“Fuck,” he muttered as he watched it come to the front door and park. The next sight was not a pleasant one at all, and certainly one he didn’t want Elizabeth around for. The long, slender leg and very blonde hair were followed by a flirtatious smile as she gazed across at them with the devil resting on her treacherous shoulders. Caroline Anderson. What the hell was she doing here? And how much fucking nerve had the woman got? At his home? Really? Christ. He turned back to the only woman he did care about. “This isn’t finished. Go in the damn house,” he said quietly. Caroline had already gotten a display of his anger. He wasn’t going to give her any more ammunition to blackmail him with.
“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Is this another dirty little secret, Alex? Have you fucked this one as well? Of course you have. Who haven’t you fucked? Come on, Alex, introduce me to your little friend. Maybe she can enlighten me as to who the hell you men think you are,” she replied a little too loudly. Caroline cackled behind him. He could have killed the bitch instantly. And why had she suddenly said men, as in plural? Fucked if he knew.
“I don’t want you involved in this. Go inside,” he said again, trying for calm. It wasn’t working. However, his dick had at least deflated at the sight of Caroline.
“No,” she replied as she marched away from him defiantly towards the enemy. “I’ll introduce myself, shall I?” Where the hell this woman had appeared from was a complete enigma - sexy as fuck, yes, controllable, absolutely not. This was not going to end well. The thought of her finding out about this shit was enough for all rational thought to disappear. He caught her arm and drew her back to him with a very sharp tug.
“Get inside the house. Right. Fucking. Now. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret,” he seethed quietly in her ear. She stilled instantly so he pulled back to look at her. All colour had drained from her face, which instantly made him feel sick, but he kept up his malicious stare in the hope that it shocked her enough to listen. He just wanted her gone.
“Alex?” she whispered as her beautiful lips parted and he watched the tears form in her eyes. Her breath shook with each inhalation as she struggled against his grip, eventually dislodging herself and staring at him with searching eyes. Her face was a picture of betrayal and hurt. She wasn’t scared. No, she was disappointed, possibly disenchanted, and she was right to be because he’d just given her a hint of the bastard he was. She eventually dropped her eyes to the floor and headed for the door with a shattered expression. He knew he’d just crossed a line and it was a line he’d have to work damn hard to get back over but it was too bad. He needed to get this bitch off his property and out of his fucking life. Elizabeth didn’t need to see or hear what was about to happen, so he waited until she’d closed the door and then turned on Caroline with no thought whatsoever. He was damned if he’d keep having this conversation with her any longer. There was enough shit going on without her adding to the mix.
“What the fuck do you want?” he shouted as he pushed her to the side of her car. Her sickly sweet smile vanished instantly as she squirmed against him.
“Well, I…” she stuttered. It was pathetic and quite unlike her. Perhaps fear was the best way forward.
“You’ve got ten seconds to come up with something useful to me, otherwise I might just break your fucking neck,” he said, tilting his head as he took a step backwards and left her to think. She had a choice to make. She could keep pushing this or she could let it go. He was hoping she’d make the right decision. Her face contorted as she tried to work out how serious he was. She should have known better. She’d seen him in action. He meant every fucking word.
“Alexander, I still have it. You know what it could do to you,” she said snidely as she made the wrong damn choice. Christ, he hated dense women. He didn’t give her a second to think, gripping her by the wrist, he spun her away from the car and opened the door. Then shoving her in, he stormed round to the driver’s side and got in.
“Buckle up, Caro. We’re going for a little drive,” he said quietly as he slammed the Mercedes into reverse and hit the accelerator.
“No... Where are you taking me? No, Alex...” she stammered as he floored it up the drive.
“Shut the fuck up. I told you I wouldn’t do this again. I fucking meant it. You’re a useless fucking whore. It’s about time you got what’s coming to you. Did you think we’d do this forever, Caro? Did you think you’d hold this over me for the rest of my life?” he said with utter contempt as he pondered her pet name. Conner’s voice rung in his ears, reminding him of his own self-loathing, which led him back to what he’d just done to the woman he loved.
