Kidnapped by the Billionaire (34 page)

She didn't understand what she'd done, but clearly more sex was out of the question.

Swallowing back the real questions she wanted to ask, she made do with, “Going out where?”

“I'll tell you over breakfast.” He pulled on boxers, jeans, and a dark, charcoal gray long-sleeved T-shirt. Then he took out a pair of socks and once more walked from the room without another word.

Violet sat on the bed staring after him, trying to get her stupid emotions back under control. Patience was clearly the key with Elijah, so she'd have to try a little harder to cultivate that patience and not push too hard.

Why are you the one having to do all the work? Why can't he be the one to come to you?

She pulled a face at the snide voice in her head and how it made it sound as if this was a relationship she and Elijah were having, and not just two people having sex. There was no relationship. And she was the one doing the work because she was the one who wanted more. All he wanted from her was the sex.

Slowly Violet got out of bed and grabbed her clothes, heading for the shower. A bit pointless to wash herself clean when all she had to put on were already-worn clothes, but she suddenly felt the need to have a bit of space away from him.

She took her time in the shower, washing her hair and soaping herself down, letting her hands linger on her own skin, unassuaged desire echoing through her. It made her shiver, and briefly she toyed with the idea of getting herself off just to ease it. She glanced toward the door, a sudden fantasy of him throwing it open to find her with her hands between her thighs, then storming over and getting into the shower with her, pinning her to the walls, and taking control.

But the door remained stubbornly closed.

Violet sighed, her own touch abruptly unsatisfying. Shutting off the water, she got out, dried herself, and dressed. Pausing in front of the mirror, she pulled a face at her spiky hair, wishing for a hairdryer to get at least some semblance of a proper hairstyle, but there was nothing like that in Elijah's bathroom. Instead she made do with running her hands through it a couple of times, before making her way down the hallway and out into the main room of the apartment.

The smell of coffee drew her to the kitchen, where she found Elijah briskly making toast and bacon and eggs. She stopped in the doorway, staring at him. He looked so domestic standing there at the stove, turning over the eggs with slick economy.

“Go sit at the table,” he ordered without looking at her. “I'll bring it out to you.”

The protest was there, ready on her tongue, but she pressed her lips hard against it. Patience and no pushing, right?

She turned and went out again, going over to sit at the dining table like a good girl. It had a glass top, the surface absolutely spotless, the dining chairs surrounding it works of minimalist art in white steel.

Was this another remnant of his life with Marie? And had she chosen it or had it been his decision?

She gave another look around the apartment, at the bits and pieces of his earlier life, at the way they'd been arranged so carefully. The bed had been one of those bits and pieces, she was sure of it, but she had the feeling this apartment hadn't been theirs. This was all his, and yet he'd furnished it like his old life. So careful, so deliberate. Why? A reminder of what he'd lost?

Grief stuck in her chest like a sharp stone. After Theo had disappeared, she used to go into his old room and just hang out there. Sit on his bed and look around at his things as if they could somehow conjure up his absent spirit. It had been a comfort and yet at the same time, it had made things worse. Because Theo was gone and all those things of his couldn't bring him back. They only served to make the pain sharper.

Violet looked down at the cool surface of the table, unshed tears clogging her throat. Jesus Christ, she was a mess. Pretty much the story of her goddamn life.

The sound of plates on the glass of the table jolted her and she looked up to see Elijah pushing a load of eggs and bacon and toast in front of her, following it up with a mug of coffee.

“Thanks,” she muttered, grabbing the cutlery he'd also put down beside the plate and hoping he hadn't seen her blinking back tears. “You'd make someone a lovely wife.”

He ignored that, sitting down opposite her and digging into his own breakfast.

Typical Elijah. His refusal to engage was so fucking annoying.

There was a brief silence as they ate, and then he asked shortly, “Where's your brother's storage facility?”

Violet stared at him, the question so unexpected she wasn't sure what he was talking about. “Storage facility?”

“The one you told me about. The place you said was accessed recently. Where is it?”

Carefully, she put down her knife. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Because that's where we're going.”

She blinked. “What do you mean that's ‘where we're going'?”

Elijah's black brows drew down. “Are you having problems with comprehension this morning, Violet? We are going to go take a look in your brother's storage locker. It's a relatively simple concept to grasp.”

Her heartbeat had stilled, and there was a strange clog of emotion in her throat. “Why?” she asked bluntly. “What's Theo to you?”

“Theo is nothing to me. You, on the other hand, are.” His black eyes didn't waver from hers. “Your brother is a loose end you need to tie up. And once you have, we can concentrate on Jericho.”

What was he saying? For a second she forgot completely about Theo, too busy thinking about what Elijah meant. Did he mean that she
was
something to him? Or only in relation to Jericho?

Wow, desperate much?

She swallowed, trying to get rid of the emotion sitting there. Okay, she could drive herself mad trying to guess his motives. Hell, he was a straight-up guy, maybe she should just ask him.

Violet reached out for her coffee mug and wrapped her fingers around it, letting its warmth heat her chilled hands. “What do you mean I'm something to you?”

Something in his eyes flickered, but he didn't look away. “You're my means to an end.” His voice was cold. “And I can't have you distracted thinking about other things, not when we need Jericho thinking this meeting is entirely legit.”

He was lying. She was't sure how she knew or what had given it away, but something deep inside told her that not only was he lying to convince her, he was lying to convince himself.

Perhaps he knew that too, because he went on quickly, without waiting for her to respond. “Jericho has to believe you're going to go with him, and that what I want are the business links he promised your father. That I'm going to take over your father's empire.”

She sipped her coffee, studying him, the emotion making its way down her throat to sit in her chest. “And what happens to me?”

