Because You Are Mine Part VI: Because You Torment Me (4 page)

“Take care of what?” she asked.

“You know what I think of impulsiveness. You know the consequences for it,” he added quietly, before he took her hand and led her out of the suite.

* * *

Sixteen was housed in the Trump International Hotel & Tower, the dining room dominated by the modern, clean lines of cherrywood-paneled walls and an enormous, stunning Swarovski-crystal chandelier. They dined next to thirty-foot tall floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at magnificent views of the city, some of the buildings so close she felt like she could reach out and touch them.

Francesca initially thought that the best way to describe their dinner companion, Xander LaGrange, was
polished,
but she quickly altered the descriptor to
slick
. She learned that Ian and he knew each other through the University of Chicago and were old rivals—or at least from Xander’s viewpoint.

“So you were in college together?” she clarified when Xander made a vague reference to how long he and Ian had known each other.

“I was a graduate student when Ian was a freshman at the University of Chicago,” Xander explained. “Once he came along, myself and the rest of the computer-science department were constantly trying to find our ways out of his brilliant shadow. Ian and I shared an academic mentor. Professor Sharakoff asked me to grade his papers and Ian to write a book with him.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Xander,” Ian said quietly

“I thought I was downplaying things,” LaGrange said with a swift smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

LaGrange was in his mid-thirties, with short sandy-blond hair graying at the temples. He was handsome and charming enough, Francesca supposed, for a dinner companion. She immediately sensed the underlying conflict between Ian and him, however. By the time the waiter came to take their drink orders, she’d gauged that while Ian was the epitome of polite charm toward the other man, he despised him. She sensed his dislike from where he sat next to her, with his rigid posture and strained muscles.

Xander LaGrange, on the other hand, was full-out envious of Ian . . . possibly even aggressively so. She studied his white-toothed smiles, which reminded her more of a snarl, and wondered if LaGrange’s jealousy wasn’t at the bottom of his reluctance to Ian’s terms for the acquisition of his company all this time.

“Would you like club soda?” Ian asked her when the waiter arrived.

“No. Champagne, I think,” she said, returning LaGrange’s smile of appreciation at her choice. She was feeling a little daring tonight . . . euphoric. Maybe it was the sexy dress, or the stunning view, or the appreciative gleam in LaGrange’s eyes as he studied her from across the table—or Ian’s quiet threat before they’d left his bedroom—but she was definitely feeling rebellious and . . .

. . . stirred up.

Was
this
the power that Ian wanted her to own?

“Where did you find this long-stemmed rose, Ian?” LaGrange mused, his eyes hot on Francesca, after Ian had placed an order for a bottle of champagne. Ian explained about her winning the commission to provide the painting for his lobby. “Gifted in addition to being beautiful,” LaGrange complimented when Ian was finished. He gave Ian a glance that struck her as wolfish. “I can understand why you wanted to bring her tonight.”

Her gaze immediately flew to Ian. Was LaGrange insinuating that Ian had brought her as a piece of arm candy to make final negotiations go more smoothly? She’d wondered herself why he’d asked her to the dinner. A shadow flickered across Ian’s countenance and was gone.

“I brought Francesca because I’ve been so busy on this deal with you that I haven’t had the opportunity to see her much.”

“And it’s greatly appreciated,” LaGrange assured, his dark eyes flickering across Francesca’s face and chest. The waiter uncorked their champagne, adding to Francesca’s giddy mood. “There’s no deal that a beautiful woman doesn’t sweeten,” he added, making her flush in embarrassment.

Did Ian stiffen next to her? She thought not when he began to converse with LaGrange amiably enough about some final details of their deal. She gathered from their exchange that a major holdup in negotiations thus far had been that LaGrange wanted partial payment in stock from Ian’s company, while Ian insisted on a cash-only purchase. She could well imagine Ian refusing to give a hold—even a relatively minor one—to any other person over his company. Apparently, he’d finally offered LaGrange a cash amount that couldn’t be walked away from.

“No sane man could refuse that offer, Ian,” LaGrange finally conceded, raising his champagne flute for a toast. “So here’s to your new company.”

