I screwed on the top of the La Mer body oil as I glanced once more at the spot where Colt had sat the entire night without saying a word. It was weird that he’d sat there…no, more than weird. It was…fiercely protective and I wasn’t used to it. Not with the way he’d leaned his head against the wall, balanced his arms on the tops of his bent knees and watched me, or the damn silence that came with him.
But somehow, I’d slept…maybe better than I had in forever.
There were no terrifying houses and sickening screams waiting for me when I’d fallen into the emptiness that time. There was nothing. Just a dreamless slumber that felt so damn good. Now my body felt lazy and…lush.
I smoothed the cream onto the top of my foot and rubbed it in until it shimmered, then slipped from the bed and rose. The silence was one thing. Now I was left with four damn walls that felt like a cage again.
I didn’t like it.
Not one damn bit.
With a sigh, I strode back into the bathroom. Smokey dark eyes looked back at me as I neared the mirror. I looked a little haunted after yesterday and last night. That place. That goddamn man…take the tracker out of me…my gaze shifted to the swell of my breast and the dull throb as the memory of that basement came roaring back. Why? A goddamn, godawful deep growl followed. That calculating stare filled me. He was there, always there. Because I’m not—still he cut me off with that possessive word. Mine?
Mine…
The word lingered.
“No. I’m not yours, asshole,” I whispered, staring at myself in the mirror. “No matter how much money you paid for me.”
I brushed my hair off my shoulders. It was scrunched and wild, not straightened and blown out like I’d been wearing it. I lowered my gaze to the off-the-shoulder black top with a plunging neckline that went perfectly with the wide-legged pale pink slacks split to mid-thigh. Mine, the bastard’s voice still echoed. London St. James might be a heartless sonofabitch, but his personal assistant had beautiful taste in clothes.
Pity her boss was an asshole.
I placed the body oil back on the counter and strode from the bathroom. There was no sense in shoes, it’s not like I was going anywhere, so I padded barefoot to the door and opened it. But instead of silence, there was a clatter that came from downstairs. I glanced at the sons’ closed door, then turned back. Colt must be in the kitchen.
There was only one way to find out.
If I had to stay another day confined in my room, I was going to start redecorating…with a chair through the damn wall. The smell of food hit me as I made my way down to the foyer. Steak…garlic, some kind of—
A man walked around the end of the kitchen counter, and I froze. Butter…some kind of butter. There was a stranger…in London’s house. I glanced around, then slowly walked toward him. A stranger that wore a chef’s uniform. “Ah, hi,” I murmured.
But the guy didn’t speak, just looked at me, nodded, and went back to cooking whatever he was cooking. Which smelled fucking delicious. I stepped nearer and peered over the stove until he glared at me, forcing me backwards. “Damn, okay.”
I stepped away, watching from the corner of my eye as a buff guy dressed in black stepped around the corner from the dining room.
“Hi,” I offered.
“Ms. Evans,” he answered, then went about his business.
I knew the house was immaculate and my room was always clean. But I hadn’t seen any staff until now. I scowled, did they know about me, exactly? Like that I was here against my will? I stepped forward and opened my mouth to tell them—
What, Vivienne? London’s voice echoed inside my head. What are you going to tell them, and where are you going to go? I winced, hating how even now I knew exactly what he’d say. As I stood there, feeling trapped, the chef kept cooking and the guy dressed in black stepped around me before disappearing.
I thought about going upstairs to Colt, but the idea of sitting there in silence was too much to bear. So I went to the only place I could think of and the only place that didn’t scare me. I headed for his study. The master key was tucked in my pocket. I pulled it out, but before I could insert it in the lock, I tried the handle.
It was open.
“Huh.” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sunlight spilled through sheer curtains, but the light in the room was darker and more masculine during the day.
I glanced along the shelves of books then made my way to the desk. A desk that had a neat stack of folders with a sticky note attached. The closer I came, the more suspicious I was, until I stood over them.
If you’re going to make yourself at home, Vivienne, you’d better start here.
L.
“L.” I muttered, flicking the corner of the note. “Fuck you, L. How about that?”
He always had to sound so goddamn condescending, so damn proper. I looked around the study. I wondered where his personal assistant worked? Probably remote. I wouldn’t be able to stand staring at that obnoxious sonofabitch all fucking day either.
