A Ruthless Lust

by Raquel Belle

  Elaina gave her a seething glare. “Yet. You’re about to stoop way lower than I ever have, baby sister.”

  Her words hit Abby hard. So hard, in fact, that her breath hitched in her throat. She faced forward again and fell silent. Her sister wasn’t wrong.

  ***

  The atmosphere was grim. The group of family, friends, mourners and well-wishers were all dressed in black. Heads were bowed as the metal coffin was lowered into the ground. It was then that it really hit her—that her father was gone. Pain ripped through her and brought fresh tears to her eyes. She choked on her sobs, barely managing to hold them back.

  After days of crying, she was surprised that she’d had any tears left. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to her beloved father, and that was what hurt the most. A single tear trailed a hot path down her cheek, and she quickly dashed it away. Later…she decided, she would bawl her eyes out in private. She stole a glance to her right. Celeste, her mother, was stone-faced, and Abby nearly rolled her eyes. God forbid the woman should exhibit any human emotion. Elaina was beside Celeste, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Abby’s brows shot up. Elaina actually had feelings. A revelation indeed.

  Abby looked to her left at her younger brother, Wyatt. He was her favorite person in the world—next to their father. Wyatt scowled at the hole their father’s coffin was being lowered into, and she wondered what was going through his mind. He and their father hadn’t always gotten along. Was he as overcome with grief as she was…or was he worried about what would become of Aldridge Enterprises?

  Abby wished she could tell Wyatt not to worry, because she was about to fix everything. Soon, the company would be back in their hands, and Wyatt would eventually take his rightful place as their father’s successor…when he was ready. But she couldn’t tell him what she was planning. What would he think of her if he knew? Abby wouldn’t be able to stand Wyatt looking at her the same way he looked at their mother and sister. According to him, they were the two most manipulative and vindictive people ever to walk the earth. And there Abby was, about to become one of them. She would finally gain her mother’s love and approval—maybe—and, she would—probably—gain Elaina’s respect, but Wyatt would look at her with nothing but disappointment.

  Most of all, she would lose her sense of self. She let out a breath. Damn you, Damian Coldwell. Her fingernails dug into her palms as his name echoed in her mind like a taunting whisper. She watched—with mounting resentment for the man she didn’t know—as the dirt was shoveled to fill her father’s grave. At that moment, her resolve strengthened. It was a final and decisive moment. She would have her revenge. She was going to do it. Abby was going to avenge her father and protect what remained of her family.

  But first, she had to get through her father’s funeral.

  “Hey, are you alright?”

  Abby blinked, surprised to find that the crowd had already dispersed. How long had she zoned out for? She glanced at Wyatt and he winced. “Stupid question. Of course, you’re not alright. Where were you? You seemed to be in another world.”

  “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she said.

  “Yeah ... Neither can I. It’s like just yesterday he and I were arguing about something or other. I think I’m going to miss him.”

  “You think?”

  Wyatt’s shoulders lifted. “I might be too busy worrying about you. I know how much you adored him.”

  Abby let out a breath and squared her shoulders. She gave Wyatt a firm look and nearly burst into tears. He looked so much like their father—deep-red hair, the same build, the same facial features…

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she attempted a smile. “Who’s the older one here? Me or you? I’m the one who worries about you, Sprout, not the other way around.”

  Wyatt’s upper lip curled. “You should have stopped calling me that after I hit puberty. It’s emasculating. If we weren’t at the old man’s funeral with all of these counterfeit mourners, I would lecture you on your dogged persistence in using that stupid nickname.”

  Abby gasped. “Wyatt!” She glanced around to see if anyone had overheard her brother. He’d always been one to speak his mind, and he was never apologetic.

  He lifted a brow, unbothered. “Oh, come on, you know they’re all here to butt their noses into our business. A prominent member of society upped and hung himself. It’s the hottest topic of gossip right now.” Wyatt let out a huff of breath, “but never mind that … We’ve got to go. We’ve got to go back to the house to entertain and feed that mass of leeches.”

