Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
J asmine struggled to surface. Her mind was cloudy, and her body felt as if it had been run over by a truck. She lay on her stomach in bed, arms tucked beneath her, head turned toward a source of bright light. She attempted to open her eyes, but her lashes were stuck together. As she tried to clear the mental cobwebs, she flexed her foot in a small stretch and went rigid when her body telegraphed pain from multiple locations.
What the...?
Crusty lashes parted as she registered the scent on the sheets. The bed smelled of them. Her mind lurched into gear, supplying a blow-by-blow of her most recent defeat. Roth had used her hard. She’d be feeling the aftereffects of that wild fuck for some time. Both of them lost control last night. He physically, and she...
The pillow beneath her cheek was still damp from her tears. Her hand balled into a fist. He’d made her beg. At least she’d made him bleed. That was her only consolation since he’d witnessed her breakdown.
She should have walked away instead of questioning him about Grayson. Experience had warned her she’d lose if she engaged, and she’d done it anyway. She’d convinced herself she’d gone through a transformation in Berlin, taking charge of her inheritance and blocking him out of her consciousness. She’d thought she was becoming a true Hennessy, one with ice in her veins, who could play the game as effectively as him. He’d shattered that belief by easily storming her defenses and reducing her to rubble. Not even her father, who’d tried his damnedest to make her feel small and incompetent in her younger years, had managed to devastate her the way Roth did with very little effort.
On their wedding night, he’d vowed to break her. Last night, he’d succeeded. He’d proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was pathetically susceptible to him. He could turn her body against her and take what she didn’t intend to offer. She wished she were anywhere else, so she could lick her wounds in peace and put herself back together with quiet dignity. Instead, the scent of her weakness clogged her nostrils and made her stomach writhe with rage and mortification.
She resented the sunshine that heralded another day. There was nowhere to run and no one to ask for help. For the first time, Jasmine wondered if she could endure 352 more days of his relentless campaign on her mind and her body. Her ideals and her morals had been pulverized, and he was steadily chipping away at her soul. Soon, she’d have nothing.
If only she’d known what she was getting herself into when she agreed to this marriage of convenience. No wonder Lyle had questioned her sanity. She’d deluded herself into believing she was older and wiser and could somehow beat Roth at his own game. That notion seemed ludicrous now. She felt like that desperate, na?ve college student again, not a twenty-nine-year-old multimillionaire. Last night’s revelations lay so heavy on her she couldn’t move. There were invisible hairline fractures all over her body. If he kept pushing, she’d shatter.
What could she do? Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew there was no way out. If she welshed on their deal, Roth wouldn’t be satisfied dismantling her family’s company; he’d go after her brothers-in-law and steal the legacies that belonged to her nieces and nephew too. She was shackled to a self-proclaimed monster with no moral compass. He’d do whatever he deemed necessary to gain control. That included bribery, charm, manipulation, blackmail, and brute force. She had no choice but to soldier on.
Jasmine turned from the light and let fresh tears seep into her pillow. She wouldn’t win in a one-on-one battle with him. He was too experienced in the art of war and armed with artillery specifically designed to inflict catastrophic damage. Retreat was her only option. She was done pitting her will against his. She’d keep her distance, learn to take the hits, and protect her innermost self from being mauled for his amusement.
She let the silence soothe her. At least Roth was consistent. He made himself scarce during daylight hours, ignoring her existence in favor of expanding his empire. He tended to avoid the messy aftermath of emotional battles like the one they’d engaged in last night. That granted Jasmine the time she needed to put herself back together, repair her shields, and recuperate in peace from another humiliating surrender. As her mind replayed her worst moments, she let out a low moan.
“Princess?”
She stopped breathing. No, no, no. What the hell was he doing here? She didn’t hear him move, but she felt a whoosh of air on her bare back a second before his hand slid across her waist, making her bite the pillow to stop her involuntary shiver. It took extreme discipline to keep her body loose when every nerve ending was screeching in alarm.
He buried his face in her tangled hair. “I know you’re awake.”
