Spring Romance

by Bailey, Tessa

  Chapter Fourteen

  In the myth of the Minotaur, Theseus, son of King Aegeus, decides that he will slay the monster. He runs the beast through with a sword and then retraces his steps using the string, thus saving all the sacrifices that year and in the future.

  I’ve reached the center of the maze.

  I’m facing my very own Minotaur. His eyes glow with fierce possession. His hand captures mine, and then he’s pulling me down from the platform. We walk quickly through the haphazard leather chairs. He ignores the shouts and catcalls to share me. I still don’t have my shift or a bra. I’m naked down to my panties, and the last glimpse they have of me is my backside covered in white. Then we’re alone in a room with dim lamps and a fire in the hearth. Even with the heat, I shiver. Gabriel pulls off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

  Candy couldn’t give me a sword, but maybe she left me a ball of string. Hope to find my way back to myself when all of this is over. Maybe someday I’ll return to college. I’ll find love with a regular man and lead a normal life. I have to believe that, because if I have to wander these halls the rest of my life, I’ll go insane.

  “Why did you bid on me?” My voice shakes.

  Gabriel crosses the room and pours himself a glass of something amber. He takes a deep swallow. “For the same reason the other men did.”

  The small hope that I hadn’t even wanted to acknowledge, the wish that someone would save me, dies in that moment. “Of course you did.”

  He returns and hands me the glass. I take a sip and cough as it burns down my throat. Then I take another sip. Immediately I feel fortified, and I realize I should have started with this. In only a few pulls the world seems a little warmer, the sharp edges softened. I hand back the glass and pull the lapels of his jacket closed in front of me, hiding my extra-pink nipples.

  “My stuff is upstairs,” I whisper, my gaze darting anywhere but at him. Will he take me to that little room and fuck me there? Or will he do it in this room on an old leather armchair?

  He gives a rough laugh. One last swallow and the glass is empty. “Already making demands, little virgin?”

  I blink because I hadn’t thought I could demand anything. Hadn’t believed I’d have power. I’m already nothing, but inch by inch he reminds me that I’m even less. “It’s just…” My voice breaks. “My purse. My phone. A dress.”

  Because I’m naked under his jacket, which barely covers the place between my legs. I can feel cool air from the room slip underneath my panties with no hair to protect me. Everything feels more exposed down there, more vulnerable since Candy pulled the wax away.

  And then there are my breasts.

  The silk lining his jacket rubs against me. Candy was right about the lights washing me out in that dark room, spotlights aimed at the platform, but here in this room with just him and me, the rouge on my nipples highlights what he’s going to do to me.

  He takes a step toward me, and I back up. Another step. Another. My back hits the wall, and I turn away from him. He grips my chin and makes me face him. His gaze burns with lust, with possession. With an intensity that whips straight to my core.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says, his breath gentle against my forehead. “I bought you. You’re mine. You go where I say, when I say. And you do whatever the fuck I tell you to do.”

  I manage not to flinch. A million dollars.

  Meeting his gaze, I let him see the core of strength inside me, however thin, however deep. He can touch my body, but he can’t touch that. I told him as much upstairs. “Got it.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says.

  My stomach clenches in instinctive refusal. I press my lips together, facing him with mutiny in my expression. Would it be so bad? he asked me. Giving up control for a month? Letting someone else guide you? Letting someone teach you? Reluctantly I mutter, “Yes, sir.”

  The corner of his lips turns up. “Don’t fight me, little virgin. I’ll enjoy it too much.”

  That’s probably true. I lift my chin, determined to face whatever he throws at me. “What should I do?” I ask, challenging. “Should I get on my back? Or on my hands and knees?”

  “Still trying to control things,” he muses.

  I look away. “No, I’m trying to give you what you paid for.”

  “That might have worked with one of those assholes in there.”

  He reaches up to toy with a strand of my hair, almost tender. Then thick fingers push through the dark blonde locks. His fist clenches. I make a keening sound as he yanks my head back, his golden gaze looking down at me. My lips are parted in shock and pain—and something too dark to name.