  “Wyatt ...”

  “You’ve been calling my name in that reprimanding tone a lot today, Abbs. Give it up. I won’t stop making smart-ass comments.”

  Her mouth twitched, but she forced down the smile. She was glad that she had decided to move back to Omaha, if only to be closer to her brother. He could always get a smile out of her. He moved toward the long line of cars parked in the cemetery. “Drive back with me so we can chat. I know you don’t want to get back into that car with Elaina. I can’t believe she showed up in that bright-ass-yellow Porsche. What an attention whore. Oops, do you think she heard me?” He grinned wickedly as he waltzed past Elaina.

  “I heard you, you little shit,” Elaina said.

  “At least try to act like civilized adults in public,” Celeste said. Her gray eyes landed on Abby. “Are you going to stand there all day? Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  By work, she meant turning her daughter into a manipulative bitch like her. Abby huffed and trailed after them as she murmured under her breath, “welcome home, Abby.” She was beginning to think she should have stayed in New York. She caught up to Wyatt, who studied her with suspicion.

  “What work would Mother dearest be talking about? She’s pretty much ignored our existence since our births. Now you two have work? Together?”

  “It’s nothing ... Just some stuff to clear up with the lawyer,” Abby said. She felt terrible for lying to the one person she was always honest with.

  His penetrating blue eyes roamed her face. “I see. Well, I hope you have fun.”

  Fun was the last thing she would be having for a while. Exactly how long did it take to ruin someone like Coldwell? Abby wondered. Weeks? Months? With a heavy heart, she stifled a groan and ducked into Wyatt’s car.

  ***

  Where the hell was he? Abby gulped down a glass of champagne, her patience wearing thin as she waited for Damian Coldwell. She surveyed the room with disdain. She never did understand why folks had to be so ostentatious for a charity event. It was a fundraiser for hungry children, for goodness sake. Why show off how much money you have with designer wear and excessive jewelry?

  Abby placed her empty glass on a tray and grabbed a full one as a waiter passed. She was bored out of her mind and on her way to getting very intoxicated. She’d expected Damian to show up by now. It was his event. It was hard to believe that an evil bastard like him could care about hungry children…or anyone else for that matter. She whipped out her phone and called her sister.

  “What is it, Abby?”

  “Hello, to you, too. He’s not here.”

  “What?”

  “Coldwell. He isn’t here. I thought you said this was his event.”

  “It is. He’ll be there. He's probably somewhere in the building screwing a socialite he just met.” Elaina’s tone rang with resentment.

  “What’s your deal, sis?”

  “None of your damn business,” Elaina said. “Just stay put and do everything mom and I told you to do. Trust me, he’ll show his face. Don’t screw this up, Abby.” Silence echoed on the other end of the line.

  Abby stared at the phone slack-jawed as the screen flashed call ended. With a huff, she shoved the phone back into her purse. Obviously, something had gone down between Elaina and the mysterious Damian. Abby knew bitterness when she heard it.

  “Is there a man in this state Elaina hasn’t slept with?” She asked herself, but her words were drowned out
by a hum of chatter, classical music and laughter. Elaina said to trust her. It was laughable. As if a bone in her sister’s body could be trusted. Elaina had proven time and time again when they were growing up that she had no one’s back but her own.

  Minutes ticked by, and her patience grew thinner. How rude of Damian Coldwell to not show up. If she didn’t see him soon and put her plan into motion, she might lose her nerve. “Show up you bastard,” she mumbled, wishing her words would make him appear. They didn’t, though.

  Giving up hope, Abby grabbed two flutes of champagne and squeezed through the crowd, aiming for the subdued lighting of the balcony. It was freezing outside, but she needed a few minutes away from the crowd with their cloying perfumes, Botox-stiff expressions and fake smiles. Abby might have grown up as one of the privileged few, but she never did fit in, nor had she ever wanted to.

  Stepping onto the balcony, she was hit with a puff of frigid air. “Son of a bitch, it’s cold.”

