Spoken For (13 page)

29

ESCAPE IS IMPOSSIBLE. It doesn’t take me long to figure that out. Bold goes where I go. When I grab my coat and stalk out into the blistering cold, he doesn’t even pause to get his own jacket. He just walks out with me in his cotton button-down shirt and doesn’t even have the decency to shiver.

The property is enormous, woodlands, lakes, grassy slopes. I could probably hide out in there somewhere and no one would find me for the next three weeks. But I don’t want to starve and/or freeze to death and that’s not the point. I want to
get out!
The perimeter walls are thick and smooth, and even if I was a chimp and could scale them, Bold would just be there to tug me back down by the ankle.

Dinner that evening is a nightmare.

It’s just me and Roman, and he’s on his best behaviour. No solicitous glances, no barely hidden undertones of desperate desire. He observes me with those serious eyes from across the table, looking so damned sexy and distant, my pulse stutters in confusion. The last time I sat down to dinner with this man, I had pearls stuffed into my panties and he was hell-bent on eliciting an orgasm from me before the first course had been served.

Then he kicked me out.

Out of his home and out of his life.

And here we are.

I glare at him while I take small bites of lemon-drizzled salmon. I’m furious, but not too furious to eat. I’m starving.

It’s too much, though, when he enquires after my day. As if I haven’t been sulking around the house like the prisoner I am.

I place my knife and fork down on the plate and fold my arms. If he wants to talk, fine, but I’ve got more on my mind than frivolities. “Why have you canned the Kleighnorm project?”

“Not canned,” he murmurs, speaking with his lips pressed to the rim of his wineglass. “The Kleighnorm account is merely paused.”

I wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. He’s seriously not going to tell me what the hell is going on. What does Connor have to say about this pause on his dreams to take Kleighnorm international? Unless Connor knows, unless he’s involved in all this shit.

Suddenly I don’t even want to know.

I just want to be done.

“Will you spearhead the project when it resumes?” I say.

Roman inclines his head. “That’s my intention.”

“And will I still be on the account?”

He studies me in silence for a long moment, those grey eyes sinking into me, heating through me, and I don’t know if he’s doing this on purpose or if my body is just that pathetic.

“Do you want to be?” he finally says, his brows spearing.

“If I had pen and paper…” I mutter beneath my breath.

Roman’s lips twitch. “This isn’t a performance review, Keegan, and you’re not required to take notes.”

I screw my eyes into him as I finish that sentence. Sort of. “I’d write a letter.”

“You want to write a letter?” He sets his glass on the table and leans back in his chair. “Bold!”

My blasted bodyguard pops his head in the doorway. So that’s where he’s been lurking.

“Yes?” he says.

“Ms. Lynch would like a pen and paper,” Roman informs him in dry voice. “She wants to write a letter.”

Bold looks at me, then shrugs and dips out again.

“Why doesn’t he eat with us?” I ask Roman.

“Bold never mixes business with pleasure.”

“So what? You’re the pleasure and I’m the business?”

Roman leans forward. He scoops the bottle of wine from the ice bucket and rests the base on the table, his fingers looped lightly around the neck.

My cheeks flare red.

He doesn’t ask me if I’d like a glass. I already have one that I’ve barely touched. But his actions are deliberate, I see the intention stamped in his eyes. The last time we were in this situation, he was asking me in not so many words whether I’d like him to clamp my nipples.

What the hell is he asking now?

Would you like me to fuck you, Ms. Lynch?

I’m not sure he’d actually have the gall. Either way, the answer is a resounding no.

I think.

Thankfully Bold returns right then and Roman refills his glass while I accept a fancy fountain pen and a sheet of thick cream paper. Bold doesn’t linger to find out what’s going on. I watch his easy stride carry him out the room again and then I’m scribbling down my own intentions hastily before the reminder of how Roman teased twin blades of pleasure-pain from my breasts sways my mind.

When I’m done, I push my resignation letter across to him. It’s short and sweet, dated, signed.

He drags the paper the right way round, give it a brief glance, then crunches it into a ball in his fist.

