He Claims Me (5 page)

“No.” He holds up his hand. “You want to be friends but this isn't possible if you insist on hanging out with her.” Michael meets my gaze, his blue eyes ice cold.

In the past I would have buckled under the pressure, deserting Goth girl as my mother deserted me. “I insist on hanging out with Camille.” I raise my chin, now knowing if I care for someone, I should protect her. I shouldn't run.

Michael rears back as though I struck him. “You're choosing
her
over me?”

“I'm not choosing anyone.” I grit my teeth, angry with him for putting me in this position. “I consider both of you to be my friends.”

“Fine. Then I'll choose for you.” Michael pivots on his Birkenstock-­clad heels and stalks away, his ass cheeks clenching and unclenching under his tight khakis. Darla hurries to catch up to him, hooks her arm in his and throws a triumphant smile over her shoulder. Spencer looks at me and then at Michael, shrugs and follows his friends.

“You
insist
on hanging out with me?” Goth girl's voice sounds suspiciously watery. “Wow, moth. I didn't know you cared.”

“Yeah, well, good minions are hard to find.” I grab my tote, needing to see Blaine. “I'm sorry for ditching you at lunch,” I mutter as I leave the pit.

I ignore the group of women gathered in a corner of the room, looking at me with a mixture of disbelief, pity, and outrage, judging me. They don't know me. They only see what I allow them to see.

The receptionist has left for the evening, my check no longer on her desk. I step through the doors and blink, the sunshine surprising me. It's only five o'clock yet it feels like years since I returned from my long lunch with Blaine.

I walk to the bus stop and tilt my head back, gazing up at the blue sky. An airplane leaves a white trail behind it, its passengers knowing their destinations, their course chartered, their immediate futures set.

My phone rings and I search through my tote. “Blaine.” I cover my mouth with my hand, blocking some of the traffic noise. “Is everything okay?” I ask him the question he always asks me when I call him.

“Yes, nymph.” Blaine chuckles, the low, deep sound arousing me. “Why aren't you out with your friends?”

“How did you know I'm not out with my friends?” I look around me, searching for my enigmatic billionaire. Bumper-­to-­bumper rush hour traffic streams along the street. Commuters gather on the sidewalk. “Are you watching me?”

A limousine turns the corner and slows in front of the bus stop. “I'm always watching you.” The door opens and Blaine holds out his hand, a phone cradled by his ear. I grasp his fingers, relying on him to steady me as I enter the vehicle.

The door shuts and Blaine pulls me onto his lap, places his phone on the seat. I set my phone beside his, my tote falling to the floor.

Blaine runs his hands over my body as though needing to physically confirm I'm with him. He freezes, his fingers hovering above the marks Michael left on my arms, the bruises striping my skin.

“Someone dared to hurt you?” Blaine's body tenses, his muscles contracting under me. “Tell me his name.” His voice becomes scarily soft, his eyes hardening to emerald chips. “I promise he'll never touch you again.”

I shiver at the implied threat. Blaine always keeping his promises. “You won't harm him.” I tilt my chin upward. “It was an accident. I told him I loved . . . cared about someone else and he grabbed me, temporarily forgetting his own strength. Once he discovered he was hurting me, he let me go.”

“He grabbed you,” Blaine growls, not commenting on my revealing slip of the tongue. “And he hurt you, Anna.” He holds me close, his scent and body heat comforting me, his shoulders wide and capable. “I won't tolerate either of those actions. I can't. You're too important to me.” He rubs his palms along my back, sending sweet sensations over my body. “When I find out who he is, I'll—­”

“You'll do nothing.” I meet Blaine's gaze, narrowing my eyes. “Because if you hurt him, he'll press charges and you'll go to prison. My father died in prison.” My voice breaks. “I can't lose you too, Blaine. I just . . . can't.” I look away from him, unable to contain my emotion.

“You won't lose me.” He cups my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “We're growing old together, you and I.” Blaine presses his lips to my forehead, his heated touch reassuring me. He's here, alive, and he'll remain alive. I'll protect him as he protects me.

