He Claims Me (8 page)

“I suggest you discuss this with your friend, the chief of police, ma'am,” the more verbal officer replies, clearly losing the silent argument. “Our instructions are clear. We're to arrest Miss Sampson.”

I'm going to jail. The tension in my body increases with each step. My father died in jail. Bile burns the back of my throat. I'm not ready to die.

The receptionist stares at us as we enter the lobby. Her fingers fly over her phone's tiny keys. Within minutes everyone who is anyone in L.A. will know about my arrest. Even if I'm released immediately, the damage has already been done. They'll never forget. I'll always be labeled as a thief.

I take a deep breath, count to five, and exhale. I can't do this to Blaine. My arrest will scuttle his deal with Volkov, a deal he wants, a deal he's been working so hard to settle. “Don't contact Mr. Blaine, Camille.”

“What? Why?” Goth girl raises her eyebrows. “You need him.”

“He doesn't need me.” I meet her gaze. “Promise me you won't contact him.”

She holds my gaze for two heartbeats. “Okay.” Goth girl sighs. “I won't contact him, but I think you're being a fool. He's Gabriel Blaine. When he finds out—­and he
will
find out—­he'll be even more pissed off. Heads will roll.”

Mrs. Leigh wails.

Goth girl is right. When Blaine finds out about my arrest, he'll come for me. Nothing and no one will be able to stop him, not even me. Because of the pending deal with Volkov, for Blaine's sake and the sake of his employees, I hope he doesn't find out.

We exit the building. The sun is shining, rays glinting off the roof of the black and white squad car. This is real, too real. One of the police officers opens the back door. I duck my head and climb in. The interior smells sterile, like bleach. There aren't any door handles. A partition divides the front and back seats.

I'm trapped. Even if my hands were free, I couldn't escape.

The officers slide into the front seat, the gruff officer sitting behind the wheel. He doesn't start the car. They sit there. The radio cackles.

I wiggle, growing more concerned by the moment. They're two big male officers. I'm small and female and restrained.

The gruff officer turns his head, his dark eyes flash, and he grunts. The second officer glances at me, offering a small smile. He has a clipboard and a pen in his hands. “The holding cells aren't very comfortable, our booking officers are overworked, and our shift ends in five minutes.”

He thinks I'll be freed, but without Blaine's help, I won't be. I slump in the seat. I'll go to jail. I won't last a week in the big house. I'm small and I don't know how to defend myself. If I had known this was my future, I would have learned karate or judo or some other type of martial arts.

If I had known, I wouldn't have agreed to house-­sit for the Leighs. But then I wouldn't have met Blaine. “I love Blaine.”

The officers look at me. They don't say anything.

I stare out the window at the strip of grass in front of the building. Will I ever walk barefoot in the grass again? Will I ever see the stars, hold Blaine's callused fingers, smell his horrible cigar smoke?

My soul aches and I've never felt as alone as I do right now. I can't bear the silence, the waiting.

“I know Camille said not to talk to you but I have to talk to someone, and what difference will it make if I do? The Leighs have unlimited money for legal fees and I'm broke. I don't even have my tote or my phone.” I sigh. “I should have taken today off, shared my last day of freedom with Blaine.”

I laugh semihysterically.

“I should have done a lot of things. I've spent my life being good, trying to fit in, to be normal, not wanting to end up like my father, and here I am, arrested for a theft I didn't do.” I rest my forehead against the window, the glass cool. “Did you see the things she says I've stolen? They're glass cones. What would I do with glass cones?”

The gruff officer behind the wheel says something I can't hear. The chatty cop laughs and rolls his eyes.

I can't hear them and I doubt they can hear me. “Exactly.” I relax, risking nothing by talking. “I love Blaine too much to mix him up in my drama. Can you imagine the chaos if the media gets ahold of this?”

After exchanging a glance with his partner, the serious cop starts the car and drives slowly, rolling the vehicle out of the driveway. We pass private residences, trendy pubs and boutiques.

Other ­people are working or shopping or eating fried foods and drinking ice teas. I'm being transferred to jail. I'll be appointed some tired, overworked public defender while the Leighs will have a dedicated team of the best lawyers money can buy.

“What are the odds the house is broken into the same day Mrs. Leigh unexpectedly returns home?” I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, knowing in my heart I've been set up, not knowing how to prove it. “She'll have to sell those glass cones, won't she? Or do rich ­people insure their art?”

We drive and drive and drive through Beverly Hills, navigating the hills where the largest, most exclusive homes are located and crisscrossing the flats. I talk through my situation as the police officers sit silently in the front seat. I can't think of a solution, a way to avoid going to jail, possibly forever.