His gaze settles on me, glittering with humour, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest. “You’ve been a kept woman for less than a day and already you’ve decided to give up work and embrace the lifestyle.”

I scoot my chair back and jump up. “Fuck you!”

“Hey…” He pushes to his feet, the humour instantly replaced with a sober grin that chases away the playful creases and leaves behind the dark and disgraceful beauty that has held me in thrall since I first set eyes on this man.

“That was a joke, Keegan. A lousy joke given the circumstances. I’m sorry.”

I press my fingertips to the edge of the table to balance the rush of frustration, anger, want. “If you’re really sorry, then stop all of this. Just call a cab to take me home, please.”

Roman comes around the table, and I start to back away but I don’t really want to, I want to stay and see this through, convince him that he can’t hold me here, so I don’t go far. He props his butt against the table beside my abandoned plate and reaches for me, his long fingers circling my wrist, pulling me closer.

His scent of pine and male seeps into my skin. It’s been a while since I’ve stood this close to Roman, not since… not since…

“Keegan, do you really think this is what I want?”

His voice is gravel, that deep baritone that shivers hot down my spine and raises expectations like,
Do we have a problem, Ms. Lynch
and
Are you in the mood, Ms. Lynch?

He tugs me a little closer and I’m between his thighs, breathing him in, fighting the urge to lift a hand to his chiselled jaw. He dips his head so low, his hair slides over his cheek and I want to run my hands through it, make it easier for him to pull my mouth to his, but that’s not what he’s doing.

He looks deep into my eyes and his words are a husky murmur that strokes my senses. “Do you honestly think I enjoy forcing you against your will? These men…” He firms his lip, but the sigh escapes. Weary. Resigned.

He shakes his head slowly. “These men will hurt you, Keegan. Perhaps even kill you. Do you understand?”

“I don’t care,” I say flippantly, my energy focussed on resisting Roman’s pull, on pretending my core isn’t melting into a wet mess from just standing between his legs. “I’d rather die than be kept safe at gunpoint.”

He frowns at me. “You don’t mean that.”

Don’t I?
I’m thinking maybe not, but then his thumb whorls a tender circle on my wrist, spreading tingles over my skin that prick a deep, feverish heat into my blood, and I change my mind.

Roman’s hold on me is more than physical. I don’t think I’m in love with him, surely I don’t know him well enough… No, I don’t think that’s it.

But he hurt me in Scotland. He has some hold on me and I can’t think straight when I’m near him, and these last few weeks have been hell. I’ve been lost, drifting in a nightmarish fog, so love or something else, this isn’t purely physical and I can’t do this, I cannot stay and allow him to hurt me again.

And he will.

He’s doing it right now.

I’m fiercely independent, always have been. Even when I lost Lucy and Kyle, I made myself attend college, get a job, survive on my own when I could just as easily have huddled into the ball of my parents’ loving protection.

As much as I apparently crave Roman’s sexual domination, that does not extend beyond the bedroom. I will not be bent to his will, stifled, shuffled from place to place and be kept in the dark while he determines what’s best for me.

“I do mean it,” I tell him, and I do.

I
would
rather die than live a life that I have no control over, even for a couple of weeks. Because it wouldn’t necessarily end there. The more I get sucked into Roman’s life, the harder it will be to pull out. And even if he doesn’t shove me away again, I only need to look at what’s happening now to know I can’t live this life. Roman is too autocratic. He will always insist on dominating every aspect of our lives.

“Then I am truly sorry,” he says. “I’d hoped this would be easier on you if I could make you understand, but you’ll just have to defer to my judgement and accept that I know better.”

“I’m not a child!” I try to jerk my wrist away and his grip tightens.

“Then stop acting like a spoilt brat.”

My free hand rips up to land a slap but this time he doesn’t allow it.

“Don’t.” He grabs that hand and now he has me firmly restrained.

His eyes glint into me, not lust. Anger. And I realise this is the first time I’ve really seen him angry, at me.

He uses his steel strength to manoeuvre us, his control so firm that he does so without much force,  and I’m suddenly propped against the table and he’s standing in front me.

