Wicked Pleasures (13 page)

“I wasn’t staring at your breasts…,” he attempted to
explain.

“Get out or else!” Her lips puckered.

“Are you angrier because I’m here or because you had
a dream about me touching you?” Her eyes widened and her cheeks
reddened. “Yes, sweetheart, if you haven’t realized it yet, I can
see your thoughts.”

“How? It’s unfair. Stop!” Her chin trembled and his
heart sank. Would she cry?

“It’s not my fault that you can’t keep me out. I
can’t control what I see anymore than you can control what you’re
thinking.” He realized he was yelling and he lowered his voice.
“When there is a true connection, it can only continue to grow
stronger. Don’t you think I’d like to rid myself of this…this
misery?” A tear dropped to her cheek, followed by a whole stream.
Fuck!
He rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers as
his headache intensified. Talking to her was like speaking to
someone who had amnesia, but worse. “Get out of the tub before you
drown!” He turned and stomped back out of the bathroom. He made it
to the hallway before he started breathing normally again.

Every nerve in his body was on alert. His head was
pounding as blood rushed through him in a burning force.
He saw
the mark
. She had the exact same one as Jillian. To have the
identical blemish at exactly the same spot as Jillian had knocked
his brain for a loop. His eyes blurred with moisture as his heart
twisted.

He’d always known that Jillian survived through
Bronte.

And yet, Bronte and Jillian were different.

The longer he was close to Bronte, the more his wall
crumbled and reality became clearer. If he didn’t change the curse
soon, not only would his clan be demolished, but Bronte would be in
danger also. He knew an enemy waited, but his betrayer’s identity
remained a mystery.

He’d protect her with all that he had. He refused to
allow the demons of his past to befall his love again. This time he
had to make things right before it was too late.

Chapter 7

BRONTE HAD THE towel wrapped around her body when
Miss. Deveraux called into the bathroom from the bedroom. “Bronte,
dear. Are you decent?”

Stepping out, Bronte saw the older woman standing by
the bed, her hands clasped tightly together and creasing at the
corners of her mouth. “Miss. Deveraux, you seem concerned. Did
Roark ask you to deliver a message again?”

“Yes, dear. I waited until I heard the water
draining to disturb you. I understand how we hate private time
disrupted. Mr. Roark asked me to bring you this.”

“What is it?”

The older woman stepped to the side and Bronte saw
the dress lying across the bed. Moving closer, she took in the
beautiful black garment and her breath caught in her throat.
“But…that’s from my favorite designer.” She ran her fingers over
the silk material.

“Yes, dear. I’m sure it’ll look lovely on you. Mr.
Roark has requested—,” she cleared her throat “—I mean, he has
asked if you’d like to wear it for dinner tonight.”

Confused, Bronte turned to Miss. Deveraux, “He seems
like a man who wears two different hats. Just when I’m convinced
he’s an ogre, he turns around and does something nice for me, which
seems odd when it’s not very pleasant that he’s keeping me against
my will.”

Miss Deveraux tilted her head and sadness washed
over her features. “Once upon a time, Mr. Roark was different, but
over the years grief and heart break has made him build a wall.
He’s still a man with great kindness, but it takes longer to
uncover the layers. Trust me, dear, he doesn’t mean to be
crude.”

“Have you worked for him long?”

“Yes, a long time.” Miss Deveraux busied herself
with rearranging the pillows on the bed, then fiddled with the
comforter as she smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles. Bronte
wondered if the woman was hiding something.

“Why am I here, Miss Deveraux?” Bronte had nothing
to lose. Miss Deveraux continued piddling with the bed covers. “Did
you hear me?”

“I heard,” the other woman said. “Ask Mr.
Roark.”

“I have. He won’t answer.”

“And for good reason, I’m sure.” Miss Deveraux
started for the door.

Bronte was quicker. She raced across the room and
blocked the woman’s path. “Help me understand, Miss Deveraux. Don’t
I have a right to know?”

She lifted her chin in a stubborn tilt. “If it were
only that simple. I can tell you that Mr. Roark isn’t an ogre. He’d
die for his family, and time is passing at a blinding speed. If you
really want to know the truth, then search for it, my dear.
Everything you need to know is within your reach.”

