Mad Love

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “Very much.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Enough to come to me willingly?”

  This time. The words hang in the air between us.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry. Your threats against my family, they . . . your threats scare me. You scare me.”

  There, I admitted my worst fear to my tormentor. His next words send a new wave of fear crashing through me.

  “My enemy is my enemy, or is he my friend in disguise, drawing me out from beneath my guise?”

  A riddle. Or is he speaking the truth? Am I Blaise McCabe, Cillian’s child? Is my kidnapper a mind-reader, or does he know and understand me better than I do?

  “Do I know you?”

  “At one point in your life, we knew one another so intimately you gave me the gift of time.”

  Gift of time? I can’t recall knowing anyone so well that I gave them time. Time for what? God, this guy is off his rocker.

  “When? When did we know one another?”

  Silence, but I can feel him smiling on the other end of the line. The line goes dead, and I drop the phone onto the floor, too scared to throw off the covers, dress, and face the world alone.

  10

  Blaise

  “Has that dirtbag contacted you again?” Granger paces in the kitchen.

  As soon as I had the energy to acknowledge that the call did happen, and angry that he admitted to loving a sister I wasn’t aware of, I called Granger. Hearing the panic in my voice, he came over right away.

  “No. I called the number, but it’s disconnected.”

  “Figures he would use a burner cell.”

  I follow Granger’s movement with my eyes. His jaw is clamped, and his eyebrows are slanted downward toward his nose. I pepper him with questions, realizing he probably doesn’t have the answers, but I have to voice my thoughts.

  “Why did he choose now to resurface? Did he blow through the ransom money and is looking for a way to get his hands on more? But that can’t be it. I don’t have any to barter with, and my family won’t negotiate with him, not when he’s broken his promise. He says he knows me intimately and that I gave him the gift of time. You, the guys, and my cousins are the only guys I’ve been around.”

  “Are you certain you’re not suppressing something that you’re unwilling to acknowledge?”

  “Plain English, please.”

  “All I’m saying is what if there was a guy but your mind is choosing to suppress memories of him because you’re not ready to admit he betrayed your trust and hurt you?”

  Is Granger right?

  Needing something to do so I don’t pull out my hair strand by strand in frustration, I fix Granger’s favorite breakfast—two eggs scrambled, four sausage links, and a bowl of fruit, and then pour him a cup of coffee, black, no cream or sugar.

  “Did you put together a list of people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Anyone from the groundskeepers to your grandfather’s driver to his team of lawyers could have overheard or have known about the recent change made to his will.”

  I set his meal on the table, and sitting, I pick at my oatmeal.

  “Your grandfather never once told you of his plans to cut you out of his will?”

  “He eluded to it at his party.”

  Granger sits and scarfs down his food. Food and exercise is how he deals with stress. I cup the mug in my palms, and sipping my coffee, I give Granger’s theory of suppressed memories more thought. What guy do I know or have known who has the deep gravelly voice my kidnapper has?

  My kidnapper was in love with a girl he claims is my twin from when she was in her teens. He said I gave him the gift of time. Is he older? Is that what he means? If he was my age, sixteen, when I was kidnapped, his voice would sound more like a boy’s and with the occasional cracking, rather than a man’s.

  I remember well my cousins going through the changes as they went from teenagers to men. Yet, comparing his voice from last night to the days and nights he spoke to me, his identity hidden by a ski-mask, his voice hasn’t changed in tone or pitch.

  “You’re thinking awful hard, Blaise.”

  I blink. Granger is right. I’m staring forward with the coffee cup cradled in my palms midair.

  “What you thinking?”

  “That I shouldn’t have snuck past my bodyguards the night I went to see Collins.”

  “The night you were taken.”

  “Yes.”

  He wipes at the corners of his mouth with a napkin and studies me with his elbows resting on the table.

  “Having you guarded twenty-four-seven should have started the moment your parents’ plane went down.”