Resigned to my fate, I stare out the window at the big empty homes. My shoulders ache, my hands restrained in an unnatural position, and my stomach rumbles.

The radio crackles and the gruff officer spins the steering wheel, the tires squealing as the car is turned around. I slide along the seat and slam against the door. Our speed accelerates.

We park in front of the police station. I tilt my head back and look up at the building, dread settling low in my stomach. Is this what my father felt when he was arrested? Alone and afraid, a small player in a cruel uncaring system?

The easygoing cop opens the door, his eyes kind and understanding. His partner helps me to exit, his grip on my arms tight, as though he thinks I'll make a run for it. Where would I go? I glance around me.

A long black limousine waits in front of the building. Ted, Blaine's driver, leans on the vehicle, his arms crossed. He grins at me and some of my dread dissipates. I'm not alone. “Blaine is here,” I tell the officers. He won't allow anything bad to happen to me.

The two officers look at each other and the grip on my arms loosens. “We were doing our jobs, ma'am. This isn't personal.”

“Of course it isn't personal.” I frown, not blaming them for my problems. “And you're doing a fine job.”

We walk through the doors. Men and women in dark suits stand at the end of a long hallway. The only person I see is Blaine. He's clad in his black suit, his white shirt, and his happy yellow tie. His black hair is mussed, the rebellious lock falling across his forehead. His face is too angular to ever be called handsome.

I've never loved anyone as much as I love him, my heart bursting with emotion. “Blaine.”

He turns his head and his brilliant green eyes widen. “Anna.” He rushes toward me, moving faster than I've ever seen anyone move, ­people scattering before him.

Blaine sweeps me into his arms. His lips capture mine and I open to him, needing him inside me. He tastes of black coffee and love. He smells of sandalwood, musk, and man. He's warm and mine, and if my arms were free I'd wrap them around him and never let him go.

“Camille wasn't supposed to contact you.” I gaze up at him, memorizing every line on his face, in case I never see him again. “If Volkov finds out about you associating with a thief, he won't trust you.”

“You're not a thief, nymph.” Blaine leans his forehead against mine, our noses touching. “And your sarcastic friend didn't contact me. I called your phone and she answered.”

“I should have known she had a plan.” I rub my nose against Blaine's, savoring the contact. “She agreed a bit too quickly not to contact you.” I wiggle my shoulders.

He runs his hands along my arms. “What's this?” Blaine prods my handcuffs with his fingertips and frowns fiercely at the officers. “You restrained her?” he thunders, his face darkening.

“They had to put the handcuffs on me.” I summon a smile, trying to ease his outrage. “The police officers were doing their jobs.” Other ­people join us. A large heavyset man in a dark suit pushes to the forefront of the crowd, followed closely by Yen, Blaine's legal counsel. Henley stands to the side, his midnight gaze fixed on me. “The policemen were very professional and kind. I feel safer knowing they're protecting us.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” The gruff officer's face reddens. His partner grins. He has a dimple in his right cheek.

“Don't just stand there, officers,” the heavyset man barks, his thick mane of gray hair framing a regal face. “Release Miss Sampson at once. This has all been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Has this been a misunderstanding?” I look to Blaine for the answer, not trusting anyone other than him.

“Yes,” Blaine confirms. “Why is she still restrained?” he fumes.

The arresting officer removes my handcuffs, muttering under his breath.

“I'm free?” I shake my arms, half expecting the officer to change his mind. “Did they find the thief who broke into the Leighs' house?”

“No one broke into the Leighs' house.” Blaine takes my hands and raises them closer to his face, examining my wrists thoroughly. “Suzanna remembered she'd sent her art to be catalogued.” He rubs the pink marks on my pale skin.

I narrow my eyes, his explanation not making any sense. “But—­”

“No buts.” Blaine presses his lips to my skin, his mouth warm. “She won't be bothering us again.” He flicks his tongue over my right wrist and I tremble, relishing his touch. “I always watch you, Anna.” His green eyes glint.

 

Chapter Seven

“
M
EDIA IS O
N
their way, Mr. Blaine.” Yen waves her phone. “Unless you want to be part of that circus, the two of you should leave now.”

“We're leaving.” Blaine wraps one of his arms around my waist. “Chief.” He shakes the heavyset man's hand. “Officers.” The officers stand straighter. “Thank you for taking care of my fiancée.”

“Your fiancée?” I whisper as we walk outside.

“You're mine, nymph.” Blaine squeezes my hip. “Forever. I want everyone to know that.”