  He studies my face, almost in reverence. “Here’s the thing about owning a virgin. For as long as I don’t fuck you, I still own one.”

  My breath catches. Does that mean he’s giving me a reprieve? Or does he have darker things in mind for me? He doesn’t have to fuck me to hurt me. He doesn’t have to take my virginity to get revenge.

  “Are you going to hurt me?”

  A soft breath of amusement. “Did Candy tell you all about her kinky games?”

  I feel my eyes widen. She likes kinky games? I remember her tucked into Ivan’s lap like a child, legs pulled up underneath her, hands folded almost in prayer. “She told me not to give in.”

  His smile spreads, slow and unbearably sexy. A man like him has no right to look that handsome. He should look like his insides: dark and cruel. “Good,” he says simply. “It will be more fun.”

  She told me other things, that by opposing him I would make him desperate for more. I don’t share that with Gabriel. He wouldn’t be afraid. He’d like the challenge of it.

  He pushes back from me, his lids lowered. “We’re leaving.”

  My hands tighten on his jacket. Every time I squeeze the fabric, a faint burst of masculine spice fills the air. “I have to go home, at least. I’m not trying to control you, but my dad—”

  “He’s taken care of.”

  I suck in a breath because that sounds more like a threat than reassurance. “What does that mean?”

  “A nurse is already with him. Tomorrow morning she’ll be replaced with the day nurse.”

  How did he manage that so quickly? Except that’s what money can do. It was only a year ago that I had money, my father’s money, but I’ve almost forgotten how powerful it can be.

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Christ.” He cups his hand around my neck, his fingers tightening enough to make me gasp. “Do you know what I would do to a man who questioned my word?”

  Don’t give in. I meet his gaze even though my eyes are watering, my lungs are burning. “Then do it,” I whisper. “If you don’t want to fuck me, then fucking do it.”

  He looks at me like I’m some kind of otherworldy species. Then he grins, for a fleeting second seeming unaccountably younger. His hand falls away, and I blow out a breath. “You’ll have to trust me, little virgin. If I wanted your father dead, he would be.”

  A shiver runs through me. The words shouldn’t be reassuring, but somehow they are. For Gabriel Miller the most important thing is his word, which is why my father’s cheating had to be punished. Which means that I can trust him…up to a point.

  He won’t lie to me, but he would honestly hurt me.

  A buzz comes from the table with the drinks, and he crosses the room to his phone. A quick glance at the screen. “My car is outside.”

  I look down at my bare legs. The jacket is large enough to cross over my front, but one wrong step, one gust of wind, and they’ll see everything. “But…”

  His expression turns dark. He reaches for me, and I flinch. Eyes of burnished gold narrow. When he grasps me behind my neck, I can’t help the low sound of animal fear that escapes me. With only that touch on my body, he leads me out of the room and into the hallway. Distantly I hear the sound of raucous laughter, of feminine moans. Did Damon bring out more women for them, nonvirgin consolation pr
izes?

  Holy shit. A million dollars.

  We head the other direction, toward the front door. I cringe as the door opens, revealing slick pavement and a driver standing beside a limo. By luck or by design, there’s no one else on the street.

  I take one step over the threshold and then shriek as my entire body is lifted into the air. My bare feet never touch the wet concrete. I’m sideways in Gabriel’s arms, the jacket askew, hopelessly revealed for anyone to see. I only catch a glimpse of the valet averting his eyes before I’m tossed unceremoniously onto the leather seats. Gabriel steps inside after me. The limo glides forward.

  Chapter Fifteen

  As armor goes, the suit jacket leaves a lot to be desired. It has beautiful stitching, expensive fabrics, but it’s tailored to fit a man much larger than me. And it has the musky scent of him, a constant reminder that we’re both possessions. Soon I’ll smell like him too.

