Three and a Half Weeks (30 page)

Now, those eyes train on me with the hypnotic quality of a crowded opium den. I begin to fidget with myself: first my hair, twirling a long lock around my fingers, then I redirect my energies to twisting the too-large ring on my finger. Mariah gave it to me last Christmas and it’s never fit me quite right. I think he wants me but he’s p
robably concerned it’s too soon, in light of my recent experience.

It’s not. Being with him physically is like a benediction, for in a very tangible way, Ian is a blessing for me, one I need to celebrate right at the moment. I rise to my feet and extend my hand, an invitation in my eyes. When he takes it, his eyes steamy, I yank him up to stand and then lead him into the plane’s small bedroom to have my way with him. Once there, I don’t give him time to do anything. Before he can even turn around, I push him to the bed and fling myself on top of him. Laughing, he tangles his hands in my hair and begins to chase away all my demons with his sensuous lips and tongue. I wrap my legs around him as he flips us, my pointy heels pressing into his posterior but he doesn’t seem to care in the least. In fact, the erotic pain might just be spurring him on.

“It’s time to get you naked, Ella.” He’s sliding my pants down while still jerking his hips, rubbing his huge erection on me. I find the hem of his shirt and slip my hands up his muscled abs and chest, loving the way he feels under my fingers. I push the shirt up and over his head. As soon as it’s off, I go for his pants.

He’s faster and while I’m still trying to pull off his trousers, I’m pretty much bare. He kicks off his pants, tugs down his briefs and pulls me on him. Before I can think, he’s inside me, filling every space, and all I could think is that I want more. More, more, more: we don’t stop clawing at each other until nearly an hour elapses and then we just lie there, out of breath and entirely sated.

I’m dreaming I’m back at Lucien’s, trapped, restrained, unable to leave.
Ian
. I have to get back to Ian. Then the tears rain down on me, big, salty tears that I can’t wipe away because my arms are restrained. It would be my personal tragedy if I were forced to leave this mortal coil without having told him how much I love him, how much I care. Ian, I’m sorry, so sorry. Sorry for not telling you, sorry for not listening to you, sorry I can’t see you again… just sorry for
everything
.

If I have the chance, I will tell Ian how I feel about him, that I love him, adore him, maybe even worship him, and am willing to accept the bad with the good—hell, I’ll even celebrate the bad because it allows me the blessing of the good.

Abruptly I awaken, sweating profusely from the terror of my dream. Next to me, Ian sleeps serenely, content and beautiful. I remember now: I already told him. I told him I love him and he swore he loves me too. Amazingly, my admission to him of my love has brought me tranquility—at least when I’m conscious. It’s important. So very important.

Though the thermostat on the wall reads a very controlled 68 degrees, the atmosphere is arctic in the sumptuously appointed office of one Ian Blackmon as his hot anger freezes into a calculating fury. Revenge, as they say, is best served cold. Ian carefully and methodically considers his options for retribution against his dual enemies of Lucien Phillips and Natasha Yenin.

What happened earlier in the day solidified his resolve to go after the people who were doing their utter damnedest to wrest control of TES from him. Ian had four hours of sleep before coming straight to the office. He and Ella had gotten in fairly late last night, eaten a quick dinner and after taking laps around the park near his glass house, they’d finally gone to sleep. But Ella’s nightmares had intervened, one right after the other, and consequently neither of them had gotten much sleep. By five he’d given up the game and come into work, leaving Ella asleep in his bed, the house heavily guarded with additional security staff and his housekeeper advised to wake Ella if she hears her having a nightmare. No one was getting to Ella—even in her sleep if he could help it.

Why did the bastards want TES so badly? Yes, the P&Ls were good certainly, but not remarkable. There was nothing floating around R&D that would put the company on the map, no deal in the making other than the government bid, which was far from certain. What was he missing?