Her heart tripped. She didn’t want to talk to him, and she shouldn’t have to. The least he could do was give her time to recover before he launched another attack. She had no advantages—no warning that the enemy was close—and no armor either. What happened to her damn robe? She focused on that insignificant detail instead of the coarse fingertips that trailed up her spine, causing her skin to prickle. As they came back down, her hands twisted the sheets under the pillow. She’d just managed to stop herself from cursing when he palmed her butt.
“Playing possum?”
She stayed perfectly still and willed him to leave her be, but he wasn’t done toying with her. The grip on her ass disappeared as his fingers trailed lower and began to probe. Before he could penetrate, she gave up her ruse and rolled, dislodging his hand. She glared at him as he loomed over her. She felt like shit. Her body was aching, eyes nearly swollen shut, and she had to face this devil before she felt human again. He looked as if he’d been up for hours. He wore a fresh white dress shirt open at the throat, slacks, but no tie or jacket.
“What are you doing here?” she growled.
She let out an embarrassing yelp when he hooked her under the arms and hauled her out of bed like a kid, not a grown woman. As he set her on her feet, she raised her hands to shove him away but ended up grabbing hold of him to steady herself as her aches and pains became more pronounced. He cocked his head as he assessed her trembling form. She glared at him, because it was all his fault.
Roth didn’t gloat. Instead, he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Jasmine didn’t fight. What was the use? He settled her on the edge of the black marble tub and turned on the taps, rolling up his sleeves to test the water before striding out. Roth had always been a man of few words, but this was odd, even for him. Not that Jasmine wanted him to stay.
She dipped her hand into the water and retracted it with a hiss, adjusting the temperature to her preference before Roth reappeared. He set a tray of dishes and a teapot onto a nearby stool before shaking out two pills from a bottle of aspirin and handing them to her. She accepted the medicine and downed it with orange juice before inspecting the heaping plate of English breakfast, complete with beans, toast, tomatoes, mushrooms, sausage, eggs, and bacon. There was also a bowl of what she suspected was porridge.
“I can’t eat all that,” she said.
“Eat what you can.”
He tested the water, frowned, and turned the cold-water valve down to a trickle. Jasmine ground her teeth.
“What are you doing here, Roth?”
Obsidian eyes coasted over her naked body. She refused to cover up or be embarrassed. What was the point?
“You had a rough night,” he said.
Her cheeks flushed and then almost immediately cooled. “I’ve had many rough nights.”
“We’re going to fix that.”
She frowned. “Fix what?”
“Your rough nights.”
“Those nights are because of you!”
“I know.”
His unapologetic acknowledgment rekindled the dying embers of her temper. Before she could put him in check, he reached for her. She held up a hand in silent refusal, but he ignored that and scooped her up. When he lowered her into the water, Jasmine immediately lurched for the taps, slapping his hand away when he tried to interfere.
“Why are you constantly trying to give me second-degree burns?” she snapped.
“The water needs to be hot enough to?—”
“Melt my skin off?” she finished testily as she broke out in goose pimples. She stood next to the faucet as cold water gushed into the tub. When the temperature was bearable, she adjusted the taps again and sank cautiously into the waist-deep water.
To her dismay, Roth crouched beside the tub, arms braced on the edge, eyeing her with an unblinking stare that unnerved her. She moved as far from him as she could and swished her hands through the water.
When she couldn’t take the silence any longer, she reminded him, “You have meetings to attend.”
“They’ve been rescheduled.”
That brought her wary, bloodshot hazel gaze back to him. “Why?”
“We didn’t finish our discussion last night.”
She looked away. “There’s nothing more to say.”
“I don’t agree.”
“I don’t want to fight anymore!”
“No fighting,” he said mildly as his fingers glided over the choppy surface of the rising water. “At least not on my part.”
Jasmine’s spine snapped as she straightened. “Oh, so I’m the problem.”
His eyes gleamed, but his expression remained neutral. “I have a bruise on my shin.”
Her mouth dropped. “I can barely walk this morning, and you have the balls to bitch about a bruise from a kick ?”
She gave into her temper. A second later, Roth shot to his feet with a large wet spot on his chest, making his shirt transparent. He wiped Jasmine’s bathwater from his face and looked down at her. She glared back. He fucking deserved that and more...
