Chapter Twenty-Four
Reality reasserted itself like a brutal slap to the face and everything snapped back into sudden, shocking focus for Verity. Reeling under the impact she was left raw and exposed, all her defences stripped away. With a moan of horror she pushed against his chest, wriggling to free herself from his embrace. To her surprise, Cross immediately released his hold and she lurched out of his lap.
Legs barely able to support her weight she staggered a few steps away and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in the distance as she struggled to organise her thoughts. Long shudders wracked her limbs and Cross was on his feet immediately, his face creasing again into that look of concern she found both unfamiliar and unsettling.
“You’re freezing,” he said, taking hold of her shoulder and steering her firmly towards the doorway. “We need to get you warmed up.”
Unable to argue with either the statement or suggestion she let him lead her through the bedroom and into the large, white-tiled bathroom.
Fortunately, the shower was big enough for both of them, as Verity found herself barely capable of standing unaided. Not bothering to remove what remained of their sodden clothing, Cross manoeuvred them both inside the glass cube and looped one arm around her waist, holding her steady as he fiddled with the dials.
A torrent of scalding water cascaded from the shower head and burned into her chilled flesh. In her weakened state the pressure from the jets was almost enough to pummel Verity into the tiling and, despite her best intentions, she leaned into Cross, letting him support her weight.
Closing her eyes she gritted her teeth. The experience felt painfully familiar and she was dragged straight back that day when they’d met properly for the first time. The same sensation of bone deep cold, the same shocked reaction to the sudden introduction of heat and the same sense of looming threat. She did the calculation. Was that really only two weeks ago? How was that possible?
Finally, the heat began to drive out the chill that had settled into her limbs and strength slowly seeped back into her muscles. Lifting her face into the torrent she let it wash the salt from her skin and took a deep breath.
Awareness followed: specifically the awareness of him. The solid wall of his chest supporting her back, the careful strength of his arms holding her upright. It was too much. He was too much. Pushing him away she moved across to the neat row of bottles lined up on the shelf. She felt Cross move to follow her and raised her hand like a barrier.
“I’m fine,” she snapped, “ I don’t need help washing my hair.”
He remained where he was for a moment, saying nothing, but she could still feel his gaze, watching her every move.
Determined to ignore him she hunched her shoulders and uncapped the first bottle, giving it an experiment sniff. The familiar scent prompted a shudder and she wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t approve?” he asked, sounding mildly amused by her reaction to the high-end line of cosmetics.
“It smells like you,” she said, trying another bottle. With another shiver she replaced it on the shelf. “They all smell like you.”
“Not a lot I can do about that, I’m afraid.”
“You don’t have anything left behind by a visitor? An overnight guest?”
“They don’t–” he broke off.
“Get the option to stay the night?” she finished. “How charming, and unsurprising.”
Cross shrugged, “I was going to say, they don’t get invited back here in the first place.”
Verity rolled her eyes and muttered, “Classy,” under her breath.
The lingering smell of chlorine was making her faintly nauseous, but the idea of lathering herself in his scent was infinitely more disturbing. Her eyes flickered across the room, searching for an alternative. “Can I use the hand soap?” she asked, nodding towards the sink.
Cross winced. “Really? It’s not exactly designed for hair.”
“Soap is soap. Everything else is just scent and a fancy label.” She raised her chin, waiting for him to overrule her but he merely nodded and left the shower to retrieve the soap dispenser as requested without further argument.
As he leaned back into the stall to pass it to her he asked, “Are you sure you don’t want a hand?”
“I can manage.”
He hesitated for a moment, then retreated, picking up a towel from a shelf and rubbing it through his hair. “Are you hungry?”
Verity shook her head, then nodded and then finally shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted.
He hummed in thought as he opened the door. “I’ll see what I can rustle up, just in case.”
Finally alone, Verity released the breath she’d been holding with a gasp and screwed her eyes shut, fingers tightening round the bottle of soap. No longer obstructed by his bulk, the stinging spray from the shower hit her bruised skin and reignited the molten heat simmering in her core.
Damn him, the cock-sucking bastard! He’d known exactly what he was doing. Her arse and the back of her thighs felt flayed from his treatment earlier, but every time she moved another wave arousal rippled through her and her legs shook. He’d wanted to drag a confession from her, but knew that simple brute force wouldn’t be enough to overwhelm her defences, so he’d forced her own body to betray her.
And it had worked, she admitted, choking back another dry sob. She’d told him too much. Far, far too much. And now, there was no way to take those words back. Her grip weakened, almost dropping the bottle of orchid scented soap. What the fuck was she going to do?
