Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) (5 page)

He couldn’t help it. He closed the distance between them. Moving slowly when he saw her eyelids flutter, he went down on his haunches and brushed his thumb down the side of her calf. Seeing the well-defined yet feminine muscle had him wanting to take her to his rooms right then. Feeling the warmth of her skin made the trip unnecessary. He would have her here. Now.

She stepped to the side, just out of his reach.

Such an unnecessary attempt at asserting ownership of something that no longer belonged to her. He let his hand fall to his knee as he admired her heels. Black patent leather. She would wear them when he had her. “I will generously allow it to pass this time because you are not yet fully accepting of your new role.” He brought his gaze up. “But do not do that again.”

“My role? And do what?”

He straightened, noting how he’d heard her accent more since she’d woken than he ever had before. She’d told him during the one meal they’d shared that she’d grown up in the Bronx. He was finally seeing that in the way she was slowly revealing the fighter she must be to have gotten where she was today.

“I have already explained your role. What you will not do is reject my touch.”

The play of emotions flitting across her face—especially the affront, which signified pride—was interesting to him in a way he found to be a bother. It was her beauty he should be concentrating on, her physical appearance and the way in which she used the body she’d been blessed with. Because in the end, nothing but that should matter. Skin deep was the safest place for someone like him.

“And if I do, despite your warning?”

“Then you will not get away with it for very long. During our brief but satisfying interactions, have I left you with the impression I am a man who will be denied what he wants?”

She said nothing but continued to look up at him.

“Right now, I would like an answer from my pet.”

“If you continue calling me that, all you’re going to get is a hand print on the side of your face.”

“Ah, to match the one I would then put on your ass. Your insolence will not be tolerated for long,
draga
, so allow it to run its course now.” He leaned to the side to look at the swell of her buttocks. “Or don’t.” He came back to offer her what he hoped was an accommodating look. “Would you like me to have Sorin prepare your coffee? Maybe the familiarity of a caramel macchiato will help you feel more at home.”

Her forehead pinched, putting a deeper groove between her subtly arched brows. “If I were to smell my addiction right now, I’d probably bawl my eyes out, so, no, thank you. How do you know about my love affair with Starbucks’ overpriced drink?”

A pang of resentment struck. Over how she’d reference a hot beverage? He changed the subject without answering. He really was beginning to annoy himself. “Tell me about your parents. I am curious about your heritage.” He stepped into her and stroked her throat after seeing her swallow. There was something about the delicate shape of it that drew him.

“You and me both.”

He tipped his head as impatience nipped at him. “That means what?”

“It means I never knew my parents, so I have no idea where they were from. One of my foster mothers was Filipino, and she swore I was ‘one of them.’”

She’d air quoted as she looked anywhere but at him. He sensed the beginning of one of the nervous chatter-fests he had so enjoyed listening to the last time they were together. Over dinner, she’d gone on about the most mundane things but had made them amusing with her quirky comments and sarcastic add-ons. He’d found her charming. Entertaining.

Now, he didn’t want to be entertained. Not unless it was sensory entertainment. Tactile. He didn’t need conversation. He yearned to see her perfection bared and open for him to use. He wanted soft breasts in his face, hard nipples on his tongue, a firm navel to stroke before he devoured it. He needed the tight pussy he remembered so well, the one he would kill to sink his cock into while the long legs of his pet trapped him and her cries of pleasure rang in his ears. He needed her dirty and desperate, no boundaries in sight.

But, because he wasn’t a complete savage, he didn’t stop her when her nerves came out in the form of speech.

“I was eleven when I was with Ms. Torres and her boyfriend, but they sent me back after only three months. That always happened when babies became available. ‘She’s not what we’re looking for.’ That’s usually what the mothers of my families said before I found myself being dumped on the steps of Holy Cross. I didn’t mind, though, because the nuns became my fam.” The smile she flashed was brittle and forced. “Sister Cherise, who did nothing but knit and pray, always had a brand new pair of scratchy wool socks ready for me. She died before I was old enough to think to ask how she knew I’d return.”

She slid her long fingers and their multitude of rings through her hair to swipe it away from her face. She wore three on one hand and only one on the other. Knowing she had a cat gave him some insight into why one of her rings was the outline of a feline’s head.

“My regular social worker—the one that always taxied me to and from my homes—once told me a piece of paper had been in the blankets they found me in. Apparently, it had a Belarus address on it, but it was misplaced before anyone could investigate it. I wondered for a long time if they just didn’t bother. Maybe they didn’t think it was possible I could have had a grandmother or aunt over there that might have wanted me. Or, I suppose I should say over here, now that we’re…here.” She shrugged and twisted at the strap on her bag. “Or who knows? Maybe they did check the addy and my social worker was being nice by not telling me some old lady told them to keep me. I dunno.”

Her shoulder went up in another shrug, and she shoved the bag under her arm as though annoyed she kept toying with it. She was twirling her hair in the next second, clearly agitated by what she was needlessly sharing.

She came around to face him. “Will you please bring me to the airport, Lucian? I don’t want to be here. I’m very uncomfortable being away from home. This isn’t right what you’ve done.”

He watched those ribbons of honey waver through the added moisture once more flooding her eyes. He came in close and cupped her face. He waited, holding fast when she would have pulled free. Then he watched intently, the trails two fat tears made when they overflowed. They stopped when they reached the sides of his thumbs and seeped in to dampen his palms that were pressed to her cheeks. For only a moment, he allowed his demons to latch onto and rage over her treatment; an innocent baby girl abandoned, shuffled from home to home, made to feel unwanted. Possibly abused by the women, and used by the men—

He reigned them in with a snap. Was there currently an emotion available to him and his new friends that didn’t bring about the need to wipe out a healthy chunk of the population residing on the eastern seaboard?

