Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) (27 page)

She didn’t trust him, he realized as he watched the picture she made fleeing from him. A part of her feared him. He slowly got to his feet. Such a brilliant woman, his pet.

But should she fear him when she seemed to be the only one who could reach him?

“Should I do as she suggested and send Gheorghe and Claude home?”

Lucian wasn’t surprised when Sorin’s voice and footsteps came from behind. Had he been lurking, protecting his newly acquired charge from the same direction she’d just fled, Lucian wouldn’t have known. But because the draft going through the hall had sent his guard’s familiar scent passing by them, his presence had been noted.

“Yes. Their presence…” He dug his thumb and finger into his eyes for a hard rub. “Yes. Send them home.”

“Lucian.”

Even though Sorin’s voice was quiet, Lucian felt the weight of it on his shoulders. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do this. “Yes?” he said anyway.

A heavy hand landed on his nape. “I was wrong. I am relieved you were smart enough to bring her here with you.” Sorin squeezed. “Now if only you would allow her in.”

Yasmeen paced beside the bed. She wanted to change. She looked down at the ruined nightgown that was making her feel like Cinderella after the stepsisters had gotten through with her.

“Oh, God.” She shook out her hands and retrace her steps, freezing when she met two itty-bitty black eyes. “Really?
Really?
” she whispered harshly at the little gray mouse even as her gaze flashed to the closed bedroom door. “That ship sailed Gus-Gus. He’s fucking looped, and I can’t help him. Look at me, for Christ’s sake.” She pointed to the blood on her breasts with one hand and her collar with the other. “A Cinder-fucking-rella fairy tale this is not!”

The mouse twitched his nose at her and continued to stare her down from where it was attempting to hide in the shadow of the dresser. She flipped the cute little idiot off and watched as it scampered across the floor and into a dark area in the corner. She wanted to join—

A high-pitched shriek escaped her when the door opened to allow her mad Romanian into the room.

His brows slammed down, his expression instantly aggressive, murderous. He came right over to invade the personal space she’d never really had around him. And, goddammit, did his touch have to be so reverent?

“What is it,
draga
?”

You!
“Uh, I saw a mouse.” She was surprised she didn’t cringe when she said that. She used to sit in alleys and toss rocks at bullying rats until they took off and let the smaller ones eat. Vermin didn’t bother her. The vacant expression Lucian had worn a few minutes ago had.

“A mouse?”

She blinked when his lip twitched. It actually twitched. She watched closely. “Yeah. Uh, a mouse. It was staring at me. I told it off, and it ran away.” She pointed to the corner and felt her knees turn to water when the lines in his face shifted.

He smiled.

And she was blinded. She stared at him the same way she stared at those rare pieces an artist unveiled for the first time. The ones that spoke to her on a level so deep there were no words to describe it.

“What is the fairy tale where the girl befriends the mice? Snow White?”

“Cinderella,” she pushed out of her tight throat. What would he be like if he were happy? Devastating, she knew.

“Ah, Cinderella.” His amusement faded. “She was the girl who became a slave in her own home. The girl no one wanted around unless they wanted her to do something for them.”

Hurt nailed her in the heart even though he wasn’t making a direct comparison. Didn’t stop her from wondering if he’d want her around if they could no longer have sex. “The prince wanted her.”

“Of course. Because he saw beneath the outer trappings to the special girl she was on the inside.”

Yasmeen held her breath, the protective wings sheltering her heart unfurling, readying for flight. She nodded.

“Such a cruel thing to make young girls believe. A man will always be drawn to what he first sees. I knew nothing of your personality as I admired your magnificence in that gallery. I was drawn to your perfection.”

A direct hit that had those wing curling back in tighter than ever. “I don’t know what you think you see, but this fucking body of mine isn’t as great as you think.” She stomped on the hurt and welcomed the anger. “Have you seen the cellulite on my thighs? You noticed yet that my right boob is bigger than my left? How ’bout the split ends in my hair and the bags under my eyes? I noticed two new blemishes earlier that popped up because I’m stressed. You notice those? Not so perfect, huh?”

He took her hands and held them out as he swept a long look down her form. The blood didn’t even register, and his appreciation wasn’t feigned. “You are exquisite. Now, come, stop looking for things that aren’t there.”

Her jaw dropped. He really
did not
see her. She took her hands back. “I gotta change.” Shouldn’t she be happy that he didn’t notice her flaws? Wasn’t that a woman’s dream? She went into the closet and put on a clean nightgown, this one silvery-blue and short. How could she have thought she was reaching him?

She added a robe just for spite and came back out to find him at the door with Sorin. So much for calling Miranda, she thought as she stood for a moment while they rudely excluded her, as they always did, by speaking Romanian.

Fuck it. She ignored them and went to bed. She was exhausted.

She slapped some pillows out of her way and climbed between the sheets. They talked for a long time, and eventually their voices faded and her eyes closed. She was only vaguely aware of the door closing but not enough to know which side of it Lucian was on.

♦ ♦ ♦

Her third full day in Romania was spent entirely alone. She woke to find Lucian’s place next to her undisturbed, though a chair had been pulled over and now sat empty a few feet from her side of the bed. There was a note on it telling her to take some time exploring the castle.

Refusing to see it as being abandoned, she did as he suggested. She went from one side of the monstrosity to the other, studying the art, looking out the windows at the heavily falling snow covering the grounds. She found a mudroom behind the kitchen, and not giving a damn shit, she stole someone’s boots and coat and pushed out the unlocked door.

She wasn’t stupid enough to go very far, but it was nice to get some fresh air. The stables, she saw, were empty, but it was evident horses were in residence because two stalls had fresh food and hay. She was disappointed because the closest she ever got to the gorgeous animals was when they trotted by during the Macy’s Day Parade.

