Anything He Wants: The Betrayal (#5) (8 page)

Everything in me sang at the sight below me. A girl could live forever and not get tired of this. I traced the lines of his muscles, then leaned down so my breasts pressed against his chest. Skimming his lips with mine in a feather-light kiss, I gave him a half smile as I whispered, “I love you.”

“No.”

My world stopped. For an instant I thought I was falling, but nothing had changed. I sat up straight, confusion racing through me as I stared down at the suddenly stony expression of the man beneath me. My mouth worked, trying to think of something to say, but it was as though my brain had shut down. Jeremiah’s hands circled my waist and, as if I weighed nothing, he lifted me off and to the side, then sat up, swinging his feet off the bed. I blinked, the meaning of what had just happened beginning to sink in, and watched as he stood and picked up his clothing.

I looked back down at the bed, trying desperately to keep my breathing steady. Stupid, so very, very stupid. My fists balled up around the pillowcase as I held in my emotion, trying for the stoicism I’d always seen in his face. “Why?” I asked, unable to think of any other question to ask. There was a small break in my voice at the end of the word, but I forced my eyes up, thankful that I hadn’t yet shed a tear.

He ignored me for several seconds, quickly buttoning his shirt, then pulling on his pants without looking at me. Finally he turned back to face me, his face as closed off and emotionless as I’d ever seen. The drastic change from only a minute ago was like a death knell in my heart.

He must have seen the distress on my face because he sat down on the bed beside me. “I don’t think…” he started, then paused a moment in thought. “I’d prefer it if we kept any mention of love out of our relationship for the foreseeable future.”

“Why?” I repeated, more forcefully this time. I was slowly breaking apart inside, and keeping myself together was becoming more difficult by the moment, but I needed an answer.

Jeremiah studied me, a clinical examination that was void of any of the tenderness I’d experienced at his hands since our meeting. “Let’s think about this logically,” he finally said. “You’ve known me for roughly two weeks now. Is that enough time to build any type of emotional attachment?”

He was being rational, voicing arguments I’d used on myself when the
L
-word first popped into my head, and part of me still agreed with him. But with every word he uttered, the cracks in my heart grew wider, expanding and multiplying and going deep to the quick. “I’m not asking you to say the same,” I finally managed, but the words tore at my soul.

“Maybe not,” he replied, “but…” He cupped my face, and I flinched. “Why ruin what we have with platitudes like this?”

Pain blossomed, but I kept my face steady. I’d learned from the best, after all. When I reached out to touch him he stood, perhaps a bit too quickly, and retreated back. Grabbing his phone, he added, “Now that you’ve been cleared in the preliminary investigation, you’re free to leave the grounds for anything. With the police presence being what it is, I think we’re safe from any more attacks for now. One of the guards can drive and escort you anywhere you want; just stay in contact as to your whereabouts.”

A dull ache spread through me as he walked across the room to the door. There he paused, staring at the brass door handle. I thought for a moment he’d turn around and address me again, maybe explain himself further, but he merely turned the knob and left. The latch closed with a finality that was shattering, had numbness not taken over my heart.

Dimly, I felt myself climb out of the bed and go through the motions of dressing myself in clothes still strewn about the room. Cleaning myself up in the bathroom was almost an afterthought, a delaying tactic to keep from showing myself to the world, but when I finally stepped out of the bedroom into the rest of the house, only silence greeted me. From the day I’d arrived at the mansion estate, the house and grounds had been teeming with people, usually the guards or other staff. Now that the danger was past for the time being, they had been moved to their regular assignments, and the sudden famine of souls in the house echoed the painful emptiness within me.

I made my way down the stairs, bypassing the kitchen completely. Food didn’t sound good right then; in fact very little sounded good at that moment, so I walked to the front door and peered outside. The air was chill, almost bitterly so. The milder weather we’d had for a while had taken a wintery turn. Snow flurries dotted the ground, but I didn’t care that my nose immediately began to sting from the frosty wind. A black limousine sat right in front of the large doors, exhaust a billowing cloud of steam in the icy air. I couldn’t imagine it belonged to Jeremiah. Surely he would have already left; it had been several minutes since he walked out. He’d suggested before that I could leave the grounds. Did he call this for me?

I’d stayed away from public places, keeping to the house and not leaving the estate even after the kidnapping attempt. I remained mindful that there was still somebody out there gunning for us, who was willing to use others to do his dirty work. At that moment, however, staring at the limo, I no longer cared—being shot through the heart couldn’t hurt any more than this. I left the house and moved to the car, opening the door and sliding inside. The interior was warm, a marked difference from the outside air, and up near the front I saw the dark head of the driver. “Where to, Ms. Delacourt?” he asked.

“Away from here,” I mumbled absently. Realizing the distance sound had to travel, I readied to repeat my answer louder but the car lurched forward, heading for the gates. I didn’t bother looking out the windows; instead I just stared at my hands, deep in thought.

What if Jeremiah was right? What if my feelings were premature, too soon to be considered genuine? It was reasonable that Jeremiah would hold off on sabotaging a relationship by acting too soon; there were still too many unknown variables in the equation. At least, that was how the rational side of my brain saw it—a man like Jeremiah must have similar issues with moving too fast.

The limo stopped briefly at the gate, and the guards quickly waved us through. I peeked through the back window, watching the great big gates close again, trying to ignore the squeezing in my chest. And really, it was only one part of our relationship with which he took issue. Such a silly word anyway. Love. I’d seen how he looked at me, the way he touched and held me.
Really, Lucy,
I thought,
do you really need platitudes of devotion?
“Love” is just a word.