  “I see you’re still entertaining the idea their crash wasn’t an accident.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Well, don’t. My parents were good people taken from this world too soon by a tragic accident. End of story.”

  We’ve discussed his conspiracy theory ad nauseum, and after going round and round, Granger and I agreed to disagree. My parents did a lot of good during their time on this earth. Why would anyone have a reason to hurt them?

  “Either way, the men of your family gave you too much freedom for a girl with the kind of background you have. Wealth. Title. A surname that can be traced to British aristocracy.”

  “I’m not a snob, Granger.”

  “The reason a man can fall deeply for you, Blaise. You are smart, beautiful, courageous, and have a good head on your shoulders.”

  I roll my eyes at his string of compliments. “Too bad my head isn’t giving me ideas for making money fast. I have a huge party to throw.”

  Granger cleans off his plate, takes his dishes to the sink, and loads them in the dishwasher. Maddox doesn’t have a housekeeper or a cook, and that tells me he doesn’t spend his time in one place long enough to make a mess. That’s a good thing. The more he is gone, the faster time will fly, and soon, I’ll come up with a grand idea, make loads of money, dissolve the marriage, and buy my own place.

  Except there’s one huge problem.

  My kidnapper.

  “Any word from the team?”

  “Nothing. I’ll send them your list. Anything from your MIA husband?”

  “Flowers. Lots of them.”

  Granger glances around the room and smirks. Flowers in an assortment of colors fill the living space.

  “He better up his game, Blaise, or else I will have words with him.”

  “And what will you say? Apologize?”

  He grunts. “Marriage isn’t a joke.”

  “You forget he and I aren’t married in the true sense of the word. What we have is a business arrangement.”

  “Business or not, he has no right leaving you alone like this. Your grandfather is dead. He was buried this morning, and your family has the nerve to shut you out. Shutting you out publicly tells the world you are no longer a part of their family.”

  Good. It’s what he demanded my family do. No one on my team, including Granger and Collins, is aware of his threat to expose my father’s secret. What they know is he’s a threat again.

  Tired of the heaviness hanging in the air, I stick out my tongue at Granger.

  “You talk too much. Now let’s go over the requests.” There’s a stack of missing persons files on the table. “Afterward, I plan on whooping your butt in a game of Chinese checkers.”

  He leans in until his nose nearly touches mine.

  “Good luck with that, kid. You haven’t creamed me since I taught you how to play when you were in the hospital.”

  Kid. Hospital. The gift of time.

  They are clues and the answer is a haze in my brain.

  Who is my kidnapper? Wouldn’t my father have told my grandfather my biological mother was pregnant with twins? The two people who have the answers, and they’re gone from this earth. Except Cillian McCabe has the answer. But the thought of speaking with him scares me more than facing my kidnapper again.

  Cill
ian shot out a guy’s kneecap for pronouncing his name wrong, and is a stickler that things be in their proper places. That words spoken are refined and correct. With my oddities, I’ll be out of place in his orderly world, and one look at his face scarred by a fire will have me blubbering my words.

  I’ll be at risk of getting shot. Or, if I am his stolen child, Cillian will welcome me with open arms.

  My fear wins out over my need for answers. I still remember the burning pain of a bullet burrowing deep in my skin. For now, I’ll hold on to my belief until proof says otherwise.

  I am Jack and Violet Lexington’s daughter, and Sir Devlin’s strange and fascinating granddaughter.

  11

  Maddox

  Tired from the events of the past week, I check in with my guys at the front desk before heading to my place.

  “Any visitors?”

  “One, sir. A Granger Ward. He stayed two nights.”

  “Any packages other than the flowers?”

  “A few from the lingerie place down the street.”

  A burst of jealousy explodes through me. I rein it in and give my men a casual, “Thank you. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

  On the elevator ride, I lean against the cool metal and talk myself down from the unexpected urge to pummel Granger until he’s a bloody mess. Did he pull one over on me, letting me believe there’s nothing between him and Blaise except friendship? Am I so clueless, I can’t see the truth written in her handwriting?