It has to be personal. Slamming his hand on the desk in frustration, Ian practices a deep breathing technique to bring himself under control. The shit really hit the fan while he was gone over the last twenty-four hours. As he suspected, the files that were compromised when the system was hacked into had provided nuclear ammo for the sneak attackers. Excalibur had identified and been quietly looking into buying a small but highly profitable wind turbine and solar panel manufacturer that had artfully succeeded to bring its costs down enough to be competitive with Chinese producers. The plan was to fold the company into TES, thus making it a more viable energy contender on the world stage. Ah, the best laid plans of mice and me: the CEO of the firm had phoned Ian first thing this morning to tell him they’d received a more attractive bid from another firm. Ian had asked the name of the competing firm but Charles Cosgrove, the CEO of Alt-En Systems, had refused to divulge the information.

Cosgrove had been so solicitous before this incident: he’d been practically bending over and spreading his cheeks. He was hankering to get in bed with Excalibur and he made no secret about it. In the space of twenty-four hours or so, he begins to act like an ex-lover, avoiding phone calls and refusing to discuss the deal they’d been working on for the past month. There was really only one
explanation that explained his complete change of heart.

Nastasha.

She was behind this whole thing—Ian just fucking knew it, felt it in his bones. Why the woman had such animus toward him, he couldn’t begin to figure out but clearly she was out for his blood. He’d bled for her once. Never again.

“I’m going to crush the bastards, crush her if need be,” he promises an empty office. Stupid but it makes him feel better. The intercom on his desk chimes at that exact moment. “Yes?” He
manages to bring his voice from furious to curt in seconds. “What is it?”

“Daniel Butler for you, Mr. Blackmon?”

“Yes, I’ll take it, thank you. Daniel?”

“Ian. I wanted to check in with you. Delacroix tells me things have been active while you were in NY. I finally had the chance to compare the photo files and it’s a no go. That doesn’t mean anything obviously but it’s probably a long shot anyway.”

Ian rubs his eyes: he’s exhausted, mentally and physically and just wants to be home with Ella. “Well, it was worth a try. Anything else?”

“Just one thing relating to the other matter. I know you mentioned you ran a security check on Phillips when Ella first began working with him. I suggest you give it another lookover—a more careful one. Either that or send your man back to the drawing board because I’ve uncovered some interesting intel on the man.”

“Such as?”

“Such as he’s royalty. His mother is a second cousin to the Danish queen and his father is a French oil magnate. He’s extraordinarily wealthy, Ian: his net worth in almost in the billions.”

“Really,” Ian’s single-word response was spoken as a statement not an interrogative. So Phillips is affluent—he’s still a lowlife piece of shit. “So what do you extrapolate from that information?”

“Well, it seems odd that he would be after anything except Ella herself. He certainly doesn’t need her money. That doesn’t mean he’s innocent, far from it. You might try speaking to his ex-girlfriend. They were together for several years.”

There’s a pause on Daniel’s end and Ian is about to jump into the fiber optic void when Daniel speaks again. “I know you’re trying to put out fires over there so I tried to make myself useful. I’ll bow out now but please let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I like you and Ella.”

“Thank you, Daniel. The feeling is mutual, I assure you. And you’ve already done far too much for which we are most grateful. I’ll keep you posted on my progress with TES.”

“Very good. I’m taking my pretty girl away for a long weekend so I won’t be around for a few days. I do check my text messages regularly, however, much to Olivia’s continued chagrin, so I’m not entirely incommunicado. I wish you the best of luck.”

The line disconnects. Placing the receiver carefully back into the cradle
, Ian is deep in thought, pulling at his lower lip as he contemplates the new information.

When he finally surfaces for air, he rings Claudia, his assistant.

“Yes, Mr. Blackmon?”

“Claudia, can you please find something very beautiful and very expensive from Tiffany’s or a similar store and have it giftwrapped and sent to Olivia Girardi and Daniel Butler in New York? While you’re at it, do some research and see if there are any small Girardi sculptures floating around the market. Call my art dealer, Curtis Wentworth. See if he can get more information. I know Girardi’s work has moved into large scale these days but he used to work in different media on smaller pieces. I’m interested in acquiring one or two of the diminutive works. Any questions?”

“No, Mr. Blackmon. I’ll get right on both.”

“Thank you.”