Ted opens the back door of the limousine and I climb in. Blaine follows, sitting beside me, and the door closes, the lights in the vehicle dimming.

Blaine wants to marry me, to link his name permanently with mine, with my father's deeds, with my past and with my newly acquired reputation. This will hurt Blaine. “The charges might have been dropped but society won't ever forget my arrest,” I warn him. “I'll always be known as a thief.”

“I'll always be known as an ex-­con.” Blaine slides me onto his lap, his body hard and enticingly warm. “Some doors are closed to me. Now, they'll be closed to both of us.” He brushes back my hair. “Does that bother you?” He searches my face.

“Why would I want to go somewhere you're not welcome?” I frown. “I suspect I'm also unemployed.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Blaine rubs his palms along my outer thighs, his touch distracting me.

I edge closer to him. “Since I'm homeless, I feel scared,” I confess. “I need the money.” He opens his mouth and I press my finger against his lips, stopping his offer. “Don't. I pay my own way.”

Blaine nips at my finger and I pull my hand away. “Pay me whatever you want, whenever you want, that is your decision, but you're living with me. This is non-­negotiable.” His stern voice makes my nipples tighten. “And while you're deciding upon your next career step, you can work for me. Fran has been talking about taking a vacation for years. She didn't trust anyone previously to take her place but she does trust you.”

Fran trusts me. Warmth spreads over my chest. “I don't know anything about being an assistant,” I caution, not wanting to disappoint them.

“She'll train you . . . starting now.” Blaine sighs. “We're returning to the office, nymph.” He explores the dimples in my knees with his fingers. “I've given our ethically challenged neighbor until eight this evening to leave.” His lips flatten. “And seeing her reminds me how I failed you.”

“You didn't fail me.” I frame his stark face between my hands. “You didn't abandon me. You came as I suspected you would when you found out about my predicament and you protected me.” I press my lips against his, thanking him with all of me.

Blaine pushes back, sliding his tongue between the seam of my lips, and I allow him in, sighing my surrender, not strong enough to push him away, to do the right thing. Our tongues tumble and twist, dancing to the beat of our hearts, and his fingers tangle in my hair, pinpricks of awareness shooting over my scalp.

I straddle Blaine, hiking my skirt up, and I undulate, shamelessly rubbing against the hard ridge in his black dress pants, the proof of his desire unmistakable. I want him. I need him. I love him.

Blaine kneads my ass, my cotton panties sliding over my skin as he squeezes and releases me. I reach for his zipper, wanting him inside me.

“Not here.” He catches my wrists, his fingers pressing into my skin. “Not now.” Blaine brushes his cheek over mine, his breath blowing hot on my earlobe. I tremble, fluttering in his arms, as fragile as a small brown moth, trusting him to keep me safe.

“When you disconnected that call, I thought I'd lost you.” Blaine shudders, his shoulders shaking. “I wasn't myself.” He releases my wrists and buries his chin in the curve where my neck meets my shoulder.

I hold him, stroking his blazer-­clad back with my fingers. “You must have been worried,” I murmur.

“Worried?” He raises his head and our gazes meet, his eyes brilliant and hard. “I howled like a wild thing.” He rakes his hands through his hair, freeing the rebellious black strands. “I wanted to kill something, someone.”

I gaze at him, my mouth falling slightly open, having never had anyone care for me this much. “I love you,” I blurt. My face heats.

Blaine stills. “What did you say?” His voice is dangerously quiet.

Did I mess up? Is it too early, too much, too needy, too desperate? “Ummm . . .” I stare down at his happy yellow tie, the knot tight, the silk flawless, beautiful in its simplicity.

Blaine cups my chin, raising my gaze. His eyes have darkened, their turbulence reflecting my inner turmoil. “Tell me, Anna.” His tone doesn't allow any disobedience and I can't lie, not to Blaine, never to Blaine.

“I love you.” My cheeks feel like they're on fire.

“Anna.” Blaine crushes me to him, sealing his lips over mine, demanding, possessing, owning. I cling to his shoulders as he ravishes my mouth, whipping me with his tongue, this impossible, harsh, wonderful man punishing me for loving him.

Blaine tosses me into the far seat. I gasp as my ass slaps against the leather. He surges after me, pulling my panties off with one hard yank, leaving me bare, open to him.

His zipper rasps and, with a single driving thrust, he's inside me, his cock filling me. I scream and arch, tilting my hips to take more of him. He sinks deeper, his base pressing against my pussy lips.

“Tell me again.” Blaine withdraws to his cock head and drives back into my pussy, his balls smacking against my ass. “Tell me, Anna,” he orders, moving in and out of me with a breathtaking savagery.