He lowers his head, his lips brushing against my cheek as he murmurs, “I’ll leave you to enjoy your dinner in peace.”

And then he places my hands gently on my thighs and turns from me, walking away from me without a single glance backwards.

I push off the table, my heart thudding in my chest, my blood boiling, and as I spin about my eyes land on my plate. I grab it, turn to the doorway, but stop myself just as he disappears around the corner.

I am not a spoilt brat.

Fingers trembling, I set the plate down again and suck in deep breaths.

I can’t do this.

I need to get away.

30

MY OPPORTUNITY comes the next morning when I least expect it. I’ve gone for a walk after breakfast to clear the fuming cobwebs from my head. I haven’t seen Roman since dinner last night, haven’t asked after him. I didn’t sleep a wink last night and so thank God I didn’t dream of him.

We’re walking through the trees that line the driveway when  Bold’s phone buzzes.

“It’s a delivery van at the gates,” he informs me with a wink. “Your luxurious wardrobe has arrived.”

I roll my eyes at him. I don’t need a wardrobe, even if I’m not getting out of here. There was a fresh oversized tee for me to sleep in last night while the fairies laundered my clothes. That is, this time Mrs. Lowellyn actually knocked and collected my clothes and delivered them with breakfast in bed this morning.

Bold gestures for me to step in line with him. “I’ll walk you back to the house before I let the van inside.”

I stand my ground. “I’m not ready to go in. I’ll just take a stroll while you’re busy.”

When he gives me a
not-gonna-happen
look, I return a frown. “Seriously? Where am I going to go? Come on, Bold…” I pout an adorable smile. “I’ve got a whopping headache. I just need to walk it off in the cold air.”

His phone buzzes again. He glances down the driveway, then points a finger at me. “Don’t go far, Ms. Lynch. It’s for your protection, do you understand?”

My smile remains fixed. “Perfectly.”

I amble deeper into the trees, hoping to placate him by angling my direction toward the house. But when I glance back and notice Bold striding down the driveway toward the gate, I start to wonder. If he’s opening the gate to let the van in, maybe he’ll get distracted, maybe I could slip through?

I don’t waste time thinking about my plan, I just spin about and weave through the trees after him. I’m so close, I hear the keypad beeping as he enters his code, and then a side entrance opens just left of the main gate for him to step through. He makes sure it’s closed and locked behind him before approaching the van.

I watch, nibbling my lower lip as I look for my chance.

Bold makes the driver step out of the vehicle and they walk around, the back door opens and I realise that Bold is checking that the van is clear. He isn’t kidding around with his safety measures. Once satisfied, Bold climbs in at the passenger’s side and remotely opens the main gate—with his phone? And can I get my hands on it?—and they drive through. There’s no time for me to race for the gates before they swing closed. Anyway, I’m pretty sure Bold will have one eye on the side mirror.

Another plan is forming, though, and I run in the opposite direction, slamming on the brakes within the treeline just before I reach the house. Bold and the driver are walking up the steps, their arms laden with the aftermath of my shopping revenge extravaganza. I wait until they’ve entered the front door, and then I count to twenty, and then I run for the van.

The back of the van isn’t locked. I yank the door open and jump in, then struggle in the dark interior to close it behind me. I hear the click and I turn my attention on the small space. I’m not the last delivery. There are packages, boxes, clothing bags, one of those cardboard temporary wardrobes, plenty of places to wedge myself between just in case Bold sweeps the back of the van again before it leaves.

While I wait in the darkness, my heart thumping at the prospect of my daring escape, I finally have the time to consider what I’m doing, and what I’ll actually achieve.

Roman wasn’t lying when he said his home could equate to a pleasant vacation. He even has a private cinema with eight recliner chairs and, according to Bold, access to all the movies currently on the big screen if there’s one I fancy.

But this isn’t a holiday and it’s not the amenities I’m running from.

As to what I’ll achieve… I suppose Bold will come after me the moment he realises I’m gone. No doubt he’ll find me. But if I can just get to Liam first, that’s all I need. There is no way Roman can hold me captive once Liam knows everything.