  He deposits me in a room as easily as he might sling his jacket over the chair. It’s a strange room but a comfortable one. A deep-set wraparound couch fills most of the space, the pillows covered with canvas that has sketches of random objects—an antique typewriter, an old-looking telescope. One wall has exposed brick, not the industrial red brick of Justin’s loft, but a beige and brown mosaic that feels almost soft. A large burnished iron chandelier casts yellow light on the dark wooden beams that crisscross the white ceiling.

  On a small end table there’s a shiny silver phone with a circle for numbers. I wonder if it’s functional. And if it is, I should probably call home and make sure a nurse is actually with my father.

  Then again, I already did our evening routine before I left for the auction. I might use the time better by taking a drink from the bar setup with a copper rolling cart. How hard will this be? How much will it hurt? Judging by the way he cornered my body against the wall in the Den, estimating the size of his body relative to mine, quite a lot. Something amber-colored or even clear ought to fortify me.

  Then the door opens, and Gabriel stalks inside. He reclines on the corner of the large sectional, one leg slung over the other, his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing deeply tanned forearms. He isn’t a man who gives orders from the comfort of an air-conditioned penthouse office.

  “Getting comfortable?” he asks, his expression unreadable.

  “Should I be?”

  “You’ll be here for a month,” he says, which doesn’t really answer the question.

  “In this room?” I ask, keeping my tone bland. Like his. “In this suit jacket? Or will there be a bed and clothes at some point?”

  “God, your tongue,” he says with a groan that reverberates through my body. “We’re going to have so much fun, your tongue and I.”

  That sounds ominous, but of course it does. Everything he says is designed to scare me. Everything he does is designed to knock me down. That’s part of the push and pull that Candy warned me about, but that doesn’t make it any less real. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying. How did she remain so calm in the face of this? How was her expression so serene curled up in the arms of a killer? She’s a puzzle I haven’t figured out, and it feels somehow imperative that I do.

  “Look at you,” he murmurs. “You know just enough to be scared, don’t you?”

  I shake my head because I don’t know anything. I’ve heard about blowjobs and sex. Harper’s even told me about anal sex, how two men can have you at the same time. It’s not his sex that scares me—it’s power. What will Gabriel Miller do to me tonight? Will he rip away the jacket and throw me to the floor? Will he thrust inside me, fast and hard and merciless?

  He looks considering. “I could tell you there’s pleasure too, but that wouldn’t help you, would it?”

  “That scares me too,” I whisper. It actually scares me worse, because pain would be easy to hate. Pleasure is a strange concept to a girl who’s lost everything, far too tempting.

  He nods, gesturing to the floor at his feet. “We won’t start there. Not for you. Kneel, little virgin. There’s something you need to learn.”

  I almost don’t make it across the two feet of deep shaggy rug. My knees buckle when I’m in front of him, folding my body like an accordion. Then I’m shivering in front of him, wrapped up in Italian fabric, a package waiting to be torn open.

  His touch is achingly gentle—a single finger, the blunt of it on my collarbone. Only that, and my skin tightens beneath his touch. Fighting him? Welcoming him? I don’t know, but when he trails his finger lower, pushing the suit lapel aside, I go cold. My hands unclench in degrees, allowing him to pull the suit jacket open.

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze meeting mine. “Did he see these?”

  My nipples tighten as I remember the hungry gaze of every man in that room. “Everyone saw them.”

  “I mean that fucker who put a ring on your finger.”

  Justin, who at this moment might be at my father’s house. “He saw them.”

  “Did he touch them? Lick them? Put clips on your nipples?”

  Deep inside I feel something twist, the turning of a screw. “No.”

  “Pretty little virgin,” he says, almost sad.

  There’s something feral about this man, a fire that burns inside him, untamed. He could have tossed me down as soon as we got in the house. He could have fucked me on that platform for an audience if he wanted to. As hard as this is, it could have been worse.

