Cruel Paradise (Beautifully Cruel Book 2)

by J. T. Geissinger

  Declan’s smile vanishes. I think he’s angry about the threat, but then he says with quiet astonishment, “He told you his real name.”

  “He told me a name. I have no idea if it’s the real one or not.”

  “Oh, it’s the real one, lass,” says Declan, gazing at me with furrowed brows. He doesn’t look as if he approves of this development.

  “If you’re worried I’ll tell anyone, don’t be. I don’t care if he wants to call himself Jabba the Hutt. I don’t care about anything to do with him at all. I just want you guys to leave. And stay gone.”

  Declan cocks his head and narrows his eyes at me. From his jacket pocket, he produces a pack of cigarettes. He shakes one out, sticks it between his lips, puts the cigarettes back into his pocket, and fishes a Zippo out of another pocket.

  Then he lights his smoke, all the while staring at me like I’m an interesting but untrustworthy riddle.

  “You’re upset.”

  “And you’re a genius. Now leave.”

  “What did he do?”

  When I sigh heavily, rolling my eyes, Declan says, “Because if anyone knows how he can be, it’s me.”

  I say drily, “That’s a fascinating tidbit of information. Bye now.”

  I turn to walk away, but Declan calls out, “I’ve never seen him like this before, lass. He’s crazy about you.”

  I stop in my tracks, my face heating instantly. I whirl around and send Declan a murderous glare. “Tell your boss I’m not as dumb as he thinks I am. And that he can go to hell.” I laugh darkly. “And that I got my period. That should pop his scheming little bubble.”

  I walk up the apartment steps with my head held high and my heart breaking.

  When I get back inside, I head to my room and close the door. I stand by the window, looking out at the street, until both SUVs pull away. I’m a little surprised, but if Declan told Killian what I said, maybe he’ll leave me alone now. Maybe he’ll find some other girl to seduce and lie to.

  Hopefully, she’s smarter than me and will take pruning shears to his balls.

  I get another pregnancy test from the bag in the top drawer of my dresser, then go into the bathroom and pee onto the little white stick.

  I sit on the toilet for two minutes that feel like two hours, staring at the damn thing.

  I release the breath I’d been holding when the results are negative.

  But I still haven’t had my period, and it was due yesterday.

  Nine days after I had unprotected sex.

  One day after the earliest the test could possibly detect pregnancy hormones.

  I go to bed early with a bad feeling the rest of the week is going to be a nightmare.

  I wake up in the middle of the night with the distinct sense that someone else is in the room with me.

  I don’t move or give any indication I’m awake. I just lie on my side, facing the wall, listening hard over the drumbeat of my pulse. The room is dark and silent. Where did I leave my knife?

  “If you’re looking for your knife, it’s on the bathroom sink. Next to the pregnancy test wrapper.”

  The voice is low, calm, and unmistakable. My blood turns to fire in my veins.

  I sit up abruptly, turn on the light on the nightstand, and stare at Killian sitting with one leg casually crossed over the other in an armchair across the room.

  He’s in his Armani power suit. The one he wears like a suit of armor. The one that makes him look elegant and dangerous, a hungry tiger dressed in a gentleman’s clothes.

  His eyes are dark and glittering. Not even a hint of warmth softens the hard angles of his face.

  I say, “Get out.”

  “No.”

  We stare at each other. My hands begin to shake. My mouth goes bone dry. “What do you want?”

  “You. But you already know that.”

  He’s deadly serious. Feeling vulnerable, I pull the sheets over my chest. I’m wearing a short cotton nightgown and nothing else.

  Watching every minute change of expression on my face, he says, “So we’re not pregnant.”

  We. I could kill him. “No, I’m not pregnant.”

  Gazing steadily at me, he drums his fingers slowly on the arm of the chair. A muscle slides in his jaw. I sense his frustration and disappointment, but I don’t know if it’s directed at me or at what I’ve just told him.