I bet if I reached into your panties, I’d make you out to be a liar.
My body trembled with the words. Heat followed, only now it was bolder, hotter, hitting me right between my legs. I closed my eyes and rocked forward as I gripped the edge of the desk. “Fuck you, London St. James. Fuck you…”
I opened my eyes. I just needed something to focus on, anything to distract me from the faint scent of cigar, leather…and that dangerously seductive cologne. I dragged a deeper breath into my lungs. “Christ, that smells nice,” I muttered, testing the locks on his drawers. What did you know, they were unlocked…
All of them…
Like he was letting me in, allowing me to see all his dark, hidden secrets.
I froze and scowled at the implications of that. He was trusting me, knowing I could expose him if I wanted to.
We’re family.
Those words rose. Family. Like they were the sons and I was the daughter. You want to call me daddy? Will that make you feel better about this?
I swallowed and sat in his chair as I ran my hand along his desk. I was slipping, losing that edge of hate I’d carried with me since he’d dragged me into this house kicking and screaming, and I didn’t like it. No, I didn’t like it at all. I plucked off the note he’d left me and pulled the file close.
The moment I opened it, I froze. There was a photo of the house of horrors, only it wasn’t in ruins like it was now. It was alive, seething and cruel. A man stood outside along with three women and a group of children. They were all girls, every single one of them.
The boys’ home was far worse…
Those words hit me as I stared at the women in the photo, then him…the man standing next to them. The one who held the plaque that read Hale Home.
“Hale,” I muttered. I knew the name…only too well.
I’d heard it whispered and wielded like a weapon. I knew who owned The Order and I was looking at the sick sonofabitch himself. The only question was, why was London making moves against him?
He had Jack Castlemaine.
He’d protected Ryth.
Even if he’d done it to serve his own selfish needs. The only question was, what were those needs…and where on Earth did I fit in? That question above all nagged me. As I flicked through the printed information on the history of the house, I didn’t find an answer. What I did find under the first file was another sticky note, this one with some kind of IP address.
I turned to the Mac, bumped the mouse, and watch the screen come to life. Vivienne. I was set up with my own login…only it was locked with a password. I glanced back at the note, but all it had was the address. “Nice one, dickhead. You forgot to leave me the password.”
Only he didn’t forget, did he?
Because a man like London didn’t forget a damn thing.
He was testing me.
I clenched my jaw and started typing…Vivienne, incorrect. Viv, incorrect. Vivienne Evans…incorrect.
The damn thing was going to freeze me out.
You can call me daddy…
Call him daddy.
“No,” I shook my head. “No fucking way.”
But that nagging cursor just blinked and blinked and blinked. “Goddammit.” Daddy, I typed, and the screen came alive, opening up to a screen just for me. There was a folder with my name on it. As much as I wanted to explore it, I left it to open up the browser and typed in the address from the note.
It took me to a prompt.
I scowled, staring at the black background and the tiny cursor waiting. Then intrigue got the better of me:
Hello?
I hit send and waited…
Who is this?
“Who is this?” I muttered and typed in.
Who is this?
Viv, is that you?
My heart lunged. No, it couldn’t be. My breaths were racing, my fingers trembled as I typed.
Ryth, is that you?
Yes! OMG. Is it you?
I let out a cry, my throat thickening.
Yes, it’s me. God, I didn’t think I’d ever talk to you again. Are you okay? Where are you?
I waited.
Caleb says it’s not safe to say. But I’m okay. Are you okay?
I lifted my head and stared at the study door. I wanted to say no, that I was terrified and desperate to get out of here, but those words didn’t come. Instead, I hated myself more than anything for telling her the truth as I typed.
Strangely, yeah. I…I’m okay and I’m safe. Protected even, which is super fucking distressing.
I don’t know whether to laugh or be even more concerned. Have you seen my dad?
Her dad? Shit. My thoughts turned to him. I’d invaded London’s study to find him, hadn’t I? Somehow, I’d been sidetracked.
No, but I will.
Good. When you do, will you tell him I love him? I have to go now, we’re just about to leave. We’re heading to a place that might be safe. We’ll talk soon. I love you, Viv. Stay safe.
My throat tightened at the words as I typed.