I bury deeper into his hard form and he holds me, his suit-­clad chest rising and falling against my breasts, the connection between us strong. He's my sanctuary in this harsh, unforgiving world, the truth in an endless abyss of lies.

“Where are we going?” I gaze up at him. Blaine's determination is etched upon his face, his angles sharper, more pronounced.

“I'm taking you to dinner,” Blaine murmurs. “If you're able.” He traces my bruises, his touch gentle and his expression stormy. “I don't want you seeing him again, nymph. He could have broken your arms.”

“He didn't break my arms and I'm able to go to dinner.” I wiggle, brushing my ass against his thighs, and Blaine's hands lower to my hips, some of his anger flowing to desire. “Is this a date?” I've never been on a date, a real date, before, having never trusted a man enough to choose to be alone with him.

“This is a business dinner, unfortunately.” Blaine bends his dark head and scatters soft kisses over my arms. “Volkov and his wife are visiting from New York. He's stalling on the sale.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Is the sale in jeopardy?” Blaine has been working on this New York deal longer than we've known each other. It's important to him and, as a result it's important to me.

“We can't give him any reason not to sell. Volkov is understandably nervous. This involves his life's work and his employees.” Blaine picks up his phone and texts quickly, his fingers flying over the tiny keys. “I'm asking Yen to bring your shawl.”

“My shawl?” I tilt my head. I don't own a shawl, my wardrobe extremely limited. Everything I own fits in one carry-­on suitcase.

“I saw it in a boutique and thought of you,” Blaine says gruffly. “I'll introduce you as Anna. Nothing much gets by Volkov. He won't believe you're my assistant.”

“So I shouldn't lie to him.” I nibble on my bottom lip, excited and nervous about our first public appearance as a ­couple.

“Don't lie to him or to his wife.” Blaine runs his thumb over my abused flesh. “You'll be fine, nymph. Volkov and I will do much of the talking.” He slides his hands under my skirt, hooks his fingers around my panties and pulls them down to my ankles.

“What are you doing?” I squeak, my pussy moistening.

“We've talked enough about Volkov.” Blaine's lips lift, his eyes gleaming. “I'm the only one you should be concerned about.” He strokes my bare legs. “And I want you bared to me.”

I can give him what he wants. My skirt is long and Blaine will be by my side. I rest my head on his chest, drawing strength from his touch. He won't allow anyone to hurt me, to truly see me. He'll shield me with his presence, his big form.

The limousine slows and Blaine raps his knuckles against the window. The door opens. Blaine exits first and extends his hand. I grip his rough, callused fingers and he draws me to him.

I suck in my breath, fitting into his hard body. He's not handsome, he'll never be handsome, but he's striking, powerful, and mine.

Blaine links our fingers together and we navigate the busy sidewalk, ­people swarming around us. Grocers display exotic vegetables. Plucked clean ducks hang in store windows, their heads remaining attached. A white ceramic happy cat stares at us, its paw raised in greeting. The aromas of cooked meats and fragrant spices make my stomach growl.

We walk toward a small Chinese restaurant, one of many situated along the busy street. The restaurant with its pavilion roof, multicolored neon lights, and red Chinese lanterns is magnificently gaudy. I recognize the name immediately.

“This is the restaurant you ordered from during your start-­up years.” I hug Blaine's arm. This is a special place for my self-­made billionaire.

“We make all of our big announcements here,” Blaine murmurs.

I'll be present during tonight's big announcement. I'll be part of his team, belonging. “I won't let you down.” I cling to Blaine's hand as we approach the restaurant's glass doors.

A tiny Chinese lady clad in a tight-­fitting navy blue suit steps forward, her straight black hair swinging over her shoulders. If it weren't for the five inch heels on her feet, she'd be my height.

“Mr. Blaine.” She gives Blaine a curt nod. “You must be Anna.” The lady smiles. She's gorgeous, her beauty marred only by a thin silver scar skimming along one of her cheeks.

“You must be Yen.” I smile back.

“Ahhh . . . he has been talking about me, I see,” the woman blusters, appearing more pleased than upset. “I'd say not to believe everything you hear, but you heard it from Mr. Blaine. Although he seldom volunteers the truth,” she slides her glance to Blaine and shakes her head, “he doesn't lie.” She holds out a finely woven black silk shawl. “This is for you.” Yen's gaze drops to my arms and her eyes narrow.