  “If you don’t believe me, go look at the test yourself. It’s in the trashcan in the bathroom.”

  “I know where it is.”

  The stare-off continues. The room feels as if it’s too hot. Too close. I’m starting to sweat. I’m definitely starting to get claustrophobic.

  “I want you to leave. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  A faint, dangerous smile curves the corners of his mouth. He says softly, “Don’t you?”

  I curl the sheets in my hands to try to control their shaking. “No, I don’t. And I’m not interested in your games. So whatever this is—”

  “I don’t like it when you lie to me. I want to know why you’re doing it now.”

  My skin feels like it’s on fire. At any moment, my nightgown and the sheets and the bed itself are going to burst into flames. “I don’t care what you like or don’t like. And I don’t owe you any explanations. About anything.”

  His voice drops. His eyes burn. The slow, steady drum of his fingers on the arm of the chair continues. “You owe me the truth, thief. If nothing else, you promised me that.”

  “You’re the one who walked out of that motel room, not me.”

  His eyes flare. For a brief moment, his fingers fall still. Then he exhales and resumes the slow, steady drumming.

  I know that if I were a man, I’d be shitting myself in fright right now. It’s obvious he’s controlling his temper by sheer force of will.

  But I’m not afraid of him. This is my house. He can go back to whatever rock he crawled out from under.

  “Get out.”

  “We’ve already been over that. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re lying to me.” He narrows his eyes. “And what you meant when you said ‘I figured it out.’ And also what you meant when you told Declan you’re smarter than I think you are.”

  “Exactly that.”

  When I don’t offer more, he stands. He stares down at me with half-lowered lids and slowly unbuttons his suit jacket.

  I remember how he told me he’d take me over his knee if I lied to him again, and my heart explodes in panic.

  “Don’t you dare,” I whisper, scooching closer to the wall.

  “Why, little thief. You look frightened. Whatever is it you think I’m going to do?”

  He’s mocking me, the son of a bitch. Stepping toward the bed like he’s got all the time in the world, his smile small and his movements leisurely.

  Anger gives me wings.

  I leap to my feet on the mattress, throw down the sheets, and holler, “Get the hell out of my house, you arrogant bastard!”

  His small smile turns to a dangerous grin. “There’s my hellcat,” he says in a pleased, husky voice, still advancing. “I wondered how long it would take for the claws to come out.”

  He whips off his jacket and tosses it to the floor.

  He lunges for me.

  I yelp and jump to one side, but he’s too fast. He catches me easily, grabbing me in the steel vise of his arms, and takes us down to the mattress.

  He lands on top of me, pins my arms over my head, and gives me his full weight, trapping me.

  I don’t bother trying to struggle. I’d probably just dislocate something, and it wouldn’t work anyway. He’s far too strong for me to escape. So I simply lie underneath him, breathing hard and glaring up into his smug, handsome face.

  Looking down at me, he says, “You are, by far, the most beautiful goddamn woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “And you are, by far, the worst liar I’ve ever met. You should get a trophy. Biggest Bullshitter Alive.”

  “So angry,�
� he breathes, moistening his lips.

  Crap. I’m turning him on. What’s worse is that his scent is in my nose and his big hard body is all over me, pinning me down, reminding me exactly how good it feels to have him inside me.

  “What have I done now to incur your wrath? Aside from honoring your request to leave you alone, that is.”

  “Oh, look, he’s talking like a dictionary again.”

  He puts his mouth next to my ear. “Would you prefer I tell you how much I want to shove my cock deep into that sweet cunt of yours and fuck you until you forget how much you hate me?”

  I growl at him through gritted teeth, but it only makes him chuckle.

  “I didn’t think so. You probably don’t want me to tell you how this past week has been a living hell for me, either.” He chuckles again, inhaling against my neck. “Or maybe you do. Maybe you’d love to know how I haven’t been able to eat. Or sleep. Or do anything but think about you.”