“I'll make sure you're safe.” No hesitation this time and no flicker either. He totally believed it. “You won't be going anywhere with him.”

She wanted to ask what was with the sudden urge to protect her, especially when he'd never been concerned about what happened to her after he'd given her to Jericho before. But she stayed quiet. God knew, she shouldn't be thinking about this anyway, not when he'd offered to help her follow up on her lead on Theo.

Haven't you given up on that?

Well, yeah, she had yesterday. It had seemed selfish and wrong to keep looking for a dead man when compared to putting right the crimes her father had committed.

She took another sip of her coffee. “Theo doesn't matter. I told you yesterday that—”

“I know what you told me. But it'll cost us nothing to go have a look.”

Another complex mix of emotions shifted in her chest. Hope and fear. Hope that she'd at last find out the truth about her brother. Fear that what had happened to him
was
the only truth.

“It might cost
me
,” she murmured under her breath.

Elijah's midnight gaze held hers, uncompromising, ruthless. “You're strong enough,” he said, and this time there was not even a hint of a lie in his voice. “Believe me, Violet. If there is a cost, you're strong enough to pay it.”

 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The storage facility was situated in what used to be a parking garage near Hell's Kitchen, a slick and shiny operation manned by a self-important fuck with an oily smile who made it very clear that if Violet wasn't authorized to have access to the storage locker then access she wasn't going to get.

The guy was only doing his job, but Elijah didn't give a shit whether Violet was authorized or not. She needed to follow up that lead on her brother, and he was going to help her.

Yeah, he'd told her it was because he didn't want her distracted when they went to meet Jericho, but that was bullshit. And he knew she hadn't believed him. Yet he couldn't tell her the truth, not when he could barely admit it to himself.

This mattered to her, and so it mattered to him. Because he couldn't get out of his head the look on her face the day before after she'd ended the call with her mother, the bleakness in her eyes. It hurt him, made him feel like shit, brought back all the terrible memories of how Marie had disappeared, how he'd searched and searched for her and hadn't been able to find her.

Not knowing what had happened to a person drove you insane, and he didn't want that for Violet.

So when the prick behind the counter shook his head dismissively at Violet, Elijah gave him one of his terrifying smiles, the one that was usually a warning to anyone with any sense of self-preservation. “I suggest you give Miss Fitzgerald the key to the locker,” he said, letting menace drip from each word. “Unless you like dealing with very difficult customers.”

The man squinted at him and then, obviously seeing the violence in his eyes, paled. “I'm sorry, sir. I can't. It's against company policy.”

Elijah had his Colt in the waistband of his jeans, but he wouldn't need it. A bit of friendly persuasion should do the trick. He moved, lightning fast, reaching out and grabbing the guy's shirt, hauling him half over the counter. The man made a strangled sound, fear moving across his face.

Elijah gripped him tightly, keeping that cold smile on his face. “May I suggest you make an exception?”

The guy, proving he had shit for brains, tried to struggle. “I'll call the police!”

But it was Violet who answered, her voice full of scorn. “Call away. The police chief is a friend of my father's, and I'm not sure he'll be too happy when I tell him I was only trying to retrieve something from my brother's locker. Especially seeing as how he's a real family-oriented kind of guy.”

The man panted, looking from Elijah to Violet, then back again.

“Make a decision, prick,” Elijah said coldly. “Miss Fitzgerald's a busy woman.”

In answer, the man fumbled around with something behind the counter, which he eventually pushed across toward them. “Here's the key. Now let me go.”

Violet picked it up, giving the man a disdainful look. “Excellent. If you're lucky you might get to keep your job. You can let him go now, Mr. Hunt.”

Clearly she was playing up her princess role.

Elijah released the man, but gave him a hard, narrow look. “You call anyone, anyone at all, and I'll have your hide. Understand me?”

The guy gave a jerky nod, looking like he was going to piss himself.

Violet was already walking in the direction of the lockers so, dismissing the front-desk guy, Elijah turned and followed her.

There were surveillance cameras everywhere, and no doubt their altercation with the front-desk guy was caught on tape, but Elijah wasn't concerned. He had a hacker contact who could probably get in and erase anything that needed to be erased.

He texted the contact as they moved down the narrow corridor, windows onto the city on one side, the small numbered doors of the storage lockers on the other.

Eventually Violet slowed and came to a stop in front of one. She didn't do anything for a moment, staring at the number on the front. Her face had gone pale and there were dark rings under her eyes.

No big surprise given everything that had happened the day before. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't let her sleep much the night before.

His cock, the inappropriate fuck, hardened at the memory of smooth, satiny skin and musky, feminine heat. The sounds of her cries in his ears. Oh yeah, and not forgetting the blowjob she'd given him that morning. Been a long, long time since he'd gotten one of those.

His instinct had been to push her away the moment she'd started touching him, but he just hadn't been able to make himself do it. His body had wanted the pleasure, had craved the touch, and especially given everything they'd done the night before, holding back had seemed ridiculous.

So he'd let her. And the feeling of her mouth around his dick had been … fucking heaven. Hot and wet and, Jesus, so good. Too good. He'd sat there, looking down at her, the orgasm resounding in his skull, his brain furiously trying to make plans for how he could keep her after the whole Jericho thing had been resolved.

Which was crazy. Because he didn't want to keep her. What he wanted was to grab the reins of her father's empire and take it apart piece by piece. And if he needed sex, he could have it from any woman, he didn't actually have to have it from Violet.

Pushing away the desire and the tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he watched Violet look at the storage-locker door, he said, “Do you want me to open it?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “No. I have to do this.”

“Don't be afraid.” The words came out of him before he knew he'd meant to speak. And he really didn't know why he'd said them, because there wasn't anything to be afraid of. Yet he could sense her fear and knew what it was. The fear of hope. The fear of pain.