“Alexander, please, I didn’t mean... I just need the money,” she stuttered again. It pissed him off more. This was all her own fault. He’d given her so many opportunities to back off and leave him the fuck alone.
“I don’t give a shit. You’ve played me for the last time. Christ, your pussy wasn’t even that good,” he replied quietly as he remembered the last time he’d fucked her. Slack was the best word he could find.
“Please don’t do this. I’m sorry.”
Yeah, whatever. Sorry meant not a damn thing in this world, especially not from someone who meant so little to him. She was an irritation he simply didn’t need any more. The quicker she was disposed of the better.
“Too late, Caro. Too damn late,” he seethed as he shook his head and headed towards Eden. Pascal could use a woman like her, or he’d at least send her to one of his many friends to play with. She wouldn’t be seen or heard from for a very long time. It was exactly what was needed, and he sure as hell wasn’t marking his own fingers with her.
“No. God no. I’ll burn it, okay? Please...I’ll destroy it. I promise. Please... Fuck, where are you taking me?” she screamed as she grabbed at the door handle. He pressed the internal lock system and kept driving, then considered unlocking it so she could throw herself out into oncoming traffic.
“You know exactly what’s happening here, Caro. You know who you’re fucking around with. You always have. Maybe you’ll learn some manners in someone else’s hands,” he replied quietly as he thought of her being sent to Europe in a crate, or maybe being bought by one of Pascal’s associates and sent across to Dubai for some prince to entertain himself with. Oddly, the vision didn’t present the kind of satisfaction he’d normally feel. Instead, that sense of guilt or maybe even shame hit him in the gut. His mind wandered back to Elizabeth as he felt Caroline tugging at his arm and begging.
“Please, Alexander, please... Don’t do this. I can’t deal with it. You know what’ll happen if you let him take me. Shit, you can’t be this heartless. Please...” She screamed at him as she hit his arm and frantically threw herself at the door again.
She was wrong. He was this heartless, or he had been. He frowned and looked down at his hands on the steering wheel. There wasn’t any strain in his knuckles and there wasn’t any tension in his body. He’d obviously reverted to not caring mode, apparently happy with his decision to do something wrong, something he should be ashamed of in the real world. He shook his head as her eyes tortured him again. Elizabeth, those brown pools of liquid chocolate swirling through his mind and softening all the sharp edges.
She’d be ashamed of this. She’d be disgusted with him, wouldn’t she? Because her sense of right and wrong was firmly in place as she navigated the world and settled for nothing less than just and true.
Is this what he still was - a worthless piece of shit? A man who could dismiss lives so easily? That’s what she’d said, wasn’t it? “Try me, you piece of shit.”
Her face floated through his mind as he’d inadvertently threatened her. She’d looked almost broken, disappointed, tired. Christ, she’d looked so tired, like she’d given in. Two minutes previous to that and she’d been flying so high, flying in her anger, flying in the justification of her superiority and god, what an angel she’d been in that moment, full of life and vigour. What the hell had she been going through since they’d
met, dealing with his world and the fucked up sense of acceptable that he had offered her? God, she was beautiful, holding him in his darkest moments, giving him the peace he craved, helping him to see a better life, a more fulfilled existence, a possibility for more...
What the fuck was he doing?
Caroline was still squirming and screaming in his ear for him to stop the car, to let her out, that she was sorry, begging him to let her go. He pulled the car over into a lay-by and switched off the engine.
He hadn’t got a damn clue what to do next. The woman still had the video and he needed that to go away, but he didn’t necessarily need to do what he’d first intended.
She sat there quietly, sniffing and cowering against the door, black mascara running down her face and masking her beauty. She was quite pretty under all that deceit, all the more attractive for her fear, but she wasn’t of any interest to him. He had his angel waiting for him, waiting for him to do the right thing and prove he was a better man.