Voices from outside still my thoughts. I hold my breath, suddenly petrified I’ll be discovered. And then my brain kicks in and I release that breath on a soft laugh. What’s the worst that could happen? Bold will just haul me out and I’ll be back to where I started, no worse off.

Except, perhaps, for Roman’s warning.
If you do anything that foolish, I’ll put you over this damn desk and tan your backside.

I snort. That’s what I think about
that
. Roman never would. It’s an empty threat to keep me in line, but he’s underestimated me.

The engine starts, rumbling through the body of the van. Bold didn’t bother to do another sweep. I stay huddled in my cramped position as we move, stop by the gates for a short while, then we’re moving again and I can hardly believe I’ve actually outwitted Bold.

I don’t know how long we drive, maybe an hour, and I half expect the van to screech to a halt any number of times, chased down by Bold or Roman, but it doesn’t. It shudders to a slow stop and when the back door opens, it’s only the driver collecting the next package for delivery.

I bide my time for a couple of minutes and then I scramble out, to find myself in a quaint village. I could be anywhere, and even when I mingle with the pedestrians in the High Street and learn the name of the village, I’m none the wiser. But I do manage to beg a phone from a lovely old lady and place a quick call to Liam.

I deflate his questions and worries as obscurely as possible, but I have to impress him with the importance of playing dumb to my whereabouts if Roman contacts him. Liam immediately erupts at that, the suggestion that Roman has done anything to make me afraid of him, but the kind lady is giving me a concerned look now and I wrap the call up with the assurance that I’m fine and a promise to explain everything later.

Turns out, I’m in the bottom of Surrey. I wait in the coffee shop off the High Street for close on two hours before Liam finally pulls up.

On the drive up to Hammersmith, I tell Liam everything, from the kidnapping outside our apartment block to Roman’s sheer arrogance. As I speak, anger ignites inside me all over again at his actions. Holding me against my will, blocking all contact with my friends and family, impersonating me on my own damn phone. Once I’m done, I know there’s no going back. Liam will never tolerate Roman in my life again. And maybe that’s part of why I share all the gritty details. I’m not sure I trust myself to remember all the reasons why Roman Rocchi is such bad news.

“The bloody bastard,” Liam fumes. “He’s a complete pyscho. What the hell has he got you involved in?”

“That’s the question we’re all asking,” I mutter.

He gives me an assessing look that lasts so long, I have to remind him to turn his eyes on the road again.

Liam rents parking space in a building two streets down from our apartment, so we’re walking up the pavement to our entrance when I see the familiar Mercedes at the curb.

“Bold,” I say coldly, even though it’s clearly not Bold leaning against the car door, arms folded, long legs crossed at the ankles.

Liam’s face is black thunder as he sees Roman and picks up his stride. I think I’ve created a beast out of the gentlest guy I know… No, I haven’t, I tell myself. That blame belongs to Roman.

I feel oddly invincible as I follow at a more leisurely pace. Untouchable. Not that I’ve ever been scared of Roman. I’ve felt anger, desire, frustration, addiction, something softer, but never fear.

Still, he can’t touch me now. Liam has all angles covered.

Roman pushes off the car at Liam’s approach. I can’t hear what’s been said, but just when I’m pretty sure Liam’s about to take a swing at Roman, he falls back instead and fists his hands at his sides.

Okay, I wasn’t expecting violence. My pulse accelerates and I hurry forward to intervene before Liam thinks better of his restraint. Just as I’m wondering where Bold is, the imposing Italian exits from the front door of my building.
How the blazes did he get in?
We don’t have a doorman or reception. I’ve been locked out myself when I’ve forgotten my keys.

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?” Roman lashes out at me, his usual control strained to the limits. “Dammit, Keegan, this isn’t a game.”

“No, it isn’t,” I snap at him. “It’s my life.”

He nods at Bold and before I can blink, Bold has a hand on my arm. Not tight enough to bruise. Impossible to shrug free of.