She leaned her forehead against the tiles and a heavy sigh lifted her shoulders. Not that it mattered anymore. She’d had her chance and she’d blown it. Everything they’d done, everything she’d been through in order to lure Valentina to London had culminated in that one terror soaked moment by the river. She’d even been gifted with a gun and she’d been too weak to do anything with it.
It didn’t matter anymore what Cross knew. She’d never get another chance like that. He could do what he liked with the information, she didn’t care. He could tell Valentina, he could tell the entire Eighth club board, screw it, he could tell the whole world.
It was over.
She’d failed.
***
Half an hour later, Verity emerged from the bathroom, rubbing her hair with a towel and swaddled in a bathrobe that dragged along the floor behind her. Surprise jerked her to halt when she saw the food laid out on the central kitchen island.
“You cook?”
Cross chuckled and shook his head. “No. I asked the kitchens to send something up.”
Verity frowned in confusion. “The kitchens?”
“Of the Club.”
“They deliver?”
Cross frowned at her, then his expression cleared and he raised a hand in explanation. “Sorry, I thought you knew. We’re still on the premises. Just not in one of the public areas.”
Verity gaped at him. “Seriously? Do they ever let you leave, or is your soul tied to this place for eternity?”
He opened his mouth, perhaps about to deny her accusation then closed it again with a shake of his head. Apparently choosing to ignore the question, he turned his attention to the food and gave an apologetic grimace. “I’m afraid I had no idea what you’d like so I thought pasta would be a safe option.”
She gave him a sideways look. “Italian? Really?”
He pulled a face. “Perhaps not the best choice.”
Verity sighed. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to rule out an entire cuisine because of one person.” Her eyes narrowed as she added. “Although I am avoiding steak at the moment…. And ice cream.”
If he was aware of that barb he gave no sign as he served up the spaghetti into the waiting bowls
Verity settled her weight carefully onto a stool and winced. She could feel Cross watching her, his brows pulled together in a frown as she moved carefully, trying to find the least uncomfortable position. He took a breath, a hand lifting towards her and for one moment she almost believed he was about to apologise. But then the moment passed and he shifted back into his standard tactic of practicality over apology.
“I have some lidocaine cream if you need it.”
“No. I don’t need to feel any more numb, thank you,” Verity replied, a thin coating of acid sharpening her tone
“A cushion then, perhaps?”
She looked past him into the living area. “Doesn’t look like your interior designer was a big fan of ‘throw pillow’ decor.”
Cross gave a visible shudder at the very thought and went to retrieve a pillow from the bedroom. Not bothering to wait on his return, Verity made a start on the food picking, albeit halfheartedly, at the pasta on her plate.
Very little in the way of small talk passed between them as they ate. But despite her lack of appetite Verity had to admit it was a delicious puttanesca, accompanied by what she assumed must be a very good bottle of Pinot Noir.
Once his own bowl had been consumed, Cross drained his glass and voiced the question that had been hanging silently in the air between them.
“I take it you turning up at my club, asking for a job, that wasn’t just random chance?”
Verity flicked a wary look in his direction, but knew it was far too late to try and con him with excuses. Giving a sigh she dropped her fork into the half empty bowl of congealing pasta. “No. I had been digging into Valentina’s life, trying to find out as much as I could. Didn’t find a lot, but I did learn that she was a regular visitor to your club.”
“But her main base is in Italy? You must have known that? Why didn’t you start there?”
Verity pulled a face. “My Italian sucks, it would never have gotten me a job at Eight Circle Italia. I thought I’d be better off establishing myself here and waiting for my moment.”
“To do what, exactly?”
Her shoulders slumped and she pushed the bowl away. “I don’t know. Threaten her? Get her to confess?” She gave a harsh bark of laughter, “Turns out, even when I managed to lure her into a darkened alleyway and had a gun on her, I still couldn’t do anything.” She gave a heavy sigh staring at her hands. “Pathetic.”
“You’re not a killer,” he murmured.
“No. But she is and I wanted her to pay for that.” Her voice cracked as emotion once again threatened to overwhelm her.
Cross nodded, but didn’t reply.
Hating the whine she could hear in her voice, she asked, “Can I go home now?”
He shook his head.“No.”
Verity lurched to her feet, snatched up a random fork and backed away from him. “What?”
He raised a hand. “I didn’t mean it like…
Fork raised in what she knew must look like a ridiculous gesture she asked, “Then what did you mean?”
Cross rolled his eyes, took the fork from her shaking fingers and placed it back on the counter top. “The doctor insisted someone was present to keep an eye on you for the first forty-eight hours - to make sure you weren’t a danger to yourself or others. The choice was to leave you in the hospital or bring you back here.” He shrugged. “I thought you’d prefer it here.”
“Really??? Because this place is so warm and welcoming?”