“Where’s the film, Caro?” he asked with a sigh as he turned in his seat to gaze across at her. “I’m tired of this. I just want you to go away.”
“It’s... It’s at home, in the safe. I promise I’ll burn it. Please, just don’t…” she stuttered through her tears.
“I’m going to send someone round to pick it up at seven this evening. If you’re not there waiting for him with everything you’ve got, I’m coming back for you. I won’t be turned twice, do you understand? I will finish this next time.”
She nodded her head rapidly so he pulled the car out into the road and drove back towards the house. He had an apology to make and a woman to hold, if she’d have him. Having driven a while, he glanced across at her and wondered what had turned her into such a nasty little whore. Her life should be good - a famous model, still attractive, still in her prime.
“What made you like this, Caro? Why are you so angry with me? Why blackmail me?”
She stared at him and wiped her face with her fingers, a small chuckle falling from her lips.
“You have no idea, do you? I loved him, Alexander. I loved him and you seduced me into your arms. You ripped away the only thing I ever had of any importance and didn’t give a damn. You destroyed my life,” she replied quietly as she looked back at the road.
“Why did you then? Why let yourself be persuaded?” he asked, genuinely interested for some bizarre reason.
“Have you seen yourself in full-on mode? You were breathtaking. I couldn’t stop myself. Pathetic really when I think about it - the love of a good man for a ride on another. Such a waste,” she said with a small sigh.
“He didn’t know. You could have stayed with him. I never would have said anything,” he replied as he pulled up to the gates and parked the car. She laughed at him, full on laughed. She was pushing her fucking luck because he still wasn’t in the best of moods with the bitch.
“Oh, he knew. I never told him it was you but he knew somehow. That’s the worst part of it. Don’t you see? He chose you over me. He forgave you and threw me out as if I was a waste of his time. I probably was because no decent person would do that to someone like Conner, would they?” she said as she raised a brow and ran some lipstick over her mouth. “Do you still play with people regardless of the consequence, Alexander? Still crave the game?”
Shit.
He opened the door and walked towards the gates, not bothering to take another look at the woman who’d played him like a queen for the last few years, blackmailed him repeatedly when Conner knew all along. Christ, he hated her, clever bitch. Well it was over now. He didn’t even need the damn film for fuck’s sake. What the hell he was going to do about Conner was perplexing to say the least. Why had he done that? Why would he choose him over Caroline?
He shook his head and crunched along the drive, trying to formulate a plan with regard to the woman who was inside. There wasn’t one really, was there?
Just fucking apologise. Damn well beg if he had to. She deserved so much more.
Chapter 22
Elizabeth
S pitting mad. Actually, I can’t even find a word for how mad I am.
How dare he try to scare me?
Unfortunately he did, quite a lot in fact. It was in his eyes. They turned just like they did when he almost killed the shit that tried to rape me. Cold, distant, removed and yet so intent on damage that I honestly questioned if he’d hit me if I refused to do what he said. So I walked away and now I stand here in his bedroom, watching him walk back up the drive toward the house, toward me.
If I wasn’t so furious, I’d be admiring his body as it glides across the ground with precision and eats up the ground beneath his feet as if its unworthy of his attention for a second longer than necessary. I’d also be salivating over his face and the way his piercing eyes are frowning at the door as if he’s about to tear it off its hinges to get to me. I’d absolutely be fantasising about peeling off that black sweater and running my fingers over his muscles, tracing my way around his tattoo and imagining inscriptions of other dates - marriage, children, a future.
Thankfully I’m pissed off beyond belief. I was mad enough before, although he was managing to win that war with his talk of sex and forceful behaviour. I almost dribbled at that point, regardless of my irritation, but having watched him drive off with another woman and not include me in his little plan, whatever the hell it was, I’m now livid. I should have left. I thought about packing my stuff and hightailing it out of here before he got back but I haven’t finished with him yet, not by a long shot. I just haven’t quite worked out what it is that I’m going to say yet. I so wish he’d been ten minutes more because I almost got my brain around how I felt, and now I’m flustered again. Arsehole.