Her vengeful thoughts slammed to a halt when he began to undo his buttons.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“If you wanted me to join you, all you had to do was ask.”
“I don’t want you to join me. I want you to leave me alone!”
“But I’m already wet so…”
He paused in the act of tugging his shirt from his pants and reached into his back pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and stared at the screen for a moment before looking at her.
“Are you okay if I take this?”
She bristled. “I’m not an invalid. I can take care of myself. In fact?—”
He leaned down and gently tugged on her hair. “No fighting,” he reminded her before giving her a hard peck on the lips. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t bother!” she sputtered at his retreating back. “I’ve been giving myself baths all my life without your help. I don’t need you!”
He put his phone to his ear as he exited the bathroom. “Roth.”
“Roth.” She mimicked his clipped tone as she slid down the side of the tub, submerging herself to her chin in the steaming water.
What the hell was he doing canceling his meetings? He was supposed to be tying up loose ends so they could return to New York. Instead, he was extending their trip to talk . Since when had Roth ever wanted to discuss anything? Never. And why was he coddling her as if he cared? Nothing about last night should have blipped on his radar. Her tears were nothing new. Neither were the accusations she’d hurled at him, the “violence” she’d doled out, or what had taken place in the shower. Yet here he was, bringing her breakfast and attempting to be solicitous... aside from trying to finger her. Bastard.
Jasmine toed the taps off before slipping below the surface. Roth’s tub was large enough that she didn’t feel claustrophobic, though the black walls were a little eerie. She let the warm water soothe her raw, swollen face and tried to relax. That was an impossible feat, with Roth threatening to return at any moment and reopen Pandora’s box.
She wanted to scrub his admissions from her mind and move on as if nothing had happened. Because nothing had. She didn’t trust what came out of his mouth—about the genesis of their relationship, her family, or Roth’s depiction of himself. He’d fooled her one too many times, and discussing anything further would only inflict more damage. She was battle-fatigued, her mental shields tattered and her energy at an all-time low. She needed sleep, a dark room, and her weighted blanket. Their first month together had been filled with enough trauma to last her the rest of their arrangement.
When her lungs begged for air, she surfaced and scanned the bathroom, but she was alone. Her eyes settled on the tray of food going cold. She snatched a piece of toast. A minute later, she leaned over to fork up mushrooms. Eventually, she set the tray on the lip of the tub. Her eyes were trained on the doorway into the bedroom, but Roth didn’t reappear. Hopefully, there was a work emergency he had to tend to.
Even though she hoped she was right, Jasmine left the tub long before the water cooled. On the off chance that Roth was still around, she wanted to face him fully clothed.
She slipped into a robe, which was damp and smelled like him. She ignored that and the fact it dragged on the ground as she went into the bedroom, hoping her luggage had been delivered. No such luck. She had three options. She could face him naked, stay in this wet robe, or borrow something of his. She entered the closet, hoping Roth had a sweater or a thick long-sleeve that could pass as a dress on her.
When the light clicked on, Jasmine stilled at the sight of the colorful feminine wardrobe across from the muted color palette of Roth’s business attire. Two weeks ago, this side of the closet had been empty, and now it was filled to the brim with accessories and handbags. There were three dozen pairs of shoes in individual cubbies with fancy lighting. She reached out to inspect the tag on one of the dresses—not because she cared about the designer or the price, but to check the size. Her brows came together in a frown. Roth must have gone through her clothes at some point and relayed her size to a personal shopper.
Jasmine ran her hand along the fine fabrics of the elegant, shimmery gowns and admired the lush winter coats. Never in a million years had she imagined Roth, the man who’d attended her father’s party in work boots and jeans, would one day supply an extravagant wardrobe for her. Image used to mean little to him, but this was a different Roth—one who had to ensure his prop was ready to be put on display at a moment’s notice.
She opened a drawer and ignored the assortment of sexy underwear and nightgowns she’d never wear. She was looking for something drab and comfortable. In the last drawer, at the bottom of a stack of clothes, she found Burberry jogging pants and a matching hoodie. They weren’t drab, but they looked comfortable. At least Roth’s personal shopper had taken mercy on her and bought her one outfit to lounge in.