“I don’t know how to find the answers. I feel like
everything is right under my nose, but I can’t seem to grasp it.
I’m beginning to believe you, Roark and that crazy witch are
screwing with my mind!”

Miss Deveraux’s eyes filled with tears and her
bottom lip quivered. “I’m sorry, child. Maybe it’s too late.”

Bronte stepped out of the other woman’s path and
watched her leave the room. She slid to the floor and allowed the
sobs to fall. Her mind and heart were at a tug of war. Confusion
and disappointment coursed through her.

She was afraid that if she didn’t get away soon,
she’d be lost. Not only physically, but emotionally as well.

****

Roark had his head laid back on the leather chair
when he heard Miss Deveraux enter his office. He opened one eye and
looked at her. “Yes?”

“I did as you requested. I gave Miss Bronte the
dress,” she said as she wrung her hands together.

“What’s wrong? Did she give you a hard time
again?”

“No.” She moved into the room and stood in front of
his desk. He could see the worry lines creasing the corners of her
eyes. He sat up straighter. “I…well, I think you should tell her
the truth.”

He swallowed. “Why do you say that?”

“There comes a point when you’ll have to trust in
love again, Mr. Roark. Do you doubt who she is?”

He stood up from his chair and crossed the room to
stare out of the window. The rain was falling in sheets and thunder
pounded in the distance. Similar to the storm in his mind. “There
is risk. It’s not only my life that is in my hands, but the lives
of many. If I rush her, I’m afraid all will be lost.”

“And if you don’t help her with the truth, what
then? Our lives are lost anyway. At least you would have done your
best,” she said.

“You knew my father, Miss Deveraux. What would he
have done in this situation?” When she didn’t answer right away, he
looked at her over his shoulder. She was watching him.

Shrugging one shoulder, she sighed. “Your father was
a selfless man. He loved you and your mother beyond words. I
remember once he was faced with a decision that worried him day and
night. He said his mind and heart were at a battle and he didn’t
know which to trust. He followed his heart and a year later, you
were born.”

“What? What do you mean?” he asked.

“I should have told you what I knew long ago, before
that fretful night changed everything. Just promise not to hate me
for not telling you sooner.” Her shoulders seemed to drop.

“I could never hate you, Miss Deveraux. You’ve
always taken care of me. Just like a mother would.”

“Let’s sit, young man.” She sat and he waited. “Your
mother was a human.”

He laughed. “Woman, this isn’t a time for
jokes.”

Not a sliver of humor marred her expression. “I’d
never jest about this subject.”

He relaxed back into the cushions and shook his
head. “This isn’t true. Of course my mother wasn’t human, she only
preferred living as one.”

“Your father worked in a mercantile while he was a
young man. One day, your mother walked in an caught him by
surprise. She was quiet lovely young woman with her dark hair and
beguiling eyes. He knew the rules though. He’d been warned time and
again what could happen if wolf and human mix. However, your
father, being the stubborn man that he was, just as you are,
wouldn’t allow anyone and their views to deter his choice. After a
short courtship, he told your mother the truth and after the
initial shock wore off, she realized she loved him enough to make
it work. Let me ask, Roark…do you remember seeing your mother turn
into wolf?”

“As you know, she died when I was young.” He
scratched his forehead as he thought back. “No, I didn’t ever see
her as a wolf.” The truth left a bitter taste in his mouth. “Why
didn’t they tell me?”

Her sigh echoed off the walls. “Your mother and I
were close…best friends. We talked many times about you and your
heritage, but I knew she feared what your future held as part
human, part wolf. Your father and mother searched everywhere for
others until finally they met more wolf-humans, but still different
than you. Your strength, intelligence, and power is above any of
the others, human or wolf. They knew from the very start that you
would be unlike another.”

He sat forward and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“How many others are like me?” His stomach twisted. The room seemed
to collapse around him.