And what the hell does “before I do something I’ll regret” actually mean anyway?
I can feel my foot tapping away as I continue to gaze down at him, wondering what it is that he’s going to say when he finds me. Is he still mad? I’m not even sure he was really mad when we were arguing, but he sure as shit was when that overwhelmingly attractive woman turned up. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen her somewhere before. She was like a poster girl of gorgeousness, all mouth and sultry eyes, tall, effortlessly glorious in that actress or model type way. I obviously hated the look of her immediately, and as the bastard didn’t deny it, I can only assume he has been there before. Why wouldn’t he? The woman is stunning. So is he.
Why on earth am I still here? With him, I mean. He’s the most incredible thing most women have ever seen and I still can’t quite wrap my head around what he sees in me. Why would he give me, of all people, his love, his childhood, his fears?
Actually, I don’t give a shit. I’m still pissed off. I refuse to question my own self worth when he’s just treated me like a... a... I don’t know what he treated me like but it wasn’t sodding nice.
What’s so important about the damn party tonight? I don’t even know why I have to go with him. At least I was giving as good as I got. Thankfully my own self-confidence at being ordered around kicked in with full effect and I wasn’t backing down in any way, shape or form. Given his inability to tell me anything about that envelope full of something that I should be able to look at, I’m still feeling quite irritated. It’s about to continue because I swear if he walks in here with his “you will do as you’re told” head on, I might well rip his off. Feisty Beth.
I have to admit it’s probably not all his fault because I’ve been in a mood all day. Unfortunately, the thought of Teresa going to Pascal tomorrow is disturbing me. I don’t even know why. She deserves a nice time. I love her dearly and I want her to have all the best things that life can offer, but for some unknown and probably completely inappropriate reason, I’m feeling possessive. God knows why. Pascal isn’t mine in the slightest - nowhere near it. I’ve got my man and he’s beautiful and he loves me. He’s currently an arsehole but that doesn’t matter because I still adore him. So why do I think I have any rights over Mr. Van der Braack
? It’s very annoying and utterly ridiculous.
I also truly don’t want to see her get hurt, emotionally that is, and he will more than likely do just that. Not because he tries to, just because he’s the type of man she’d fall in love with regardless of how much she protests. Belle would have the answers to these questions. Alex probably would, too, if I dared to ask him, but given our current situation, it’s probably not the best time to ask because that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?
“Alex, I realise we’re having our first real argument but could you please tell me why I don’t want my best friend to sleep with the man you want me to have sex with? Yes, the same man that I also want to have sex with regardless of the fact that I’m in love with you. Oh yes, the same man that you’ve been - what did you call it? - oh yes, sadistic with in the past, probably with hundreds of women and possibly men.”
Definitely not. Mind you, perhaps that’s exactly what I should say. He is the one that’s created all of this turmoil around the man after all.
I should just send Pascal a text and tell him not to meet her. I could do that. He told me he would help if I asked him for it, didn’t he? So maybe I should just call in that favour. He can only say no, which would more than likely let me know that I shouldn’t travel along this road any further. If I can’t trust the man, I certainly shouldn’t be having sex with him, should I? Because he’s nothing to me in the grand scheme of things, is he? He’s just an extremely good-looking man who happens to be one of Alex’s friends and is probably unfairly brilliant in bed. I’m not sure who I’m trying to fool. I like the man. It may be unreasonable but it’s true nonetheless.
Picking up my phone, I gaze down at the man I love who appears to have stopped moving for some reason. He’s staring at the door with his hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly beautiful and a little perplexed. I can’t help the small giggle that escapes my mouth because it’s so unlike him to look that way and I’m so glad he’s feeling as messed up as I am. Mr. In Control seems to have lost a bit of it, thank God. Maybe he’s questioning what he’s about to walk in on as much as I am?
Feeling White Page 48