“This will be the last time you will shed tears in my presence.” He swiped his thumbs beneath her eyes to rid himself of the sight. “Now, do not be upset,
draga
. I will take you home—”

His words stuck and his breath caught somewhere in his chest when her face instantly lit up, the illumination stunning in its beauty. Her posture immediately corrected itself from the dejected weight her shoulders had been bowing under. Ah, yes, he thought as his body came to life just as she did. Here was the woman he’d been coveting.

She grabbed his wrists and squeezed, flashing a brilliant smile. He wanted those delicately pointed canines in his skin while he claimed ownership of her body.

“Seriously? You’ll let me go home? But out there you said— Oh, uh, never mind.” She laughed uneasily and shook her head as if she couldn’t believe her luck. The motion made white lilies and deep ocean waters plume around them. He’d almost embarrassed them both at the Waldorf when her scent had stirred a craving for her that had yet to settle.

He shut down the thought when reminded of why he’d been at the infamous hotel, and what he’d done before leaving it.

“Thank you, Lucian.” She threw her arms around his neck in a hug meant to convey appreciation. For a misunderstanding. He savored it because it might be the last one she freely offered. She lingered in his arms. “I don’t care what changed your mind. Just, thank you. You don’t know how relieved I am. My job is everything to me. It’s all I have, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost it.” She drew back and placed a hand on his jaw. Her look took in his entire face, and the kiss she pressed to the corner of his lips was as unexpected as her next words. “I knew you had to be in there somewhere.”

She turned away, leaving him wondering about that remark.

“Now, maybe I can enjoy my remaining time on the other side of the world. Are we really in Romania? Is this a real castle? That freaks me out. But in a good way. Kind of. It’s not haunted, is it? Why is it so warm? Is there a dungeon?”

She took her coat off and hung it over her arm. He watched the movement of her body as she wandered. It was too bad her dress would be in ribbons soon as it hugged her curves to perfection. She gazed with interest at the carved wooden pillars polished to a dark shine, the gleaming marble tile, and the grand staircase leading to the upper floors. There were minimal furnishings but for the art and light fixtures. There were two tables, but they were bare. Clutter was distracting, and he avoided it at all times.

Her hair shimmered as she tipped her head to look straight up at the thirty-foot ceiling. She was so relaxed, the change in her marked now that she thought she was getting her way. He hated to ruin that, but did anyway by going over and getting her moving with a hand on her back. He guided her onto the dark red carpet that ran through the center of the foyer and carried on up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” She spoke absently, and paused, once more putting off the inevitable. “This place is ridiculous; you know that right? Are you aware that just because you have the money to afford this, it doesn’t mean you have to play the part of eccentric billionaire by purchasing a freaking castle in…oh. Was this your family’s home? Are you this arrogant because you’re royalty of some sort? That’s probably why you always look so uptight; you feel naked without your crown and scepter.”

An amused grunt sounded from the direction of the front sitting room, signifying Sorin was openly eavesdropping. He was entertained by Yasmeen’s nonsense.

“This was not my family’s home; we are not royalty—that I am aware of—and if I appear uptight, it is because my suits are not always as comfortable as the designer claims.” Was he feeling insulted? “Come. I am currently feeling
uptight
because I have not been out of a three-piece in the last few days.” His tone said yes.

Her face softened as she slid a finger under the length of his tie. She patted it into place on his chest, twice, then blinked and stepped back as if realizing the intimacy of her actions. “Sorry. Your suits, as sexy as they are, must be pretty awful to wear for any length of time. Please don’t let me keep you from going up to change. I don’t mind waiting a few extra minutes.”

Heat spread through his groin. “You think my suits are sexy, Yasmeen?”

She didn’t blush but offered him a droll look. “Like you don’t know that. Why else would you wear them? Because you enjoy lack of movement and sweating?”

She drifted away to trail her fingers over the corner of a framed painting he’d won at a Christie’s auction a few years ago. He still occasionally saw the Arab prince he outbid.

“So beautiful. Some people are so adept at capturing what the original artist was going for.” She came back to him. Now her cheeks were flushed. “Did you buy it local? Replica art is a huge business.”

“That is the original.”

She looked at the massive canvas and laughed. The musical sound brushed over him like a thousand open-mouthed kisses. “Uh-huh. You’d have to have some bankroll to be able…” Her humor drained and her gaze danced away. “Right. Forgot who I was talking to for a second.”

“I would rather you do not make that a habit.”

“I’m sure. I bet it doesn’t happen often.”

“No.”

“Because you forbid it?” Her smile was gently baiting and unintentionally alluring.

“If I forbid it, it would not happen at all.”

Tiny sparks of pleasure entered her eyes. When her lips parted, he knew for certain she was feeling the undercurrent that never failed to swirl, strengthening little by little if they were together for any length of time. “Er, were you taking me to a restroom?” She cleared her throat of a husky note that struck him deep in his lower gut. “I hope so. You were right when you said I needed one.”

He nodded and put his hand out, palm up. She glanced at the four exits off the foyer. Hoping to see a sign that read WC?

“Yasmeen?”

“You can just point, you know. I’m also pretty good at following directions if you’d rather go that route.”

He waited.

In seconds, she was reluctantly placing her hand in his. Small victory.

He took her coat and bag from her. “Will you need anything in here?”

“No. Not right now. But it would be great to come back down and find my phone in working order.”

He disregarded the veiled sarcasm and placed her things on the table below the painting. As he started up the stairs with her in tow, he could hear the muted thud of hammers and the sound of a saw somewhere in the castle. The renovations he’d started some time ago were coming along nicely. He would have to put them on hold for the time being. He would rather not have a multitude of workers, the majority of which were men, wandering the halls while his pet was in residence.