Liam grabs my other arm and blasts Bold with a fierce look. “Let her go.”

“Bold would never harm a hair on Keegan,” Roman says, his tone suddenly as smooth as a hundred-year old whiskey. “Liam, walk with me. We need to talk.”

Liam looks at me.

“Go, talk.” I shrug. “Just make sure you don’t let them leave with me.”

“I won’t,” he assures me.

They’ve only gone a couple of feet when Bold opens the car door and tries to persuade me to climb in.

I glare at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“The windows are bulletproof,” he informs me, as if that’s all that needs to be said.

“I’m so happy for you.”

“Ms. Lynch…” He sighs. “I’m not going to ride off with you before they return.”

“Yeah, I’m not high on trust right now.”

His brow cocks. “
You’re
not?”

I raise a brow to match his. “What? Did you not expect me to run at the first chance? Please, you knew I would. You just didn’t
expect
me to succeed.”

He doesn’t dignify his own shortcomings with an answer. He merely gestures for me to get inside again.

I glance at Liam and Roman. They’re standing by the wall of my building, deep in conversation. It doesn’t appear to be flaring into a street brawl.

I shake my head at Bold. “I’m good right here.”

He slams the door and moves to stand in front of me, one hand still on my arm, blocking my view of what’s happening.

“Do you have to stand so close?” I screw my eyes up into his. “You’re suffocating me.”

“I wouldn’t have to, Ms. Lynch, if you’d get into the car.”

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll get in the damn car.”

To his credit, Bold doesn’t smirk or comment as he opens the door and helps me in. The door closes, locking me in. The window doesn’t open.

Fuck.

But when Bold gets in behind the wheel, he releases the lock on the window and I slide it down just in time to see Roman and Liam heading back to us.

“Okay, we’re done,” I tell Bold, pulling at the handle, but then Roman’s there and the door’s opening from the outside.

Before I can slip out, he’s shifting me effortlessly along so he can move in beside me.

I shove at his arm, give a punch as the door closes. “What are you doing?”

“Kee, it’s okay.” Liam catches my eye through the window. “You have to go with him. Trust me, okay?”

“Liam, no!” I frown into his ashen face. He looks like death. His warm brown eyes virtually disappear beneath his deep scowl.

“I’ll come around later and we can talk,” he says, standing back as the engine purrs to life. “I’m sorry, but it’s okay, I swear.”

The car pulls forward and Liam’s gone from me.

I turn on Roman. “What did you threaten him with?”

“I’m not a thug,” Roman says quietly. “We spoke. Liam understands.”

I scoot to the far end of the seat and put my seatbelt on. It’s a reflex, and I’m strapped in before I realise I should be launching myself at Roman instead like a trapped wild cat.

His face is turned forward, an elbow resting on the door, his fingers thread through his hair. There’s a stillness to him, a confidence and authority that is so compelling, so overwhelming, I already know how easily he’d contain any attack from me.

He’d wrap those strong arms around me and glue me to his hard body and then I’d be stuck there, breathing him in, melting in his heat and now I’m seriously thinking of launching myself at him and I groan. When it comes to Roman, my body is weak, weak, and obviously my mind isn’t much stronger.

I’m in so much trouble.

His chin tilts to me, his eyes settling into me.

“You can’t keep doing this,” I tell him. “I’ll run again and this time I’ll go straight to the police.”

“You won’t,” he assures me silkily. “But if you do, be sure to ask for Sergeant Callipso. He’ll provide you with an escort straight back to me.”

This day just does not get better. “A friend of yours?”

“We have mutual business,” Roman says, then turns his gaze forward again.

I tug up the collar of my coat and tuck my chin in. My scathing thoughts dwindle as I digest Liam’s reaction. I do trust Liam. With my life. With my all. Whatever Roman said was enough to put the fear of God in him. Not for himself, but for me.

And the police are involved? What the hell kind of shit is Roman involved in? Not a simple play of power, corporate espionage or blackmail, not any of the things I could think of to explain why any enemy of Roman’s might want to kidnap me.