  She added the clause about going outside the marriage for sex for a reason. Granger Ward is her fucking lover. The elevator stops and the doors open. I let myself inside my place with my fingerprint.

  Blaise is near-broke but isn’t after my money. No sex. No money. Yet, she wants my name for protection. What can I protect her from that her lover can’t? What is the mystery behind the fast nuptials? Jesus, is Blaise pregnant with Granger’s child? Is the child of a man with no title or wealth so shameful that Blaise’s family cut ties with her?

  The thought gets me angry, but what wins out, what is irrational and from left field, is my jealousy. Blaise should only be pregnant with my child, goddammit.

  Giving my anger and jealousy a rest—otherwise, I won’t sleep worth a damn—I shrug off my jacket and drape it over a kitchen chair.

  Other than the light illuminating from the pool room, my place is dark and quiet. It’s how I like it. I like my space and my privacy. Never have I brought a woman to my penthouse in the Bay Area except for my sister and Leigh Kim. My little sis doesn’t count. She’s family. I can say the same for Leigh, though she wasn’t family or a woman when I brought her here.

  Leigh was a reckless, troublesome teenager in need of guidance when she stole and crashed my Bugatti when she was sixteen. Fast forward two years, and I consider her a good friend. I hope she and that boy she likes, Seven Shanahan, have a nice time at their homecoming dance tonight.

  To think it was only two weeks ago that my guys found out Leigh’s mother had an affair with Seven’s uncle, Tony McCabe. Shit, first my sister and her ongoing testing of the guys I have guarding her, and now a young lady who is like a little sister to me is involving herself with a boy whose father is part of a large family rumored to be mobsters legitimizing themselves as reputable businessmen and women.

  And one of the McCabes, the most ruthless, will be paying me a visit, according to the message sent to me. Fuck sakes, who sends someone a box with a hand nailed to a piece of plywood with “will be in touch” written on flesh?

  Needing something other than alcohol or a woman’s body to take my mind off Cillian McCabe’s not-so-subtle message to keep my hands off the strip of businesses in southeastern Oakland, an area he controls through intimidation and bribery, I strip off my clothes. They fall where they land, and I step inside my sanctuary, lowering myself into the heated pool.

  Dunking my head in, I swim from one end to the other. Near the ladder on the other side, my fingers brush flesh. My eyes shoot open, and fuck me if I’m not looking into the widest eyes I have ever seen.

  “Blaise?”

  “Um, hello, Maddox.”

  She’s hiding behind the ladder with one arm across her chest and the other down low. I see the reason her hands are where they’re at.

  “You’re naked.” I keep my eyes on her face.

  “So are you.”

  She doesn’t give me the same courtesy. Her gaze trails down my body, lingers on my crotch, and returns to my face. Blood rushes from my head to my cock. I’m robbed of breath. My heart rate kicks up in my chest. I mentally tell my body to calm the fuck down. I’m only turned on because I haven’t had any action between the sheets in a long time. Yeah, that’s it.

  “Why are you hiding behind the ladder?” Dumb question on my part when the answer is obvious, but I’ve never had a naked woman in my pool.

  “I am not hiding.” Indignation flares in her beautiful eyes.

  I cross my arms, needing to do something with them. Otherwise, I’ll strike the same pose, and that’s lame. I mean, come on. I’ve seen plenty of women naked, and plenty of women have seen me in the buff. Blaise seeing me in my birthday suit shouldn’t make me self-conscious.

  But hell, does she like my body? Am I too muscular? Is she into guys on the leaner side? Do I have too much body hair?

  Blaise looks at me with her head cocked. Shit, am I thinking so hard that she can “see” the gears spinning in my head? Gia and Leigh have mentioned my laser-focused gaze when I’m over-thinking something, and having the two most important women in my life noticing must mean it’s true.

  I clear my throat and refocus.

  “Blaise, if it walks and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.”

  “Are you telling me I am one?” She tips her cute chin at me.