Cross ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. I preferred to bring you back here and you weren’t in a position to argue.”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
“Events from earlier would argue otherwise,” he replied, anger sharpening his tone as he rubbed at the bruise which was now starting to darken on his jawline.
Verity didn’t really have an answer for that and lapsed into silence.
Cross sighed. “I’m not prepared to let you go home unsupervised, but I can give you the original choice. You can stay here for another twenty-four hours or I can drive you back to the hospital. Whichever you prefer.”
Verity scrubbed a fist between her eyes. That was a shitty choice. She hated hospitals. And once he told the nursing staff what had happened, she doubted they’d be letting her leave in the morning. In the end, exhaustion won and she swayed.
“I just want to go to bed.”
Cross nodded and gently took hold of her elbow, steering her back towards the bedroom. Too drained to fight any further, Verity let him.
***
Lost in his own thoughts, Cross poured himself a glass of brandy and paced the living room. Mistiming his turn he caught his shin on the sharp chrome edge of the coffee table and muttered a curse as he sank into one of the armchairs. Verity was right, everything in this place had been designed for appearance over comfort. The fixtures and fittings, all cold to the touch and brutal to the eye. His gaze came to rest on the offending item and he frowned. If he was honest, he’d always hated that table. Why hadn’t he replaced it?
He shook his head, he knew the answer to that. Other than the bed, he hadn’t replaced anything in here, he’d just taken over where the previous occupant had left off. It hadn’t seemed important; it wasn’t like he spent much time here. And it felt safer to reveal as little about himself as possible.
So here he sat, surrounded by furniture that had been chosen by someone else, playing a role assigned to him by others. His mouth thinned into a bitter line. Verity wasn’t the only one who’s world had been turned upside down by events all those years ago. He sighed and let his thoughts drift.
He’d been barely twenty at the time - entering his final year at Cambridge, on course for a first class honours degree and with his sights set on a role in Government.
Contrary to the official story everyone believed, he had not been born into a life of wealth and privilege; he was a scholarship kid with no rich and powerful parents to ease his way. And he’d felt it. He’d resented the casual excesses of the other students in his class, the easy assumption that nothing could go wrong for them, that there was no problem that couldn’t be resolved by mummy and daddy throwing money at it.
He’d always felt like the outsider looking in, never permitted entrance to their cliques and clubs, excluded from the invitations and all too often the butt of their jokes.
He sighed and rolled his head, stretching out the tense muscles in his neck. With the benefit of maturity, he could admit that he’d probably imagined most of the slights and insults. That for the most part people were thoughtless rather than deliberately cruel. But it had all felt very real at the time and the jealousy had burned away at him.
And then he’d met Valentina.
He closed his eyes, summoning her face from memory. She’d been fifteen years his senior and unlike anyone he’d ever met. She was beautiful and fiery and rich . He chuckled softly to himself. It was definitely the money that had attracted him and she knew it. Like him, she’d come from nothing, making it clear that everything she had, she’d earned for herself.
His lips curved into a cold smile. No, not earned. Even at the time she’d never claimed to have ‘ earned ’ any of it. She’d explained how she’d simply decided to take it: by stealth, by guile and at times, by force. She was a risk taker and a rule breaker and had swept through his life like a breath of fresh air laden with the intoxicating scent of possibility.
He must have been so easy to manipulate, he thought wryly. An innocent. So naive, so hemmed in by rules and expectations. Back then, he’d thought she’d set him free; now he knew better, he knew that the lure of freedom had merely been a snare placing him firmly under her control.
On the night in question they’d both been drunk. The expensive, vintage champagne had been flowing and bolstered by that liquid confidence he’d talked her into letting him drive her car.
He’d loved that car. A sleek Maserati that exuded class and throbbed with barely contained power. The narrow winding lanes of Cambridgeshire were the perfect place to open the throttle and test its limits and he’d been driving far too fast.
The incident itself he remembered only in broken fragments. The sickening thud of the tyres passing over an obstruction in the road. The figure of a man stepping out to flag them down, his features bleached and blurred beneath the beams of the headlights. Valentina screaming in his ear to keep going. The bitter taste of bile in his mouth. A second thud as he side-swiped the witness. And then nothing but the roar of the engine and the thundering beat of his heart.
Back in the present he swallowed down the lingering nausea and took a deep breath. That night changed everything for him.
He’d never completed his degree.
He’d never even returned to his rooms.
Valentina had immediately whisked him out of the country with promises that she would take care of everything. If he did what he was told, she would make it all go away. He’d been too terrified to argue with her.
It was her connections that had secured him his first position within the organisation while he waited for the dust to settle and her influence that had led to his swift ascent through the ranks.
Convinced by Valentina and his own hazy memory that he’d killed someone that night, he’d surrendered control of his life to her and allowed the Eighth Circle to consume what was left.