Having woken at seven, it took her until almost eight o’clock in the evening to finish her tour. By then, she was aimlessly wandering the halls, openly talking to herself and flipping off every gargoyle she passed, hoping Lucian was watching on one of his monitors.

She shoved her way into their room, wishing she had the balls to use another, but also not caring because she was too intent on her plan. To have a quick shower and be in bed feigning sleep when he came up thinking to get his hump on.

She was so far gone that she didn’t even react when she found him already standing in the middle of the room looking at his phone. “I counted thirteen crude hand gestures.”

She brushed by him, and tried to convince herself her limbs hadn’t weakened at the sight of him in black sweats with a towel thrown over his shoulder. Never seen him dressed so casually. He wasn’t incredibly beautiful. Not at all. “Is that it? Then you missed a few.” The bathroom door rattled when she slammed it, as did the toilet when she plopped her butt down to take a pee.

“You will not roll over for a goddamn belly rub the minute he turns on the charm,” she whispered as she finished up and washed her hands. “You’re more than this. Why have you let him put you down here?”

Going back out, she went over and leaned her ass on her makeup table and tried to appear relaxed. “Did you have a nice day?” He was still in the middle of the room but his hands were now empty.

“No.”

“Well, I did. Your castle is really great. I see why you like it. Where are the horses?”

“Security had them out when you took your walk.”

“Oh. Too bad. Is the painting on the back wall of the ballroom an original Picasso?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Sucks this place isn’t in France. Around say, oh, I don’t know, Villefranche-Sur-Mer? I could spend days there all by myself and it wouldn’t bother me in the least. Ever been? Any idea the artists who passed through that area? Van Gogh, Gauguin, Cezanne, Bonnard.” She tapped her chin. “Henri Matisse and Picasso, too. Would have been nice to visit the Musée National des Messages Bibliques in Nice.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care. “Marc Chagall went there after the second world war. Not to the museum but to St. Jean Cap Ferrat. I researched that area to death because I did my final term paper on Chagall’s Bible-based works.”

She got some air into her lungs and held his stare, refusing to be drawn in. Not even when he came to stand before her did she allow herself to soften. With his pinkie, he hooked her collar and brought her forward. She resisted. He pulled harder. Because the clasp was digging into the top of her spine and she didn’t want him to break it, she gave an inch.

He tipped his head and jerked her hard enough that their noses brushed together. “When you see me, you will greet me properly.”

“Sorry, did you not see my tail wagging?”

She stumbled forward when he released her and walked off. She caught herself in time to see him go into her closet. A drawer opened and closed, but she didn’t wait around to see what he was doing. She went back into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Twice she’d gone to the kitchen today to find phantom cooks had prepared food. She’d eaten a sandwich and salad around noon, and at dinner, there’d been a hearty beef stew in a crock pot that she’d enjoyed because she’d been chilled from being outside.

“Yasmeen?”

Her lower belly tightened at the sound of that icy tone. The warmth she must have imagined last night was long gone.

She went out to find her warden crossing the room in just a towel. She gulped and refused to gape. “You called? Felt like showing off the goods?” And what goods they were, she thought as he bent to open the door on the bottom of the nightstand.

“If you would like to watch me shower, you may stay in there.”

She barely heard him. From a solid wall made up of bundles of money, he took three stacks and tossed them on the bed. Depending on the denomination, there had to be thousands, if not tens of thousands of dollars in that little cabinet. The way she’d grown up crowded her mind. From that…to this. Though
this
was likely going to be as temporary as her stays in the multitude of foster homes she’d passed through. She looked at him check a message on his phone. Completely relaxed, he tossed the cell next to the money and walked by her to close himself into the bathroom.

She stared at that cabinet as the shower started, and found herself going over to open it. She didn’t touch anything. She just looked.

He could buy anything he wanted.
Any
thing. This was a few bucks to him.

Had he taken a break from her today because she was already boring him? Was he used to a more exciting kind of woman? A jet-setting, adventurous, I’ll-try-anything-once type who didn’t give him trouble every time he politely requested—demanded—something of her?

Nervous and edgy now, she closed the door and backed away until she was at the foot of the bed. She saw the phone beside the bundles, and for once didn’t have the urge to call Miranda and ask for advice. Her focus went to the bathroom door as she tried to figure this out herself.

She blinked when it opened and Lucian came out with a black towel riding low on his hips. She didn’t stop herself from giving him one thorough eye-fucking, and also didn’t hold her tongue.

“You have a very tight ass for someone who spends his days sitting in an office.”

His head came up and the muscles in his back stiffened as he turned from the dresser he’d ended up in front of—the move hid those firm buttocks from her.

The erotic sound of a lone trumpet came from behind him, accompanied by a distinctively Central American flavored drum beat. Frantic, sweaty sex filled her head. Not the kind of music she’d been talking about when she’d asked for her phone back. She hid what she was feeling and raised a brow at the disapproval twisting his mouth.

“Oh, is the ogling a one-way thing?” she said with false confusion. “Am I not allowed to openly lust after your body? Because I do.” God help her, but she so did. “Does that bother you, Frosty? Can I call you Frosty? Does being wanted for nothing more than what you can do for me in bed make you feel icky? Or on the floor? Or…” She looked around. “Up against the wall?”

He came to stand in front of her. “Is this your way of asking me to fuck you against the wall, pet? Are you feeling neglected? Needy? Insatiable little thing. If I order you to your hands and knees, how quickly will you assume the position for me? And just so you are aware of how generous
Frosty
is; many owners demand their pets adopt that stance the moment they enter the room. If this was a traditional relationship, you would have dropped down without thought and would be looking up at me with your gorgeous ass twitching in greeting. And if I were a real asshole, I would expect that slippery little tongue of yours to be rolled out like a red carpet.”