You Are Mine (13 page)

His touch would scare her, but he was starting to think that was the only way he could get past that prickly, belligerent front of hers. The one that blinded her to how much the fear had taken over her life to the extent that she couldn't go anywhere without him. It drove her like a devil on her back, dictating her every reaction, her every move.

She had to see past it, she had to. But in order to do that, she first had to acknowledge it existed.

“You made me a promise, angel,” he said forcefully. “And we need information. So tell me, what do you remember from that house? What do you remember about the man who took you?”

“I don't … I don't want to.” Her voice sounded raw, and he could feel the tension in her jaw. Could see the denial burning in her eyes. Could see the pain. It hurt him like it was hurting her. But he wasn't going to let her go and he wasn't going to stop. This was necessary.

“I know you don't.” He moved his thumb in a minute caress that was supposed to reassure, wishing that he didn't have his gloves on, that he could feel her skin beneath his. “But I'm here, angel. I'm with you.” He put iron in his voice. “Don't be afraid.”

Pale lashes fluttered. “I'm not fucking afraid.”

But that was reflex. He let it pass, remaining silent yet not relaxing his grip on her one iota or looking away.

She swallowed, her throat moving against his fingers, and her lashes fell, veiling her gaze. “I … I don't remember much. I was blindfolded, like I told you. I only remember … his voice. And his body. Tall and big. I think … he was older too, his skin felt rough in places. I…” She stopped and her eyes closed, her voice thickening. “I don't know anything else about him. I was blindfolded every single time and he was careful to make sure it stayed in place.”

Zac ignored the tightness in his chest, the sharp edge of pain in her words. “And the guards, they never spoke his name while you were around? Never gave any hints as to his identity.”

Slowly, Eva opened her eyes. Fury burned in them. “No,” she said tightly. “I've given you everything I know. Now if you could let go of me, I'd be pretty fucking grateful.”

Of course she'd be angry with him for forcing this from her. And yes, he was a bastard for making her relive this.

How can she trust you if you force it from her?

Good question. But she'd left him with no other choice. Any information was vital, no matter how small, and she was the only other person they knew who'd had any kind of contact with Fitzgerald. And, Christ, gentleness and care hadn't worked. Respecting her boundaries hadn't either.

It was time for different tactics.

He released her chin, sitting back in his seat, clasping his hands in his lap. He pressed his fingers together as if he could force the warmth of her skin through the leather of his gloves and into his own.

“Thank you,” he said. “I know that wasn't easy.”

She turned her head away, folding her arms tightly across her chest and looking out the window. “You don't know shit.” Her voice was low, fierce. “So are you going to force me to sleep with you too?”

He knew what she was doing. She was covering the fear and the hurt, drowning them in anger and defiance. Fighting to the last. Keeping him at a distance to protect herself.

Well, after all these years, getting her trust was never going to be simple. Getting her desire, even less so.

Nevertheless, that's what he wanted.

“No,” he said levelly. “I won't force you. I'm going to make you want to.”

She gave a mirthless laugh, her head whipping around, eyes the color of polished silver meeting his. “Are you fucking kidding me? After what you just did?”

“After I made you keep your promise to me you mean,” he corrected mildly.

“A promise you blackmailed me into, asshole!”

Of course she was angry. He decided she could keep it for a little while, hide behind it and lick her wounds. Let her have that bit of distance to recover herself. But after that? No more.

“A promise I wouldn't have had to demand if you'd only trusted me in the first place,” he pointed out.

“Why should I trust you?” She sat forward all of a sudden, her anger a living thing between them. “Give me one goddamned reason, Zac!”

“If you have to ask me that question after seven fucking years, angel, then you're even blinder than I thought.”

Her cheeks had gone pink, her eyes glittering. She stared at him for a moment longer then eased back against her seat, turning away again. “Blind? Blind to what?”

“To the fact you're afraid.”

“Ha! As if.”

A silence fell, heavy as lead.

On the seat beside him, one Doc-clad foot jerked back and forth in a display of nervous tension.

He'd let her have that too.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he drew out his phone and texted Alex and Gabe. Time they told the others what was going on.
We have a name. Second Circle. 30 minutes.

“So you've told the others then?”

“Yes.” He didn't look at her. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, Gabe's reply appeared on the screen.

Who?

“And are you going to force me to stand up in front of them and tell them all about what happened to me too?”

“If it'll help the situation.” Quickly he texted back a response.
Fitzgerald.

“
No.” The word was flat with negation.

Carefully Zac tucked his phone away and glanced at her.

She looked even more fragile now, her skin almost glowing in the light through the windows of the limo. But her eyes were full of sparks and lightning.

“Alex did,” he pointed out quietly.

She flushed. “That doesn't mean I have to. I don't see you getting up and spilling your guts to all and sundry either.”

“But I'm not connected to any of this. You are.”

“So you
would
force me.”

There was no point denying it. He was through protecting her from what he was. “If it would save the lives of our friends then yes, I would.”

“Which makes you just like
him
.” She virtually spat the word. “You don't care what I want at all. I don't matter.”

His anger simmered, but he kept a tight grasp on it. She was only attacking him because she was hurt, like a wounded animal. “If you didn't matter, I wouldn't be here,” he said mildly. “Now stop sharpening your claws on me, angel. We have more important things to worry about.”

*   *   *

She didn't know what to do with her anger. Or the shock. Or the fear she told herself she didn't feel. The betrayal at what Zac had forced her to do.

He'd made her give up her secrets because of that stupid promise. Because of that stupid ultimatum he'd insisted on giving her. Trust? Fuck, what bullshit. If he'd really wanted that, he wouldn't have made her tell him what had happened to her. Forced her to revisit old memories that should have stayed dead and buried.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

The emotions twisted and knotted in her gut. There was an atmosphere in the car she didn't understand. A growing tension, dense as the snow clouds in the sky outside.