I love you, too, Ryth.
Then I hit send and sat back and watched the screen. She was safe…and able to talk to me…and that hit me harder than anything he’d ever done. Tears welled in my eyes. I swallowed hard, but I couldn’t budge the lump in the back of my throat.
Then the study door opened, making me jump. London strode in and closed the door behind him, but didn’t once look my way. I closed the chat down in a hurry, then realized I didn’t need to. Because he wanted me to talk to her. He’d orchestrated this all.
I glanced at the open file as he casually unbuttoned his jacket, removed it, and placed it over the end of the desk before he reached into the pocket of his pants, which drew my gaze to how they hugged his tight ass, before he drew something out and dropped them on the desk in front of me.
They were black leather gloves.
The kind you strapped on…
And in an instant, the image rose in my mind.
The feel of those gloves running over my breast. His thumb circling my nipple. Blood hummed in my veins as I swallowed once more. Still, he didn’t speak to me, didn’t meet my stare, and for that I was thankful. Heat rushed to my cheeks as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing the corded muscles of his strong forearms, and rounded the desk.
“Vivienne,” he murmured as he gripped the back of the chair and leaned over me. “I hope your day was productive.”
He was too close…
Too damn close.
My panting breaths only drew his scent in deeper. That rich, seductive, erotic-as-hell scent. I bit down on a moan as he leaned harder against me and entered his login code to change the screen on the Mac before he turned his head and stared at me.
Abort…
ABORT!
I tried to push away, but I was wedged in, unable to do anything but meet that dark carnal stare and try my best not to come in front of him. “Fine.”
There was a twitch in the corner of his mouth as he held my stare. “Good.”
He turned back to glance at his messages, then hit keys to send information to somewhere else before he logged off and opened up my login screen once more. “I take it you found the log in details easily enough.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?” He glanced my way and straightened, towering over me, waiting…
“Yes, London.”
That vile, soul-destroying stare pinned me to the spot before he gave a small chuff and turned away and made his way around the desk to open the door and stride out, leaving it ajar. I tried to focus on the files in front of me, my damn cheeks hot and blazing, but I couldn’t focus on a damn word. Instead, I tracked those heavy steps as he left and returned, carrying a pear.
He casually strode across the office and grabbed his iPad and opened it up, oblivious to me once more. I forced myself to stare at the words that made no sense and flicked open the page. But I watched him in the corner of my eye as he reached in his pocket, pulled out a survival knife, and opened it up. Steel shone, making my pulse stutter as I fixed on the honed blade as he sliced a piece of pear and neared the desk.
And placed it casually on the desk in front of me.
The order was simple: eat.
He turned back, skimmed his finger across the screen of his device, and scanned email after email. I reached out, grabbed the piece of fruit, and bit down. God, that was delicious. Somehow, I settled enough to read the words on the page in front of me as we lapsed into an easy silence, one where he divided his focus between carving slices and placing them on the desk in front of me, all while he pretended I wasn’t there, until there was no pear left and I held the last slice in my hand.
The slice that should’ve been his.
But it wasn’t, and above all, that disturbed me.
Not only did he share his food.
He made sure I was fed more than he was.
I slipped the last bite in my mouth and chased the dribble of juice that ran down my thumb before I slowly pushed upwards and gathered the file in front of me. “I’ll just leave you to it, then.”
He glanced up, but didn’t once answer. The hunger in his stare was answer enough. I grabbed the paperwork and hurried to leave the study and his damn possessive gaze behind.
I didn’t even glance at the chef, just strode for the stairs and climbed, with the sweet taste of my crumbling resistance on my tongue. I all but slammed my bedroom door as I closed it with a thud behind me, leaned my back against it, and tried desperately to contain myself.
Until I noticed it…
A large black box on the end of my bed.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, and stepped forward.
The box was huge. Matte black. Enticing. I dropped my file on the bed beside it, grabbed the envelope placed on the top, and pulled out a small white card.
Dinner will be at 8pm sharp.
This time, Vivienne, please wear the damn clothes.
L.
MY HANDS WERE SHAKING as I put the card down, grabbed the top of the box, and lifted. Black tissue paper covered the garment. I swept it aside and reached in, pulling out the most stunning dress I’d ever seen.
A dress that was black.