Back to brooding. Shoving Natasha and her motives aside for the moment, his head fills with Lucien Phillips and the hatred
percolates up, ascending from his gut like burning acid. He had such a visceral reaction to the bastard from day one. So what if he has money? He could still be a douche and he is one. End of story. He has to keep him away from Ella, whatever his motives are.

But why? Ian is a logical thinker and when things don’t make sense, when things are illogical, they itch at his peace of mind. Why would a man with very high connections in the world and inordinate amounts of money reduce himself to the level that Ian suspected Phillips inhabited? Looking at it logically and not emotionally, it just does not make any sense. That aspect of the whole matter is what preoccupies Ian for the next hour until, exasperated by no dawning
explanation, he turns his vitriol back to a certain blond Russian beauty.

Ugh. I wake up feeling mucho crappy. I know it’s late in the day because the sun is too high in the sky to be morning. I’m guessing it must be afternoon. I drag my body out of tangled bedcovers (was it me or a whirling dervish who made such a mess?) and stumble off the bed, the bathroom my target.

After a hot shower finished off with a second or two of icy spray just because, I feel like a new woman. There’s something about hot water that is so restorative; I find it better than any medicine, better than anything really… except love. And on the heels of that thought, my mind swings to Ian and how much I love him. The one good thing about the whole horrid Lucien debacle is that it forced me to acknowledge my true feelings for Ian to myself and admit them to him. I hadn’t realized before how heavy a burden is undeclared love¸ but I’ve felt lighter and more liberated ever since.

Another sucky part of the whole thing is that now I have no job. Ian won’t let me even release any of my research to Lucien until he pays me in full for my services. Probably not even then. I need to find something else.

A gander at my pathetically pale countenance in the mirror induces me to sigh. How did I ever
manage to ensnare a beauty like Ian looking like I do? Granted, I’m not exactly dead-fish white but I am pale, even gaunt these days. I do like my new extra thin body, though. It feels so good in clothes and I can wear just about anything. But Ian keeps trying to feed me. Maybe he wants me to gain weight? I mean, just the
crème brûlée
alone that we had after dinner the other night had to be, like, a million calories. So deep I am in my musings, I don’t hear my phone singing until it’s about to switch into voice mail. Diving for my bag, I’m too late. I check to see who called and it’s a New York number. Just as well.

I pull on a
black suede skirt, a black, sleeveless knit shirt and high-heeled boots, throwing a black sweater on under my leather jacket. It’s imperative for my mental health that I get out today, shop for some new shoes, maybe. Feel normal. I’ll start with a trip to Starbucks and go from there.

In the entrance hall, I stop to stow my keys and phone in my bag, and grab a sweater. A door off the hall opens abruptly and I hear familiar footsteps.

“Oh my God, Mason! When did you get back?”

“As a matter of fact, just this morning, Ms. Strong. How are you?”

“Mason,” I cock my head, hands on hips, “we’ve had this conversation one time too many. Please just call me Ella. Otherwise I’m going to have to change my given name to Ms. Strong. So then I’ll be Ms. Strong Strong and everyone will make fun of me. You wouldn’t want that, would you? You and I, Mason… you and I must help Ian to get over his stuffy formality.” I pat his arm affectionately—though I’d like to give him a hug, I refrain from it. “I missed you.”

Mason’s lips twitch up a tiny bit in what he passes off as a smile, and he slightly shuffles his feet, his discomfiture hardly noticeable but I know him by now. No one has a better poker face than Mason. He’s former military so he’s stoic to a fault and just simply doesn’t show weakness of any stripe. Military people stare death in its cold
, black eyes every minute of every day at times; why would they be intimidated by little ol’ blue-eyed me?

Weirdly though, Ian told me that Mason acts differently around me. Ian attributes it to my extreme likeability; I attribute it to my extreme obstinacy at taking no for an answer. Either way, it’s nice and was even nicer to hear it from Ian’s lips. Of course, he was rewarded with two wet, sloppy kisses and an extra special blowjob—er, Ian not Mason, that is. Since then the compliments have been coming hard and fast from him—no pun intended.

“Dubai was a nice place to visit, but it’s very good to be home,” Mason continues. “I thought when I retired from the military, that would be that, but they keep sucking me back with these independent contracts.” He runs his thick fingers through his one-inch buzzed hair. “No more, I’ve decided. You’re a sight for sore eyes,
Ella
.”