  A low chuckle carried on the wind from the darkest corner. “Then go back inside.”

  Abby whirled in the direction of the voice, causing champagne to slosh over the rim of the two glasses. She swore again, jumping back just in time to avoid getting her dress wet.

  Another deep chuckle which seemed to wrap around her resonated. It had to be the sexiest laugh she’d ever heard. The mystery man spoke again. “Such colorful language coming from such a pretty lady.”

  Abby peered into the darkness. “I’ve never claimed to be a lady, but thanks for the compliment.”

  That laugh wound its way around her again and she frowned, confused by her body’s reaction. She didn’t even know what the man looked like. For all she knew, he was another Henry Sullivan, overweight and old enough to be her father. Not that she was shallow enough to be interested in someone based solely on their looks—she didn’t even consider herself to be a great beauty. But, everyone appreciated a decent appearance. Her frown deepened. She couldn’t be interested in some faceless stranger with a silky voice that sent images of erotic nights flitting through her mind. She was at the event for only one reason.

  The girly part of her that wanted to have fun kept her rooted on the balcony though. Since Damian was nowhere to be seen, why not entertain herself by conversing with a stranger who hid in the dark like a killer waiting to strike? That last thought gave her pause, and she eyed the door leading back into the ballroom. All thoughts of skedaddling fled when he spoke again.

  “Two glasses of champagne at the same time?” he asked, amusement lacing his words. “Does someone have a problem?”

  Abby found herself wondering if his smile was as nice as his voice. “Boring night.”

  “Boring? With all those beautifully dressed rich folk? Impossible.”

  The clear, sarcastic note in his voice made her smile. She liked the guy already. “Yeah, I’ve always found listening to debates about whose yacht is bigger and whose summer vacation cost more to be rather titillating.” Her own words were bloated with sarcasm, and to her pleasure, the mystery man gifted her with the sound of his laughter.

  “You’re among the crowd, meaning you must be one of them.”

  “Consider me the black sheep of the wealthy. I generally balk at all the grandeur they’re so eager to flaunt. After all, it isn’t like you can take any of it with you.” Abby felt a twinge of grief move through her. Her father had worked tirelessly to make money on top of money—for all the good it did him. A shiver wracked her body—more from the memory that her father was no longer living than from the cold. The mystery man briefly stepped out of the dark and draped his jacket around her shoulders. His movement was swift, and the garment engulfed her before she’d even realized what was happening. Shocked, she stared at the jacket, and missed the chance to get a look at his face before he stepped away again.

  “Thank you,” she said. A spicy, masculine scent wafted over her, and she couldn’t help inhaling deeply. Goodness, mystery man smelled delicious.

  “You’re most welcome. Black sheep of the wealthy,” he said. “I like it. I suppose it describes me as well.”

  “Does it? Are you going to introduce yourself? Maybe you could step out of that dark corner so I can get a look at you?”

  Seconds of unused silence thickened the air. “I came out here for one reason—Black Sheep—to not be seen.”

  Her lips twitched at the new sobriquet. “I know why I’m out here. Why are you hiding, fellow Black Sheep?” She got the impression of him smiling, and wished she could see his face.

  “I got tired of listening to the same meaningless shit as you did. Needed some fresh air.”

  Abby leaned against the wall, resigned that she wouldn’t see what he looked like anytime soon, so she sipped from one glass while she held out the other in offering. “I haven’t touched it yet, I promise. And I haven’t spiked it either.”

  She didn’t think he’d accept, but a hand, nearly twice the size of her own, reached out and plucked the glass from her fingers. She caught a glimpse of bronzed skin.

  He laughed. “Thank you. I’m going to go out on a limb and trust you, Black Sheep.”

  She grinned. “If you hate this scene so much, then why did you come? You could have simply written a hefty check and stayed home.”

  “You could have done the same.”

  Yes, but then, she wouldn’t get the opportunity to meet Damian Coldwell and initiate the intricate series of events needed to bring him down. Clearing her throat lightly, she shrugged. “I, uh … I was invited by a friend ... but he didn’t show.”

