him a smile, hoping to receive one in return. “Okay. You’re clear but kooky, and you’re going to admire my ass for the next day or so. Got it. Now you can show me around this mausoleum.”
He released her after giving her a look that made the hair on her nape prickle. “Would you like to see the ballroom?”
“Sure. Show me your ballroom.” They walked out and crossed the foyer to travel along a passage lit by sconces that resembled flickering candles. “Why did you buy a castle, Lucian?”
“I did not buy it.”
“Oh. So this is like an extended B & E? Are you transferring all the re-sellable goods to a warehouse somewhere and we’ll leave a thank-you note on the door when we leave?”
He made a quiet sound of amusement, and murmured, “You did grow up in back alleys, didn’t you?”
That had her grinding to a halt. “Excuse me?”
He looked down at her. “Hunts Point. Correct? Just now, you spoke freely. When you do that, your roots come through.”
When she told someone where she grew up, she always said the Bronx. She never specified which neighborhood because of the judgment that inevitably came with it. He knew. Lucian knew she’d played in abandoned cars
and empty lots filled with garbage. Had he gotten details? Did he know she and her friends used to run errands for the local pimps? If they ran to the store for smokes? They walked away with a dollar they didn’t have before. If they got soaked in the rain running to the KFC on the corner? They’d get a chicken leg as payment.
She was standing in his fucking castle, wearing an outfit that would cover a couple of months rent for any of the families she’d passed through, and Lucian knew exactly where she’d come from.
She felt stripped. More naked than she’d been when she’d straddled him with not a stitch of clothing on her person. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her ribs. “You dug into my past?” There was an edge to her voice that would have had Miranda doing her stupid grab-the-fake-popcorn-and-settle-in-to-watch-the-show.
“I dig into everyone’s past.”
“Congratulations. You’re invasive and awful. So?” She tossed her head back when she felt the urge to bow it and try to hide. “What did you find out? You know, if you wanted to know me, you could have asked. I would have told you. You didn’t have to go behind my back and find out a bunch of shit that probably isn’t even true.”
His eyes narrowed as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He moved back until he was casually leaning on the wall. “I found out about Miranda Neilson and Eric Halston. I know you went to NYU with Kristen Sheppard and have remained friends even though she now lives in Paris. Why do you not have more friends?”
None of your fucking business. “Because I only need the ones I have. They’re perfect. Know why? Because they’d never think to invade my privacy the way you have.” Her fury over that was growing by the second. She hated people knowing her. She hated when they knew where she came from. She hated that she didn’t fucking know where she came from! “They’re friends who wouldn’t have drugged me and carted me to the other side of the world. They wouldn’t ever make me feel as if all I am to them is a cum dump. They wouldn’t ignore me as a person because they’re having a hard time dealing with their grief over the loss of a loved one. They wouldn’t invade my privacy!”
Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) Page 13