  “No, darling. I’m saying you’re a coward for hiding your beauty.”

  Using the word she dislikes, I get the reaction I’m going for. Jesus, I’m a bona fide jerk.

  Blaise ducks from where she’s crouched behind the ladder, and with her hands on her hips and her shoulders pulled back, giving me a view of perfect round tits, she says, “I’m not your lover, so stop calling me your darling.”

  “No, Blaise, you are something else altogether. You are my wife. My legally wedded wife. Until death do us part,” I remind her, my voice low and possessive as fuck.

  Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth. Changes her mind on what she was about to say. Closes her mouth. Her hand leaves her hip. Flutters to her neck. A hint of color tinges the crest of her cheeks. I suck in a quiet breath. Blaise Stassi is beautiful, and the cold creature I believed her to be isn’t cold after all. She is turned on by me. By my words.

  My dick comes to life, and hell yeah, she notices. Her gaze drops to my throbbing member. He’s standing erect in the water. I step toward her. She inches back, then realizes there’s nowhere to go. She’s up against the edge of the pool.

  Blaise sticks out her hands, palms out. “Maddox, please. I . . . I don’t like touching of any kind.”

  I point out the obvious. “The water is touching you. Satin and silk touches your skin. Granger was over for two nights. You ordered in lingerie. Am I missing something, Blaise?”

  “Yes, he was here. I can’t go into the reason, but the lingerie is for me and not to show him. I—” The color on her cheeks deepens to a fiery red. “I forgot to pack more panties and bras. And the touching thing, I . . . I can’t stand flesh on flesh, skin on skin. I can’t. Please understand.”

  Flesh on flesh abhors her so much that she’s begging for me not to touch her? Is her repulsion the reason she wears the softest materials on her skin? I shake my head. I am wrong about this woman. She isn’t wearing the most expensive materials because she’s a spoiled brat. She does so because the bastard who kidnapped her did something that made her hate the feel of someone touching her.

  “What the fuck did your kidnapper do, Blaise? Did he—” I close my eyes, relieving the nightmare of finding my
innocent sister with blood staining her inner thighs.

  “Did he violate you?”

  Fuck sake’s, I can’t even say the word rape. I open my eyes. When will I have the courage to speak with my sister about her trauma rather than watching her suffer from a distance? Or having other men keep an eye on her when it should be her big brother doing the watching over? But at twenty-two, Gia is her own woman, and she’s given me the proverbial middle finger for meddling in her life more than I should have.

  “None of that. He did other things, but never that.”

  “When you’re ready to talk—”

  “I won’t be, so please don’t bring it up again.”

  A fair request.

  “My apologies for missing our wedding night, Blaise. For not being there as you grieved your grandfather’s passing.”

  I’m a selfish prick for leaving her when she needed someone around the most, business arrangement or not.

  But it’s my selfishness that made me a millionaire by the age of twenty. Four years later and my drive for more money hasn’t died. In fact, I’m hungry to add to my growing billions. Marriage is a distraction I can’t afford to have.

  Marriage entails compromising, concessions, and faithfulness. With the world at my feet, I can have any woman. Every woman I come across wants a piece of me. Why settle with one woman for life? Yeah, I’m a selfish and self-indulgent bastard like my father. I look like a younger version of him too. No wonder Gia doesn’t want anything to do with me.

  My father would rather disown her than deal with Gia’s trauma. She’s a disgrace, he’d said before he slammed the door in mine and Gia’s faces. As though Gia was to blame for what happened to her. He would welcome me back with open arms, but only if I abandon Gia. I’m selfish, but I’m not cold. Fuck Dad and his plans for me assuming control of his shipping company when he retires.

  “Don’t be sorry, Maddox. I’m not your responsibility. Anyway, a man like you has needs.”

  Blaise’s soft voice brings me out of my anger for my father. He and I are alike, and someday, I’ll be like him. It’s the reason marriage and children aren’t in my future. Something bad will happen, and I’ll turn my back on them too, just like Dad did with Gia.