Ian’s smile seemed a little strained as Francesca joined them in the toast. “Lin Soong delivered all the necessaries to my penthouse this evening. We can go there for a nightcap following dinner and take care of all the paperwork.”

Talk turned to more mundane matters. LaGrange encouraged Francesca to talk about her artwork and school, which she did so more ebulliently than usual, likely due to the champagne. Ian gave her a gleaming sideways glance when the waiter poured her a third glass, but she determinedly ignored his subtle warning for propriety. Instead, she heartily agreed with LaGrange when he suggested they get another bottle.

Halfway through her delicious entrée of wild black bass, she felt an imperative need to attend the lady’s room. She excused herself and started to push back her chair. Ian stood and pulled it back for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, meeting his eyes. He blinked when she started to remove the cover-up. “I’m a little warm,” she explained breathlessly.

He really had no other choice but to help her remove it, but she noticed the stiffness of his jaw. She grabbed her clutch and headed in search of the lady’s room, both embarrassed and thrilled by the number of heads that turned her way as she progressed across the dining room. She prayed Ian’s eyes were on her as well. The attention she was getting was more intoxicating than the champagne.

Was
this
the type of thing that beautiful women experienced on a daily basis?
Incredible
, she thought, as she smiled at a man in his forties who was staring at her, and he tripped, ruffling his female companion when he grabbed for her arm to steady himself.

LaGrange looked highly amused when she returned to the table and Ian stood to seat her. “I expect you bring traffic to a halt on a regular basis, Francesca?” he murmured, holding her stare over the rim of his champagne glass.

“Never,” she replied with sincere cheerfulness. “Except for once—I tripped in the middle of Michigan Avenue after running a mini-marathon and getting a bad cramp.”

LaGrange laughed as if she were being delightfully coy. He wasn’t so bad was he, really? Ian was being too harsh. She grinned back at him, glancing sideways at Ian. Her smile faded when she noticed that subdued flash in Ian’s eyes that always reminded her of heat lightning—the signal of an approaching storm.

The rest of the dinner passed by in a sensual whirl of delicious food, Swarovski crystal, LaGrange’s admiring glances and flirtations—Ian’s dark, intense sexuality simmering next to her all the while . . . building . . . coiling tight. She laughed a good deal more than she should have, and did the same drinking champagne and taking pleasure in the admiring glances of Xander LaGrange and many of the other men in the restaurant. She was exquisitely attuned to Ian as the three of them chatted, and somehow knew he was just as aware of her. She relished in the knowledge that she held a man like Ian Noble fast on the hook of the intoxicating power of her sexuality.

When she backed up her chair a tad as they sipped coffee later, she realized the tight dress had ridden up on her thighs, revealing the lacy top of one of her thigh-highs. She saw Ian’s hand pause as he reached for his coffee cup and felt his gaze on her lap.

Stunned by her daring, she slipped a finger beneath the lace of the thigh-high, stroking the soft skin in a slow, sensual, in-and-out fucking motion. Risking an innocent glance at Ian’s face, she saw a barely contained inferno blazing in his blue eyes.

She swallowed thickly and lowered her dress, feeling scorched by his stare.

* * *

Ian was quiet where he sat next to her in the back of the limo on the return to the penthouse. She strained to keep up the conversation, hoping LaGrange didn’t take Ian’s silence for surliness. Hadn’t Ian asked her to attend this business dinner to charm LaGrange, to soften him up a bit for the final negotiations? Well, she’d done it, hadn’t she? LaGrange had appeared to have a wonderful time at dinner, and he seemed all too ready and willing to sign on the dotted line now.

LaGrange proved a little
too
ready and willing, however, as he shouldered Jacob aside and helped her out of the limo when they reached Ian’s. His hand dropped to cup her hip as she alighted, then lowered to stroke her ass. Francesca started and immediately moved away, repelled by the man’s touch. She recoiled internally when she glanced back and saw the icy gleam in Ian’s eyes as he got out of the limo.

Crap
. He’d noticed.

She was quiet on the elevator ride up to Ian’s penthouse. The intoxicating effect of the champagne was waning, and she suddenly felt the full weight of her foolish behavior that evening. Ian was polite but quiet—perhaps furious with her, it was always hard to tell with his stoic expression—while LaGrange continued on with his pointless banter, apparently clueless as to Ian’s thundercloud mood and Francesca’s flattened, suddenly regretful one.