“Love you,” I pant, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Love.” I suck in my breath as my ass slams against the leather seat, my skin stinging, heating. “You.” I repeat my declaration over and over as he rides me, spiraling my passion upward.

I'm alive and gloriously free, free to love Blaine, to thread my fingers through his black hair, over his broad shoulders, his muscles rippling under the fabric. He growls in my ear and tugs my tank top over my head, my hair snapping with static. Cool air sweeps over my chest.

I push his jacket off his shoulders, yearning to feel his skin against mine. Blaine removes his tie and rips at his shirt. Buttons pop, the plastic circles bouncing against my stomach, and his chest is bared to me. I splay my fingers over his pectoral muscles, claiming his tanned body, his scars rough ridges under my fingertips.

He grunts, pulling me down into his thrusts, his ass cheeks clenching under my heels. My pussy hums from his powerful drives, my body coiling around his shaft.

“Not . . . deep . . . enough.” Blaine flips me over, pulls me to my feet, bends me over, sticking my ass in the air. I grip the back of the seat, facing the partition dividing us from Ted, Blaine's driver.

The barrier is lowered. I meet the man's gaze in the rearview mirror and I quiver with excitement. He's watching us fuck, watching as Blaine fills my pussy, slapping his thighs against my ass, the impact bouncing my small breasts, rattling the keys hanging on the black ribbon.

I pull my bra down, revealing everything to the driver, my pale curves and my pink nipples. Blaine grasps my hips, pressing his fingertips into my skin, marking me, as he pounds his cock into my pussy, his legs braced apart, his stance dominant.

The position is primitive, my smaller form bent under his, and he takes me like a man possessed, abandoning his renowned control to make my body his. I push back on him, thrilled by his unabashed need, his raw emotion.

“Tell me, Anna,” he demands, his voice low and deep.

He needs to hear the words and I need to say them, to tell the world who owns my heart, who has earned my trust, now and forever.

“I love you.” I writhe and Blaine hooks one of his arms around me, subduing me easily. “Blaine.” He spears his fingers through my brown private curls.

“Love you,” I squeak my capitulation. Blaine finds my clit and rubs, the circular motion winding my arousal around me tighter and tighter.

“Who do you love, nymph?” His chest slides along my back, his skin covered with a sheen of perspiration, his musk heady and male. My thighs burn and my pussy throbs, my inner walls narrowing, squeezing his shaft.

“I love you.” I pant, my lungs aching, my nipples brushing against the leather seat. He sucks on my shoulder, his mouth hot, the suction exquisite, timed to match his body-­shaking thrusts. “I love you, Blaine.”

“Yes.” His muscles mold to my curves as we strive, struggle, fight for our satisfaction. I'm close, so very close, tremors sweeping over my form. “Yes.” He grazes his teeth over my skin and I whimper, dangling on the edge. “Come for me, Anna.” His thumb and index finger close on my clit. “Come now.” He pinches my sensitive flesh.

“Blaine,” I scream and push backward. I can't move. I'm caged by Blaine's hard physique. There's no escaping him, no escaping my soul-­shredding orgasm.

He drives forward mercilessly, not allowing me to catch my breath, filling me with his shaft and covering my body with his. “Anna,” Blaine roars. Hot cum bathes my battered pussy, pushing me past the point of no return.

I scream and thrash under Blaine, twisting in his arms, battling to be freed yet not wanting him to ever let me go. I smoke. I smolder. I burn, my breasts, ass, pussy ablaze with heat, my world spinning in a dazzling display of brilliant flames and stunning colors. It's too much, too good, too real.

Blaine's hips jerk against me and he falls forward, flattening me. He's solid and unmoving, lying like a dead thing on top of me.

“Blaine.” The leather seat muffles my voice.

He drives himself backward, taking me with him. I land on his naked lap, my legs spread, my pink pussy lips glistening with his cum. I glance at the partition. The driver has seen all of me now. I don't bother to close my thighs or cover my bare breasts.

“You're so beautiful.” Blaine nuzzles his chin into my mussed hair. “And you're mine, mine to watch forever.”

I swing my legs to the right, perching precariously on his thighs, trusting him to catch me should I fall. “What happened to not here and not now?”

Blaine captures my face between his rough hands. “That was before you said you loved me.” He rubs one of his thumbs over my kiss-­swollen bottom lip. “I love you too, nymph, more than words can express.”

He loves me. I smile at Blaine, my heart filled to bursting. “But the words are still nice to hear, aren't they?”

I'm gifted with one of Blaine's rare smiles. “Yes, they're still nice to hear.”