I give him a big smile, trying for radiant. “I’m just going out for a few hours. I should be home well before Ian returns from work.”

“Yeah, about that—Mr. Blackmon asked that I accompany you today, Ella. He’s not comfortable with your being on your own so soon after the recent traumatizing experience you endured.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course he’s not, and I don’t want to give you a hard time so soon but I feel ridiculous being trailed by a bodyguard in broad daylight as if I’m royalty or something. Please, don’t bother: I’m just going out for some air.”

“I gave Mr. Blackmon my word,” he says stubbornly.

I’m not going to fight, especially since he’s just returned home so I throw my hands in the air in defeat. “Okay, whatever.”

First things first: I head to my favorite shoe store, resuming my search for the perfect black boots. I don’t find the ones I’m seeking but I find a really sexy pair of red sandals that I know Ian will like so it’s not a total wash.

After, I find a perfect little cocktail dress and a more demure one to wear to Ian’s next business function that he insists on dragging me to frequently, and I find a beautiful leather jacket for Ian, as well. Thinking about how hot he’ll look in it makes me squirm in my expensive lingerie. I also thought I should pick up a gift for Mason since he’s had to ta
g behind me all day, so I buy him a cashmere cardigan and matching scarf.

Fortuitously, since Mason takes the Lexus out of the mall garage, he can’t come into Starbucks with me until he parks.

“Why don’t you just wait outside? I’ll only be a couple of minutes.”

“Fine. I’ll be right here waiting for you, Ella.” He grins and I realize he remembered to call me by my first name. I beam back at him before turning to go inside.

I know I should let him accompany me rather than always giving him a hellish time for doing his job but I really do feel stupid having this super buff guy hovering over me every second, an obvious surrogate for my main and professional hoverer, one Ian Blackmon, sex god and chief worrier. Getting on the long line to order my coffee, I’m barely paying attention to my surroundings and that’s how Lucien is able to sneak up on me and shock me spitless.

“Ella. I need to speak with you.”

Immediately I begin to wheeze as a noose of panic wraps around my throat, constricting it, and sucking the breath from my lungs. I’m not sure what I find more anxiety producing: the fact that he is here and obviously stalking me, or the condition of his formerly handsome face—it is a total wreck, as if he stopped a bullet train with his nose. He recognizes my terror and tries to reassure me.

“Ella, I’m not here to harm you: I want to speak to you about what happened last time we met. Please, we’ll confine our meeting to this coffee shop… if you could lose the goon for an hour, that is.”

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I attempt to bring my respiration under some semblance of control and find my center. “He expects me to come right out and I’m sure he’ll come in looking for me if I don’t.”

“Can you tell him you ran into a friend and will
be a while longer? I’ll be brief, Ella, I promise.”

At that moment the barista asks me what I’d like and I place an order for me, and an extra for Mason, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice. Always polite, even with my would-be rapists, I ask Lucien if he wants anything and then instantly realize my stupidity.

“No, thank you,” he replies, but quickly hands the woman a twenty to pay for my coffee, before I have a chance to even take out my wallet.

“Come, let’s find a table while we wait for your coffee. In the interim, please shake off your muscle for a few minutes. Please, Ella?”

Mason sounds very skeptical when I call him, asking for a few minutes with a friend, but I do my best to reassure him. “I won’t be much more than a half hour, Mason. Do you mind waiting? I’ll bring you a
Venti
?”

“I’ll be right in front waiting, Ella.”

“Okay. I won’t be too long. Promise. Thanks, Mason.” I turn to Lucien. “You have a half hour and the clock starts now,” I say looking at my watch. Just then my name is called to pick up the order.

I can barely stand to look at him—his face is a messy swirl of black and blue, and his nose is bandaged across the bridge. The bruises around his eyes are darkest and he can’t seem to move his jaw so he’s speaking oddly, like an inexperienced ventriloquist.

“Is that all from Ian?” I ask, pointing to his face with my chin.”