  His voice drops to a whisper. “Tell me you missed me, too. It almost killed me not seeing you.”

  “What doesn’t kill you, disappoints me.”

  “Tell me you thought about me.”

  “I did. It reminded me to take out the garbage.”

  He laughs. It’s a deep, satisfied, masculine laugh that really makes me want to gouge his eyes out.

  “Okay, thief. Now tell me the truth: what did you mean on the phone when you said you figured it out?”

  I turn my head, refusing to look at him.

  When he presses a gentle kiss to the sensitive spot underneath my earlobe, I close my eyes. “That’s not going to work.”

  He murmurs, “I’ll have to do better, then.”

  He brushes his lips slowly up and down the length of my neck, trailing the tip of his tongue over my skin as lightly as possible.

  I force myself to suppress a shudder.

  “No? Hmm. How about this?”

  He gently sucks on my throat. It sends a starburst of pleasure zinging through me, but I lie still and silent, hating that he can make me feel so much when all I want him to do is drop dead.

  Against my pelvis, his erection throbs. He presses his hips into mine, gently sucking my earlobe. I have to bite my lip to keep silent.

  When he moves down from my throat to my chest and nuzzles his nose against my nipple, I can’t help the gasp that slips from my lips.

  He whispers, “Your nipples are hard, thief.”

  “It’s cold in here. Get off me.”

  “Tell me the truth, and I will.”

  He gently kisses my nipple, then sucks on it through the cotton, drawing it into the wet heat of his mouth. I don’t tell him to stop, because it feels too good, but also because emotion is fighting its way up my throat, silencing me.

  He’s using me. I know it, but I’m a fool because it all feels so real.

  When I drag in a hitching breath, he raises his head. His hands are big enough that they can trap both my wrists. He keeps me pinned down with one hand but takes my jaw in the other and turns my face toward his.

  “Open your eyes.”

  “No.”

  Very gently, he kisses me. “Baby. Open your eyes for me.”

  My voice comes out hoarse. “If you call me baby again, I will make it my mission in life to destroy you.”

  He’s still for a moment. I can tell he’s searching my face, but I refuse to look at him. Then, in one swift, surprising movement, he rolls onto his back and takes me with him.

  He clasps his arms around my body and holds me against him, cupping a hand around the back of my head. We’re chest to chest, belly to belly, thighs on top of thighs, our bodies in alignment. I know he won’t let me go, so I simply hide my face in his neck and lie on top of him, struggling to regulate my breathing.

  He exhales a heavy breath. “Whatever it is you think you figured out, you’re wrong.”

  “Of course you’d say that.”

  “Try me. What’s this theory of yours?”

  “I’m not telling you anything.”

  He squeezes me, pressing a kiss to my hair, then exhales again. “All right.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I lie in silence, wondering what new tactic this is and hating myself for liking what a comfortable mattress he makes, until he says softly, “For the record, I think you’ll make an amazing mother someday.”

  I choke back a sob and pound a fist onto his big, stupid chest.

  He whispers, “Violent, but amazing.”

  “Stop talking. Please stop talking. My heart can’t take much more of this.”

  He gives me another squeeze and mercifully shuts up.

  He holds me like that, cradling my head and rubbing slow circles over my back, until I can breathe easily again. Under my ear, his heart beats a slow, steady thump.

  I whisper, “This isn’t right, what you’re doing. I’m a person, not a Kleenex.”

  His hand on my back falls still. “I’m aware that you’re not a Kleenex. What the hell does that even mean?”

  “It means that I have feelings. I’m not…” I suppress a sob. “I’m not something to be used and thrown away.”

  His body is completely frozen for a few seconds. Except for his heart, which has started pounding, every part of him is still.

  Then he rolls me onto my back, rises up on an elbow, and takes my face in his hand. His eyes blaze with emotion. His voice is urgent and rough.

  “I swear to you, I’m not using you. What would possibly make you think that?”