It made her want to open the door and flee into the city. Get away from him.

Or maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it was the knowledge that sat inside her, burning like an ember from a fire she thought she'd long put out.

Evelyn Fitzgerald. The man who'd taken her. A name that meant nothing to her and yet it was now the name of what had happened to her. The Man was now no longer some nameless, faceless person. He wasn't even The Man.

She couldn't bear to think about that. Easier to focus on the prick sitting opposite her than think about what that name meant.

Zac was sitting casually, his elbows on his knees, his gloved hands linked between them. An unthreatening pose and yet she didn't find it any less threatening than when he'd held Bryson pinned to the wall with one hand. Any less dangerous.

With his golden eyes on her, it felt like his presence filled the entire car. She seemed to be so incredibly conscious of it. Of him. In a way she hadn't been before.

So they had more important things to worry about. Apparently.

Patronizing asshole.

“Okay,” she said, channeling anger since that was easier than anything else. “So what about this screwing business then? I presume you're going to get that out of me too at some stage?” May as well talk about this as anything else. They couldn't do a thing until they got to the Second Circle and now seemed as good a time as any.

Zac was silent a long moment, his gaze on her measuring. She couldn't tell what was going through his head.

“Screwing?” he said finally, his fingers loosening in his lap as he eased back against his seat. “Who said anything about screwing?”

“You said you wanted—”

“What I said was that I wanted your body.” He paused, and she could sense something lingering in that pause. A hard, insistent meaning. “To own.”

At first she didn't quite understand. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

He'd gone quite still, his gaze fixed on hers. His body was loose and relaxed but his eyes … were not. “I want some very specific things when it comes to you, angel. Things that you will not want. Yet that's what I'll demand anyway.”

No, she still didn't understand. Sex was fairly simple wasn't it? “Things? What kinds of things?”

He said nothing, only looked at her.

Holy hell. Realization dawned, along with a slow kind of shock stealing through her. “Jesus,” she said on a long breath. “Are you into kinky shit?”

One corner of his long mouth twitched in what looked like amusement. “‘Kinky shit'?” he echoed. “Do you even know what you're talking about?”

She could feel her cheeks going red. Okay, so her experience of sex had been extremely limited, but she wasn't stupid. “Of course I do. Leather and whips and stuff.”

That amusement lingered on his mouth. She found she couldn't look away from it. His top lip was firm and hard, like his will. But that bottom lip was fuller, softer. A mouth made for seduction …

“I'm a sexual Dominant,“he said with that mouth she'd suddenly found so fascinating. “So I guess if that's what you mean by kinky then yes, I am into ‘kinky shit.'”

She swallowed. A sexual Dominant. Well, that came as no surprise considering Zac was a man who liked to get his way and who prided himself on his control.

Whips and chains and leather. Gags. Ropes. Being tied up. Pain …

Her hands felt icy, her toes numb. She wanted to shiver. And she knew she had to acknowledge the gut-deep feeling that wouldn't be denied this time.

She was afraid. Of him and what he'd just told her. Of what he wanted.

Which of course meant she had to fight her fear. Deny it.

“You like to tie women up?” She tried to sound blasé. “Whip them? Make them crawl around on their knees and crap like that?”

He didn't reply, studying her, the look in his eyes completely opaque. And for a second she hated how he could be such a closed book and yet could read her so easily. It didn't seem fair.

“Will you do that to me?” she demanded when it was clear he wouldn't say anything. “Tie me up? Flog me? Because I've got news for you, asshole. That's a big fucking no. Been there, done that, got the goddamned T-shirt.”

Zac folded his arms, still studying her. “Is that what he did to you? Did he beat you?”

“We've already had this discussion. Not talking about it again.” He hadn't actually done that to her. In fact, the sex had been fairly straightforward. However she'd felt like a piece of property long enough to know that being tied up and at the mercy of anyone else would be intolerable.

“Everything I do,” Zac said levelly, “is for the pleasure of the submissive. Everything. That's my job. To give a sub freedom to experience as much physical pleasure as she can. And if being tied up and flogged was what you needed then yes, I'd do that to you.”

As if his words had conjured it, an image sprang abruptly into her brain. Of herself tied naked to a bed. Of Zac, stripped to the waist, a whip in his hand …

Her mouth went dry, a pulse of something hot going through her. Oh,
shit
. She made a grab for the blanket, spreading it over her knees like armor, a barrier between herself and him. “Did you not hear me say ‘big fucking no'?”

Again that twist of amusement on his mouth. “Angel,” he said, as if she were a child, an innocent. “I can make you desperate for me to flog you. I can make you unable to think of anything else you'd want more.”

He could too.

“No.” Her voice was unsteady. “No, you couldn't.”

His head tilted, amber eyes holding hers. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah, pretty damn sure.” Her heart had begun to race for some completely inexplicable reason. “In fact, I'm pretty fucking positive.”

Slowly, like a big cat stretching out in front of a prey animal it didn't want to frighten just yet, Zac leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his gloved fingers laced together. “But see, here's the thing,” he said quietly. “You will want me Eva King. I'm going to make sure of it.”

It was a promise—of that she had no doubt. It had the certainty of a vow, making ice run in her veins, along with a strange heat she didn't understand.

Which in turn made her angry. “You think so?” she said, staring belligerently at him. “Prove it then.”

A bright gold spark flickered in Zac's eyes. He didn't move, his hands still clasped between his knees, a loose, easy posture. But the look on his face was anything but.

“Are you sure challenging me is a good idea, angel?”

She'd never given it much thought. He'd always been her faithful guard dog. Her tame house cat.