“Yes. In addition to breaking my nose, he dislocated my jaw so severely it had to be wired shut, and I have a few stitches in my lip. Fortunately I have a great plastic surgeon so I shouldn’t bear any permanent physical scars. Mental scars… well.” He shrugs.

“I should tell you, Ella: I’m a dedicated pacifist so I refrained from fighting back and didn’t call out my own people to dispatch him and his back-up. I understand he was upset but he didn’t exactly give me any benefit of the doubt. I can’t pretend I give a damn about him or his peace of mind but you… well, you’re a different matter entirely.”

“Really? How so?” I can hear the dripping sarcasm in my own voice.

He leans in closer to me, his eyes intent. “Ella, what do you think happened the other day? I’d very much like to know.”

I shake my head—I don’t want to go there; it’s too fresh to take out for review but I’ve agreed to speak with him. All I can focus on is the curious fact that his voice has calmed my anxiety rather than stoked it. In fact, he feels as comfortably familiar as he always has and that in and of itself is distressing. Shouldn’t I be running in terror from him? Is my radar for monsters broken completely?

“I am not a hundred percent sure what happened, Lucien. Why don’t you tell me?’

“Ella, I’d be happy to but it’s not what you’re expecting to hear. From what I’ve been able to ascertain, you believe you were attacked at my home? By me? Is that correct?”

He’s making me feel stupid, painting me as hysterical. Still, I nod in assent—my mind did not just fabricate all that bizarre shit.

“Can you tell me exactly what you remember?”

“I remember being in a black room; I remember your making threats against me, saying my book was about you and that I owed you the money. I remember you… or someone… touching me inappropriately. I couldn’t move freely—I’m not sure why. Someone was saying bad things to me, horrible things, about pulling teeth and wooden ponies…”

“Wooden ponies?” He looks incredulous. “What’s the significance of that?”

“You know what that is, right?”

“A carousel figure?”

Is he playing me? I’m not sure but dredging the memories back to the fore of my mind freaks me out and I instinctively push away from the table as the pain begins to poke at me.

Lucien leans in closer to me from across the table in direct proportion to how much I lean back
, and lowers his voice. “Ella, shh. It’s okay. I’m so sorry for what you endured. I would take your hand to comfort you but I know that would only make things worse. Will you do me the courtesy of listening to what I think occurred?”

His eyes are piercing into mine: if I just focus on the nuanced color of his eyes and not all the bruising around them, I can almost see him the way he should look. “Okay, Lucien. I’ll listen but you have to be quick about it. Mason will come in any minute if I don’t come out soon.”

Nodding, he puts his hands on the table and begins to fiddle with the extra sugar packets. “My father was an extremely affluent man—he dealt in oil commodities. It’s impossible to accumulate the vast amount of money he acquired over his lifetime without making a host of enemies… some quite fierce.” He cocks his head thoughtfully. “I’m sure much of it was deserved because my father himself was ruthless in his drive to amass wealth.

“Anyway, when I was five years old, w
e were living with him in Paris, my mother and I, when an attempt was made to kidnap me. I actually remember some of it—to some extent the experience scarred me for life.

“I attended kindergarten every morning and my nanny would pick me up at noon. W
e would walk to the pastry shop—”

“Lucien, forgive me but what has this got to do with what happened the other day?”

He held up his hand. “I’m trying to explain about what I think happened,
Ella. But you need to know some background. If you don’t want all the details, fine. But what I need you to know is that the kidnapping was foiled or possibly aborted because two of the men involved… well, I’m not sure if they grew a conscience or perhaps developed affection for me over those few days I was held… but they ended up double-crossing the ringleaders, and went to my father. Without their assistance, the plan very well might have gone off without a hitch and who knows what would have been the end result. It’s certainly possible I might have been killed or maimed. These two men, Lithuanians, saved me from that fate… and my parents were forever grateful. My father took the men in, gave them lifelong employment, and treated them generously.

“My father died shortly after my seventeenth birthday— he was an older man when I was born, nearing sixty. As his only son I was important to him, his
biological legacy, if you will. Before he expired, he charged those men with protecting me and bequeathed quite a large sum of money to them accordingly. They are still with me today—not just guarding me but protecting me overall.”