  “A lover?”

  The way he purred the word lover made her gut clench. Was it possible to be attracted to someone based only on the sound of their voice and a glimpse of their hand? Abby shook her head. She needed to get laid, and fast…if that was all it took to tip her boat. “That’s hardly any of your business, fellow Black Sheep. You won’t even tell me your name.”

  “Touché.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Why did you come to this event?”

  “Ironically, I felt it appropriate to show my face.”

  “Why? The organizer of this shindig didn’t even show, so I doubt you’d be charged for not showing up.”

  There was silence again, and Abby swore she could feel his eyes on her. She should’ve been creeping out, but fascination won over. What color were his eyes? Were they warm? Piercing? He had to have sexy eyes to go with that sexy voice.

  “Are you acquainted with the organizer of this ... shindig?” he asked.

  Abby could barely stop the wave of hatred that rose up in her at the thought of Damian. She’d hoped to make the bastard’s acquaintance, but now maybe she’d throw away the plan to charm him into bed and just kick his ass instead. Wishful thinking of course. The pictures she’d seen of the man presented a physically imposing creature. “Damian Coldwell? No. Never met the man. But, he’s a pompous ass, if you ask me.”

  “Is that so?” The mystery man asked. “What an unkind thing to say about someone you’ve never met. How can you possibly know he’s a pompous man? It would seem he cares about others…seeing that he founded a charity to feed less fortunate children.”

  Abby scowled. A big Coldwell fan much? Maybe mystery man wasn’t so nice after all. “Two words, slave labor.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Well I’m just throwing it out there, but from what I hear about Damian Coldwell, I wouldn’t put it past him. Feed the hungry children. Sounds like they’re doing something nice on the surface doesn’t it? Well, what if the hungry kids are just people in a sweatshop in some jungle making sneakers. Doesn’t sound so nice after you dig a little deeper, does it? Rich guys get a break on their taxes and Damian gets to sell handbags or whatever that cost the price of a candy bar and retail at the price of a house”

  “Are you seriously comparing Coldwell to someone who uses slave labor?”

  “Of course not. Not even he can be that bad. You’ve completely missed my po
int. At first, one would say, oh, wow these rich people are so nice to children. But after finding out more about this whole thing, it's revealed that they’re still selfish monsters.”

  “So, beneath Damian Coldwell’s philanthropy, he’s still a selfish monster?”

  Abby shrugged and brought her glass to her lips. “You said it, not me. It’s just an example.”

  A roar of laughter made her breath hitch. No way was she turned on by a stranger’s laugh. Yes, she was. Good god ...

  “You’re an interesting woman, bonita pelirroja. And terrible for any man’s ego it appears.”

  Abby’s heart flipped. Pretty redhead. He called her a pretty redhead. She understood that much from her limited, Spanish vocabulary. He was Latino? But she detected no trace of an accent. Still, the stranger’s ranking went up several notches on the hotness meter. There was nothing hotter than a man who could whisper sweet nothings in a woman’s ear in a romantic language. Before she could swoon or throw out a witty comeback, a thunder of applause sounded from inside.

  Over the microphone, the announcer sang, “It’s time to hear from the man himself, Damian Coldwell.”

  Abby craned her neck to peer through the glass door. Coldwell was in the building. Still peering inside, she didn’t see her mystery man emerge from the shadows.

  When she turned back around, she gasped, coming face-to-face with the man she hated and vowed to destroy. The face that she’d stared at for hours while researching everything about him online. She even had a picture of him pinned to the wall of her bedroom to throw darts at.

  Damian Coldwell stood before her, all square-jawed, his eyes as dark as the night…staring back at her. She stepped back, a strangled sound of shock escaping her. No. No!

  Abby was mortified. For one, she’d spent their entire conversation building some strange blind attraction to the man. Two, she’d unwittingly insulted him in person. All hopes of seducing him—not to mention her plan—were dead. She’d ruined everything.