Right?

A sob welled up from deep inside, surprising me with the sudden depth of emotion. My hand went to cover my mouth, determined to hold the inexplicable grief inside, but I couldn’t stop the shuddering breaths or the tears that abruptly appeared and flowed down my cheeks. It’s just a word, I thought again, but the pain wouldn’t stop. I knew what love was, I’d grown up in a household where it flowed freely. Wouldn’t I have a better idea of what the emotion felt like than Jeremiah anyway?

“Is everything alright back there, ma’am?”

“Everything’s just dandy,” I replied, my voice thick. Then for an instant it all became too much. “Got my heart broken today,” I admitted, “but I’m trying to get through it.”

“Ah,” the driver responded. “Well, my brother always was an idiot.”

I was in the middle of rummaging through my purse for a tissue when the meaning of the man’s words sank in. My head snapped up, grief and heartbreak momentarily forgotten, as I stared at the back of the driver’s head through the small partition. A hat covered his head, and the mirror was angled in a way that made it impossible to see his face. “Lucas?”

“In the flesh.” He pulled off his hat, uncovering dark hair. When he turned around to look at me, I saw that he wore makeup of some kind, presumably to get past the guards. His skin was lighter, the nose seemed bigger than I remembered, but the prominent scar on his cheek revealed his identity more than anything else. He gave me a quick perusal. “You look terrible.”

His words pricked my remaining feminine pride and I sat up straighter, glaring at him through the tears. Focusing on the matter at hand was a great deal easier than the emotional roller coaster. “What are you doing?” I asked, striving for bravado.

Lucas shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently, I’m kidnapping you. I thought you of all people would recognize that fact.”

I stared at him for a moment, flabbergasted, then groaned loudly. Slumping in the seat, I leaned my head back against the cool leather, suddenly too tired to think of fighting. Lucas watched me in the rearview mirror but I didn’t care; all I wanted was to not think, not remember my last conversation with Jeremiah.

“Let me guess: you told my brother the dreaded
L
word didn’t you?”

I didn’t bother responding to his question, instead staring at the ceiling of the limo. Two kidnapping attempts in one week—I’m a very popular girl. The thought held little amusement, however. I just wanted to be alone to lick my wounds in peace.

Lucas didn’t seem the least bit deterred by my silence. “My brother is a fool,” he continued. “Any minute now he’s going to realize what he’s done and…”

The small telephone on the dash rang suddenly, startling me. Lucas chuckled. “That’s probably him now.”

I stared at the phone, torn. Thinking about that beautiful, cold face as I had seen it mere moments ago made my already bleeding heart break more.
Why?
I wanted to scream. This was more than a bruised ego—I honestly needed an answer. None of the last twenty minutes made any sense.

Lucas reached out and pressed a button on his dashboard. The ringing broke off on a flat note, and I gave the dark-haired man a startled but dubious glance. “Don’t worry, ma chérie,” he soothed. “By now my brother has probably discovered the drugged chauffeur and is mobilizing the troops, so to speak.”

Speechless, I watched as he pulled us into another parking area alongside a long white limousine. A driver stood beside the front door, a large scary-looking man with sunglasses and tattoos across his knuckles. Lucas stepped out of the car and walked around to the back door, opened it, and poking his head inside. “Coming?”

My mouth worked soundlessly, still trying to grasp what was going on. “Why?” I asked finally. It was the same question I’d asked Jeremiah and held within it all the same doubts and anxieties.

“Maybe I need your help with something,” the dark-haired man said, “or possibly this is because I’ve finally discovered my brother’s weakness.” Then his gaze softened as I pressed back into the seat. “Or perhaps I want to help you. I knew what would happen the moment I laid eyes on you.” Sympathy flowed from his voice. “My brother holds everything inside, while you wear your heart on your sleeve for the world to see. Jeremiah rejected you when you mentioned love. Given that our mother and father are likely the ones to whom he compares the word, is his response so surprising?”

“Is this what happened with Anya?” I asked, looking up into his eyes. “Did he drive her to you in this same way?”

Lucas blanched, the unexpected question hitting him hard. “Not quite,” he managed, struggling to compose himself again. “They never had anything more than a business relationship, although I think Anya wanted something deeper. It made my seduction easier…but enough of my past. Tell me: Did you ever tell my brother no?”

I flushed, glaring at him, but the sudden truth of his words hit me like a truck. Lucas must have seen my revelation because he continued, “Jeremiah is used to getting his way, and isn’t above manipulating others any way he can to achieve his own ends. A valuable skill in business, perhaps less so in a relationship; the thrill of the hunt is what makes the final acquisition that much sweeter. How hard did my brother hunt you?”

As his words sank into my heart, Lucas motioned around the inside of our limo. “This car is being tracked. If we stay here much longer he’ll find us. Once he’s here, you’ll be his again to do as he wants. Where’s the challenge in that?”

I swallowed, heart still bleeding as a cold ache suffused me. Lucas reached inside, offering me his hand. The look on his face was mischievous but I saw pity and a familiar longing in his eyes.

“Let’s make him chase us, shall we?”

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ANYTHING HE WANTS: THE BETRAYAL
. Copyright © 2012 by Sara Fawkes. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

e-ISBN 978-1-250-03534-9

First Edition: September 2012