Jasmine examined herself in the full-length mirror. The bottoms fit a little too well. She would have preferred a bigger size, but the oversize hoodie made up for the snug pants. She pulled on a pair of patterned socks before going into the bathroom to brush her hair.
Her eyes were swollen, with dark circles beneath them. That was no surprise after days of little sleep and her brawl with Roth last night. The soak and the painkillers had eased her aches, but she was still sluggish. She needed something significantly more potent than the tea that accompanied her breakfast.
She walked back into the bedroom and spotted a lone chair facing the bed. A chill of foreboding trickled down her spine. He’d been waiting for her to wake up. Her stomach curdled with anxiety, threatening to expel the food she’d just consumed. Roth had shoved her to breaking point, and when she shattered, he’d comforted her. He was sick. She wasn’t sure how much more of his manipulation she could stomach.
This man bore no resemblance to the one who’d treated her with such care when they first met. That man was a figment of her imagination, a character Roth had created to con her. Now, there were no pretenses between them; no guises to hide behind and no need to play the nice guy with their deal in place. The reality of the man Jasmine was dealing with, whom she’d entrusted with her life, made her feel as if she were in free fall.
When she left the bedroom, she found the hallway deserted. The penthouse was so quiet that her cushioned footfalls seemed strangely loud. The great room looked as tidy as it always did, cushions lined up in perfect rows as if no one really lived here, and on second thought, no one really did.
A splash of color in the entrance hall caught her eye. Jasmine rushed toward their suitcases (one was his, six were hers) and considered rummaging for one of the sweaters she got in Denmark, but she had no idea which bag it was in. Instead, she retrieved her phone from her purse and peered down the hallway. The door to Roth’s office was open, but she couldn’t hear the rumble of his voice or the tap of computer keys. Hopefully, he’d taken off. On that cheerful thought, she tiptoed down another hallway, grateful she didn’t have to pass his office to access the kitchen.
Brilliant sunlight bounced off glossy countertops and cabinets. The sky was an unreal, perfect blue, with no trace of last night’s storm, which had raged just as furiously as they had. The countertops held no appliances, so Jasmine had to search the cabinets for a coffee maker or an espresso machine. She jumped when her phone rang and hastily snatched it out of her pocket, answering without looking to see who it was.
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Minnie?”
She straightened. “Ariana?”
“Of course. Is something wrong?”
“No, I...” She hoped the thick walls and the distance were keeping him from hearing the call if he were still in the penthouse. “Roth’s working. I don’t want to disturb him.”
“Oh! Should I let you go?”
“No, um...” Jasmine pinched the bridge of her nose as Roth’s claim about her sister replayed in her mind: “She’s been abusing prescription drugs for years. She’s been trying to kick her habit, but she relapsed half a dozen times this year.” “How are you?”
“Not as good as you,” Ariana said wryly. “Where are you?”
“Back in London.”
“Does that mean you’ll make it back in time for Thanksgiving?”
“Roth told Lyle we would, but...” She resumed her search for any machine that could produce her elixir of life. Roth loved coffee as much as she did. She refused to believe he didn’t have a freaking gold French press or something. “Roth’s running behind on his meetings. I’ll let you know when we’re back in the States.”
“I hope you can make it. Colette’s hosting, and she’s going all out since it’s Polara’s first holiday. She used to be as annoyed as Dad about any event that interfered with work, and now...” Ariana let out a shaky breath. “Things are so different.”
Jasmine’s hand tightened on the phone. “Are you okay?”
“Of course. Why?”
“You sound like you have a cold or something.”
“It’s allergies.”
She waited and even checked the phone to make sure her sister was still on the line before murmuring, “Ari?”
Ariana’s voice was a tad muffled as she said, “Today makes ten weeks.”
“Ten...?” Jasmine echoed, bewildered, before realization hit.
“Minnie?” When she didn’t answer, Ariana sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put a damper on your day.”
Grief clawed at Jasmine’s throat. First Roth, and now Ariana was putting her through the wringer without letting her get her bearings or a hit of caffeine first.