She laid her palms in her lap. “Not many. Roark, you
and Jillian could have lived together, if tragedy hadn’t struck.
Yet, what is difficult for a wolf-human romance is the secrecy
involved. Many humans have a difficult time understanding the wolf
ways and that they must roam with his pack. Jillian would have had
a hard time letting you go when your need arose to lead your clan.
You would have returned, but sometimes humans can doubt that will
happen. And how do you explain to other humans where you disappear
to at long lengths of time? Then we come to babies born of mating
between human and wolf…which is your plan with Bronte to release
the curse…”

“It is possible, right? I’m here and I’m a mix,” he
said.

Her sigh echoed off the walls. “Yes, it’s very
possible. However, a human carrying a wolf child can wreak havoc on
her body. She must be prepared that it’s impossible to have a
traditional birth at a hospital, doctor and nurses.”

“You’ve delivered many babies, Miss Deveraux.”

“Only you were a mix, my son,” she said.

Roark’s chest tightened. “Can Bronte survive?” That
could change everything… “I couldn’t put her at risk, more than she
already is.”

Miss Deveraux nodded. “She has a fighting spirit
with a strong will. I believe she will be fine. You said the witch
has seen your child’s future.”

“Can the witch be trusted?” He scrubbed his jaw.

“That we shall see,” she said.

“I know I can no longer keep the truth from Bronte.
I guess I had hoped she’d realize everything on her own.”

“Although you are certain Jillian lives in her, that
doesn’t mean she is Jillian with all of the same characteristics.
She is as innocent in all of this as you are. It’s time to fill her
in on why you brought her here,” she said. “I wonder if you have
chosen not to tell Bronte the truth because you’re afraid she’ll
deny you? Or, do you fear the deep abiding love you are surprised
to find remaining in your heart?”

He paced the floor, hoping to relieve his tension.
“That’s ridiculous. It doesn’t matter what I have in my heart. Our
fate is sealed.”

“Is that what you believe? Or what you hope?”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at. Spit it
out.” He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“We have one heart, one mate.” she said. “Don’t tell
me you have forgotten…”

“Don’t say it aloud.” He began pacing again. “How
could I ever forgive her for her betrayal of the family? Of me?
Even if Bronte is different, Jillian’s blood flows with hers.”

“And yet you look at Bronte with such devotion,
swearing to protect her against those who would do her harm.” Miss
Deveraux’s voice oozed through him like lava. “I saw you two
outside playing in the rain like kids. I haven’t seen that joyful
look in your eye since you were a young lad.”

The walking wasn’t helping. He went to the whiskey
bar and poured himself a glass full of bourbon. He started to take
a drink when he caught Miss Deveraux’s grave stare. “What? Can’t a
man have a drink?”

“Do I need to remind you of the effects on you?” she
asked.

“No, please don’t start on a lecture. Why are you so
worried? Moreover, trying to convince me that love is thicker than
blood. You didn’t even like Jillian.” He downed the liquor,
squinting as it burned all the way into his belly. “You wouldn’t
even talk to her.”

She huffed. “Don’t you tell me who I liked and who I
didn’t like. I was only watching over you. I promised your parents
I’d take care of you. And back in those days, I didn’t think anyone
was worthy of you.” She sat back into the cushions. “I only wanted
the best for you as I still do now. And don’t forget my words.
Bronte is special.”

“Do you believe that Jillian and I were meant to be
partners? Had I made such a mistake?” he asked, then grabbed the
whiskey decanter and poured himself more. He didn’t even look at
Miss Deveraux. He could have bet his fortune that she had her
piercing glare on his back.

“No, you didn’t make a mistake. I believe the path
you have been on has led you right where you belong. Bronte is best
for you.”

The whiskey shot down the wrong pipe, sending him
into a coughing fit. Finally under control, he turned and managed
to say, “Don’t go there. Bronte and I have one purpose and that’s
to put right the curse that has hung over our heads for far too
long.”

“And point is, she’s at a disadvantage. You’re
afraid to tell her everything.”

“There’s nothing for me to be afraid of,” he said.
The alcohol did nothing to dull the ache in the pit of his stomach.
“I don’t tell her for obvious reasons. She despises me for having
her brought here, against her will.”

“You fear getting hurt. And can you blame her,
Roark? Just as you hate the imprisonment of the curse, she hates
being imprisoned also.”