  Gabriel didn’t buy my hymen, that’s what Candy said. He bought the right to teach me. And in the same way, I didn’t sell my virginity. I bought security. An unlikely tenderness surges within me. I place a hand on his thigh, intimidated by the warmth of him through his slacks, the hardness of the muscles I feel. But I won’t be deterred. Not when I know the gray-haired man wouldn’t have been so patient.

  “You can touch them,” I say, feeling almost shy. “You can…lick them. If you want.”

  He looks at me, almost disbelieving. “Christ.”

  “Or should I do it to you?”

  “A blowjob?”

  I assume that’s coming, especially if he wants to continue to own a virgin, as he put it. “I can lick your nipples.” Embarrassment heats my cheeks. “Does that feel good for you?”

  He’s completely still a moment, a statue made of stone.

  Then he leans forward, grasps my hair in his fist, and shakes. “You’re so fucking innocent. Do you get that? So fucking breakable.”

  He seems almost angry, but I don’t understand. I thought he liked my innocence. I thought that was the whole point. In the face of his fury, my lack of knowledge feels shameful. I shrink back, but his grip holds me tight. “What did I do wrong?” I ask, my voice even.

  “Nothing,” he says, almost a snarl. “You’re fucking perfect. An angel. A sacrifice on a marble altar. You’ll give up every part of yourself just to save your precious fucking father, won’t you?”

  He pushes me aside and strides from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  I suck in deep breaths where I’ve fallen on the plush rug. Shock and fear form a toxic mixture inside me. I held out hope that my father’s complete and total ruin would be enough for Gabriel Miller. Held out hope he wouldn’t want to take it out on me. Now I realize how innocent that hope was. The pale-eyed man was right—the debt would be taken out of my skin.

  And the fact that he hadn’t fucked me quickly isn’t a kindness. It means that he’ll make it slow. That he’ll draw out my torture. That he will make every penny count.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I catch my breath, I don’t waste my opportunity. I stand on wavery legs and head straight for the copper liquor cart. There are a large assortment of bottles and decanters, some of them with labels. Jack Daniels and Anejo Tequila.

  The only alcohol I ever tasted is a few stolen sips of champagne at a society party. I can’t know that these bottles are expensive, except the rest of the house is expensive. And I suspect that a few of the bottles are made of actual gold and
platinum, not just colored metal. There’s a crown of small diamonds on one of them. God, does he just throw this away when he’s drunk it all? The excess of the wealthy bothered me sometimes, but it seems almost cruel now that I’m broke.

  Excess or not, I’m not going to drink his super expensive alcohol. For all I know he’d bill me for every thousand-dollar sip. He isn’t actually that petty, especially with the casual way he accepted the responsibility of a nurse for my father without argument. But I still would feel too strange even touching those bottles, like a small child playing with her mother’s jewelry.

  Near the back of the cart, tucked behind some wine, I spot a plain-looking bottle of clear liquid. There’s a label, but it’s scrawled by hand, the blue ink faded. I squint and try to make out the words. The date’s about ten years ago—probably the newest alcohol on this cart. And definitely the cheapest. It’s almost full. He wouldn’t notice if I took a small shot. He wouldn’t care.

  At least that’s what I tell myself when I rummage through the glasses for the smallest one. It’s small and square-shaped with a thick, heavy bottom. I twist open the top and pour a splash in. So small.

  “Here’s to nothing,” I murmur before throwing back the shot the way I’ve seen in movies.

  The liquid burns down my throat and then throughout my body, spreading like a flame, and I cough, struggling to breathe. Dear God, that tastes like rubbing alcohol. If rubbing alcohol were on fire. That can’t be how alcohol is supposed to taste, can it? No wonder he had this one shoved to the back.

  I can’t deny that as the burn fades I feel a little more relaxed. I suppose that means it’s doing its job. If this is what alcohol does to people, no wonder they drink.

  Liquid courage. That’s what it’s called, and I use the courage to pick up the silver phone. Look at that, the rotary circle actually turns. I don’t know the number to the night nurse who’s supposedly there. And our landline was one of the first expenses to go when things turned bad.