“Colette was discussing the menu and asked for my opinion on the wine selection. I asked if she had a bottle of Dad’s favorite scotch before I remembered.” Ariana let out a strained laugh. “It’s not like we celebrated a ton of holidays together, but it hit me that he wouldn’t be there, and I...” Ariana’s breath hitched before she finished. “I didn’t mean to bother you with this. You’re on your honeymoon. This is the last thing you need.”
“You aren’t bothering me at all. If you need to talk, call me anytime.” Jasmine calculated the time difference with a frown. “What the hell are you doing up at three in the morning anyway?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get a jump start on my to-do list. It’s been challenging fulfilling my role and Colette’s.” A pause, and then, “Not that I can’t handle it. We’re just going through a rough patch.”
“What kind of rough patch?” she said sharply.
They had a deal. Roth said he would help her sisters out of the rut they were in. If he wasn’t doing his part...
“Roth gave us advice that Colette thought I should implement immediately. It’s turned the office upside down, but I’m confident we’re through the worst of it, and everything will settle in a week or two.” Ariana let out a long breath. “There’s been so much change, personally and professionally. Losing Dad, Colette giving birth, you getting married, Roth’s involvement in the company... It’s been so hectic. I’ve never been so unsure of myself, so... I don’t know. I just haven’t been myself lately.”
Jasmine’s pulse quickened. “I can help. Whatever you need.”
Ariana let out a watery chuckle. “I don’t think Roth would appreciate me taking up your spare time.”
“He wouldn’t mind at all,” Jasmine denied, jolting when she saw a large shadow out of the corner of her eye. She glared at Roth, who leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest, as he listened to her side of the conversation.
“Somehow, I doubt that.” Ariana sounded weary and amused. “I hope you make it back in time for Thanksgiving. Kye and Bailey have been missing you.”
“Tell them I’ll see them soon.”
“Will do. I should get back to work. Thanks for the chat. Have fun in London for me!”
Her sister’s forced cheer made Jasmine wince. She was glad Ariana hung up before she had to respond. Her voice would have betrayed her tenuous hold on her emotions. She stood there for a moment, wrangling the grief that threatened to drag her under. She didn’t have time to indulge in a crying spell over her father—not when his greatest foe was watching her, ready to pounce on any hint of weakness. Her father had been gone for ten weeks. Was that all? How had she managed to make such a mess of her life in so short a time?
“Who was that?”
“Ariana.”
“She’s asking you for help?”
The chill in Roth’s tone made Jasmine stiffen. “No. She just wanted to talk.”
He didn’t comment; he just waited. Knowing he recorded all her calls, Jasmine grudgingly elaborated.
“She’s been working overtime implementing the changes you suggested.”
“They needed to restructure.” His voice was as unyielding as his expression. “They should have done it years ago. It’ll reduce cost and improve productivity and efficiency.”
“I’m sure it will,” she said with a tight smile.
His eyes narrowed. “If your sisters need assistance, they should come to me.”
“Ariana doesn’t need assistance. She’s just having a bad day.” When Roth’s brows drew together in a forbidding frown, she hastily tacked on, “She’s being spread thin since she’s taken on Colette’s duties. I offered to help.”
He pushed off the doorjamb and started toward her. “Hennessy about them.
“If there was a chance it would destroy what they have, do you think he’d share it with her?”
She swallowed to coat her suddenly dry mouth. “If he truly loved her, he would.”
Roth’s lips twisted in what she suspected would have been a sneer, but he didn’t allow it to fully form. “Love isn’t indestructible. It’s so fragile it can vanish in an instant. It can disappear as if it never was.”
“And you know this from experience?” she said sarcastically.
“Yes.”
His answer, so swift and unexpected, stole the scathing reply from the tip of her tongue.
Time stood still as they stared at one another. When Jasmine’s chest began to burn, she realized she was holding her breath. As she sucked in air, an invisible paring knife skated over her heart and left a trail of seeping red in its wake. She broke their eye contact and tried to slip past him. She wasn’t falling for his crap. He clamped a hand over her arm, stopping her.
“Take your hand off me,” she ordered.
He gave her a rough, teeth-jarring shake that shifted her focus from what was going on inside of her to the asshole manhandling her. Again. She prepared to knee him in the balls, but a glance at his face banished that notion.
“Don’t tell me not to touch you. Who fucking owns you?”