  My god. The man is an exquisite liar. Oh, now I remember: he said acting didn’t come until after he turned to a life of crime.

  He should win a damn Oscar for this performance.

  When I don’t answer him, he says, “Everything I’ve done and said til now, every single word I’ve spoken to you has been the truth.”

  I groan, closing my eyes.

  He grips my face more tightly, leans closer to my ear. “Every fucking word, Juliet. Goddammit. Where is this coming from?”

  “Just go,” I whisper, miserable. “Please just try to find one tiny bit of decency inside you and leave me alone. Forever.”

  He’s breathing hard, holding my face like he’s never going to release it. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell this is about.”

  “No. Go!”

  “Look at me.”

  “No.”

  He roars, “Stop fucking hiding!”

  That does it. All my sad self-pity evaporates like two fingers snapping and is instantly replaced with thermonuclear rage.

  I open my eyes and let him see every ounce of my fury.

  But somehow my voice stays eerily, coldly calm.

  “You’re the one who’s hiding, Killian Black. Liam Black. Whoever you are. You’re the one with secrets. You’re the one with an agenda here, not me.”

  “What agenda?” he says angrily. “What are you talking about?”

  I’m so frustrated by this farce that it just comes out. I shout it right into his face.

  “I know you’re a narc, so you can cut the shit now, okay?”

  He blinks. His brows draw together. Cocking his head, he stares at me in what looks like sincere confusion. “You think I’m a narcotics agent?”

  “No! A narc, like a police informant! You made a deal to stay out of prison and now you’re on the cops’ payroll!”

  After a beat of astonished silence, he starts to laugh.

  He rolls off me and lies on his back, gripping his stomach and laughing heartily up at the ceiling like I’ve just told him the funniest joke in the world.

  I jump off the bed and stand staring at him, my arms folded over my chest. “Admit it. You’re using me to get to my father.”

  He laughs harder. His face is turning red.

  I go into my closet, pick up the nearest shoe, then go back into the bedroom and throw it at him. It hits his tree trunk of a thigh. He ignores it. He’s too busy laughing.

  I have to shout to make su
re he can hear me over all the noise. “Keep it up and I’ll use your fat head for target practice, you jerk!”

  He finally gets control of himself, sighing in pleasure and wiping his eyes. Then he rises from the bed, picks up his suit jacket from the floor, and slings it over his broad shoulders.

  Smiling warmly at me, he says, “Thank you for that. I haven’t laughed like that in…” He pauses, thinking. “Ever.”

  He crosses to me and kisses my forehead. With a finger crooked under my chin, he tilts my head up and looks into my angry eyes. His own are warm and soft.

  “My offer still stands, lass: tell me you’re mine and mean it, and I’ll tell you everything. Until then, keep guessing. I can use the laughs.”

  He turns around and walks out my bedroom door.

  27

  Jules

  When I get up in the morning to use the toilet, the water in the bowl is red.

  My period has arrived.

  My initial reaction isn’t what I expected. I assumed I’d feel a huge wave of relief, like a weight had been lifted. That does come, but first there’s an uncertain pang of melancholy, a faint sense that I lost something important I wasn’t sure I wanted in the first place.

  When I relay that to Fin, she looks at me in surprise. “That’s called ambivalence, hun.”

  “Ambivalence.” A word that could be used to sum up my entire relationship with Killian Black.

  That or “insanity.”

  I go to work in a fog of confusion. I almost liked it better when I was so sure Killian was using me. At least that felt definite. Painful, but definite. But now I’m back where I started, wandering blindly in a maze.

  I suppose he could’ve been putting me on, but boy, that laughter felt real. It was real. He thought my idea that he was an informant for the police was hysterical.

  When I get home from work that evening, the big black SUVs are parked back out front. Seeing me in the apartment window, Declan sends me a jaunty salute. I answer with the royal wave like the Queen of England does, all stiff wrist and superiority. He laughs, shaking his head.