“I’ll just leave you two to finish your business,” Francesca said when they reached the entry to the penthouse. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Xander.”

LaGrange took her hand and held it between both of his. “No, you must come with us for a nightcap. I
insist
.”

“I insist I can’t,” she said, her manner friendly but equally firm. “I have a big day tomorrow at school. Good night,” she said, edging in the direction of Ian’s bedroom suite. She suddenly was wild to get out of this dress.

“But
no,
that’s—”

“Wait for me,” Ian said to her in his crisp British accent and authoritarian tone, cutting off LaGrange’s protests with rapier precision.

Another stab of rebellion went through her when she saw the glint in his eyes. How dare he talk so imperiously to her in front of others? Her chin went up, but then she recalled how giddily she’d behaved at the restaurant. How foolishly. She glanced at an insulted-looking LaGrange. Was he offended for Francesca, or was he pricked by the way Ian had just cut him off? She nodded to Ian once and turned down the hallway, leaving them. A rush of trepidation went through her.

She’d wanted to tweak Ian for his heavy-handedness earlier, but perhaps she’d gone too far?

He likely was going to be furious at her silly, flirtatious behavior all night.
But hadn’t he deserved it?
she thought as she nervously checked her messages on her phone once she reached Ian’s suite. She couldn’t have him constantly trying to mastermind her life.

She stood in Ian’s bathroom a moment later and began to remove the beautiful diamond hairpins, trying to convince herself she’d been right to defy him in her subtle fashion. The way he’d ignored her input about the clothing purchase . . . taking her to dinner where he apparently expected her to charm and beguile his prey with her sexuality. How dare he objectify her in that way?

Well, he’d know better than to use her in that way in the future,
she thought with anxious contempt as her hair spilled down her back and she reached to unzip the dress.

She froze when she heard a loud thumping sound in the far distance. What in the world had that been? She hesitated, unsure if she should go and check on Ian. It sounded like someone had just hit the floor very hard.

Her heart leapt into her throat a moment later, when she heard the door to Ian’s suite open and close with a brisk bang, then the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking.

She glanced sideways and saw Ian through the open bathroom door.

“Leave the dress on,” he said, his voice like frozen steel. She realized her hands were still at her back in preparation to unzip the dress. “Come here.”

His jacket was unbuttoned, his muscles tense, his expression rigid. Her gaze dropped to the gleam of his belt buckle and the stark evidence of his virility beneath it. Her heart started to throb against her breastbone.

“Is Xander already gone?” she asked as she left the bathroom, her voice sounding tremulous to her own ears.

“Yes. For good.”

She paused a few feet away from him. “What do you mean
for good
? You mean because he’s sold you his company, you won’t be seeing him anymore?”

“No. Because I told him to take his company and shove it up his ass.”

She blinked, thinking for a second she’d misunderstood him saying something so crass in his crisp, accented voice. Her eyes widened when she noticed the feral gleam in his eyes.

“Ian . . . you
didn’t
 . . . but you wanted that software for your company so much, you’ve been working so hard on this deal.” Dread sank in her belly like a weight. “Oh no. You didn’t tell Xander LaGrange to shove it because of the way
I
acted tonight, did you?”

“I told Xander LaGrange to shove it and threw him face-first on the elevator just now because I can’t
stand
that bloody bastard,” Ian grated out through a clenched jaw as he approached her. She looked up and saw the fury and heat in his eyes. She almost backed up, he looked so fierce, but he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “And also because he had the balls to ask for one additional item before he signed.”

“What?”

“You.” He ignored her shocked gasp. “He wasn’t entirely selfish. He said I could watch while he sealed the deal in your pussy.”

She gasped.

“
His words
, Francesca,” he bit out. “Not mine.”

She stared in disbelief and rising anxiety. She couldn’t believe Xander LaGrange was such a loathsome slimeball. Yet . . . if she hadn’t behaved so flirtatiously tonight, trying to defy Ian, Xander wouldn’t have done what he’d done. Ian would have his deal. Tears smarted in her eyes.