“Mr. Blaine didn't hurt me.” I quickly wrap the garment around my shoulders, covering my bruises. The material is sinfully soft, the design beautiful in its simplicity.

“I know Mr. Blaine didn't hurt you.” Yen fixes her gaze on Blaine. “As your legal counsel, I'm advising you that it isn't self-­defense if
you
kill him.”

Blaine's lips flatten. “I didn't do anything . . . yet.”

“It was nothing, an accident.” I slip my fingers into one of his palms. “Accidents happen.” I inwardly wince at my own cliché.

“If accidents happen again, make certain she pulls the trigger,” Yen advises, her brown eyes glinting.

“You're not helping,” I mutter. Yen laughs and Blaine's lips twitch.

We walk into the restaurant. The tantalizing scent of seasoned beef, roasted chicken, and steaming rice fills the air and my stomach rumbles. Heads turn, the drone of voices quieting. I step closer to Blaine and he squeezes my hand. I'm not alone. He's by my side.

A short round Asian man rushes forward, his face beaming. “Mr. Blaine.” He bobs his head multiple times. “We are honored you chose Chinese Palace for this most auspicious occasion.”

Blaine's face settles into a blank mask, all of his emotions hidden from others, from me. “We appreciate you reserving the restaurant for us on such short notice.” He clasps the restaurant owner's hand.

A large distinguished man approaches, one of his arms wrapped around an equally tall brunette's waist, the woman's face lined with wrinkles, her hair too dark for her complexion to be natural. Both of them are dressed in black. I scan the room. Everyone is dressed in dark colors.

I spread my black shawl over my bright purple suit, seeking to look more professional, to not embarrass Blaine.

“What is this, Blaine?” The older man looks from Blaine to me, his pale blue eyes flashing with anger, and I tense. “Who is she?”

I try to pull my hand from Blaine's, expecting him to abandon me as others have abandoned me in the past. He tightens his grip, securing me to him.

“
‘She' is Anna, and you'll speak to her with respect, Volkov.” Blaine shifts protectively in front of me, shielding me with his body.

“You talk to me of respect yet you keep her existence a secret?” the CEO of the New York–based rival company fumes. “I asked specifically about your family. When you didn't answer, I assumed you had no one, yet here she is and it's clear how much she means to you. What other secrets do you have? What other lies are you telling me?”

He's verbally attacking Blaine and I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. I glare at the big Russian, my body vibrating with anger.

“Why should I trust you with my company, with my own family?” Volkov's fingers fold into massive fists, his threat turning physical. “I was advised not to believe your promises, the promises of a common criminal, but like an arrogant old fool, I listened to my gut.”

Blaine's body stiffens more and more with each word. He doesn't defend himself. He can't say anything, not without exposing me, and he's too honorable to do that.

“No.” I'll defend him. I won't allow Blaine to be hurt because of me, because of my trust issues. I push under Blaine's arm and stomp toward Volkov, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. “You will
not
blame Blaine for keeping our relationship private.” I poke the older man in the chest with my index finger. Volkov's eyes widen and his nostrils flare.

“And you will
not
question his word again, you hear.” I poke Volkov again. He takes a step back. “Blaine's the most honorable man I know, the only being in this horrible hard world I trust.”

“Anna,” Blaine rumbles.

“Your company, your so-­called family, has to earn
his
trust, not the other way around.” I lift onto my tiptoes, clenching my fingers into fists, a lifetime of silently tolerating insinuations, of enduring veiled insults, of suffering pain, spilling out of my mouth in a torrent of words. “If they're anything like you, I doubt they're worthy.”

Volkov's eyebrows lower and his weathered face ­darkens.

“Enough, Anna.” Blaine hooks his arm around my waist and pulls me back.

I glower at Volkov, raising my fists, ready to beat some sense into the Russian's thick head. “I don't want him talking to you like that,” I tell Blaine.

“I know. I know.” Blaine turns me, burying my face into his body. “He won't make that mistake again.” His chest shakes.