Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
IMOGEN
I had hoped to talk to Alexander this week about taking up a position with the firm, but whatever business issue he sent Saskia and Tobias off to solve had apparently needed his attention, too, which means I haven’t had the opportunity to discuss it. He only returned last night and headed straight for his study, the impenetrable Richard standing guard once again.
His continued absences have thrown up another problem: if he’s never here, how can I possibly rile him until he gets sick of me and asks for a divorce?
Meanwhile, my loneliness continues to expand until it consumes me. I feel swallowed whole by it. I managed a quick call with Emma last Saturday, but she couldn’t chat for long. She was meeting a group of our classmates at the beach and couldn’t seem to get me off the phone fast enough. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. Her life is moving on without me, and all the while my chances of getting out of here are growing slimmer by the day.
As I still haven’t found the motivation to draw, the main way I spend my time is riding. Will has continued to defy orders and teach me, and Lottie and I are getting along swimmingly. Yesterday, I even went for a short hack on my own. The freedom I felt stayed with me all night.
The smell of bacon draws me to the dining room now, but the sight of Alexander sitting at the head of the table reading a newspaper stops me in my tracks. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I take the rare opportunity to study him without him being aware of my attention. The bruises and cuts on his knuckles have faded, although one or two deeper cuts remain. He seems relaxed enough, though, so perhaps this is the best time to raise the issue of gainful employment with him.
He folds the paper, and as he does, his eyes lock with mine. Pretending I’ve just arrived and haven’t spent several seconds watching him, I sweep into the room and sit where I normally do, at the opposite end of the table from him.
“Good morning.” I keep my voice light and force a smile. I need something from him, and the best way to get it is to put my usual combative approach on hold.
The staff member on duty pours me a coffee. I murmur a thanks and take a sip.
Setting the paper down, Alexander points to his empty glass, and the same staff member dashes over to refill his glass with iced water. He sips, then returns the glass to the table. “Good morning to you. How did you sleep?”
My forehead wrinkles. Small talk? Alexander doesn’t do small talk. Not that I’ve noticed, anyway. He’s abrupt in his dealings with most people, even his siblings.
“Well.” I lean back as a plate of bacon and eggs is placed in front of me. I smile my thanks and dig in. As unhappy as I am, the one thing that hasn’t changed since I arrived at Oakleigh is my appetite. Maybe it’s the country air, but I’m constantly starving.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. Work is… consuming.”
My fork, loaded with food, pauses halfway to my mouth. An apology? What’s happened to the man? Has someone cloned him?
“That’s okay. You have a large empire to run.” Being agreeable is easier than I thought it would be. It makes for a far more relaxing breakfast. “It’s understandable that it consumes you. You’re lucky you have something that absorbs your time.”
Good segue, Imogen. Keep it going.
He pushes his plate to one side and draws a bowl of berries toward him. Stabbing a strawberry, he slips it into his mouth, and I stare. I stare and stare as he chews, then swallows. Eventually, I pull my gaze away and return to my breakfast.
“The inordinate amount of online shopping you did must have consumed you a little.”
My heart stutters, stops, then jerks back to life. Ah, hell. I’d almost hoped he wasn’t going to mention it, or perhaps didn’t even know yet. That ruins my plans to ask him about taking on a job. No point in keeping up the charade now.
Schooling my expression, I look him dead in the eye. “And what do I get for my disobedience? Another spanking? A second dunking in the pool? Or do you have something else on your list you’re planning to punish me with?”
“Respect,” he says.
I almost fall off my chair. “What did you say?”
Seemingly bored with the fruit, he sets the almost-full bowl on top of his empty plate. “You could have bought anything, especially as that card doesn’t have a credit limit, yet you chose to help a dozen or more charities that I’m sure made good use of your gifts.”
My mouth opens and closes but, for once, I’m speechless. This reaction was the last thing I expected when he finally broached the subject. I figured he’d be mad. But he’s… well, not quite smiling, but he isn’t scowling, either. I’m so confused.
“And I presume the donation to Zenith is related to your love of architecture.”
My skin prickles. If he knows I have a job offer on the table, it might alert him to my plan. I can’t have that.
“I interned with them a couple of times during college. They do a lot of work to help communities in Africa, so not exactly altruistic but progressive.”
“Yes, I know. I looked into them.”
My heart trips over itself. Oh, no. No, no, no. “And what did you find?”
“They seem an interesting outfit. It’s not often that businesses balance profit targets with improving the world we live in.” He wipes his mouth on a napkin.
Phew. He doesn’t know about the job offer, and he’s also unwittingly presented the perfect opener for me. “Speaking of businesses, I was wondering if there might be a position for me somewhere within one of your companies?”
“You?” He drops the napkin. “No.”
I curl my hands into fists. “That’s it? No?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
Clenching my jaw so tight my teeth hurt, I grit out, “That isn’t a reason. ”
“It’s the only reason you’re going to get.” Standing, he looks me squarely in the eye. “And I will need that card back.”
I stab my fork into a piece of bacon, my brief spark of hope dying before it ever had a chance to live. “What would I do with it, anyway?”
Alone, and with my appetite waning, I force down one egg and half-finish my coffee, then head back to my rooms. I remove his credit card from my nightstand, and I’m halfway to the door to take it to him when I stop myself. Screw him. If he wants the damn card, he can come and get it himself. I’m not his servant.
Hunger drove me to the dining room before I’d taken a shower, so I toss the card on the freshly made bed—Maisie must have been in here while I was at breakfast—and strip. Setting the water to scalding, I stand beneath the powerful spray and tip back my head. My one chance, and he stomped all over it before giving it any consideration.
He can’t be the kind of Neanderthal who thinks women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. For one thing, Saskia works, and for another, there isn’t the slightest chance of me getting pregnant other than by immaculate conception. So, why won’t he let me take a job? What harm can it do?
If he thinks that’s the end of it, he’s sorely mistaken. I will raise it again. And again. And again. Perhaps this could be my new tactic to annoy him. Keep on and on and on until he’s so over my nagging, he finally does what needs to be done.
At least ten minutes must pass before I step out of the shower. The mirror above the sink is all steamed up, and I curse. I forgot to turn the heated light on. Swiping a hand over it, I nearly leap out of my skin. Reflected back at me, arms crossed over his broad chest, is Alexander, his amber eyes aflame with interest.
I snatch a towel off the rail and wrap it around myself. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t walk in here unannounced.”
He doesn’t move, just continues staring at me with those enchanting eyes. “Oh, I can, Little Pawn. You see, I own this house, and I own you. Therefore, I can go anywhere I like.” He hesitates, lazily running his gaze over me. “And do anything I like.”
A swallow forces its way down my throat. This is it. He’s finally decided to take what he believes belongs to him. My heartbeats triple their pace, and my abdomen is in knots, but there’s that violent pulse between my legs again, and I can’t deny that part of me any longer.
It doesn’t matter that I can’t stop him. I don’t want to stop him. I want this. Him. Us. I want to know what it’s like to have a man inside me. It’s just sex. I don’t have to make it about anything more than that. Many of my friends from college had multiple partners. They didn’t make a big deal of it, and I don’t have to, either.
“You don’t own this house,” I rasp in a voice that sounds nothing like my own. “Your father does.”
“Wrong.” He takes a step toward me, but the bathroom is huge, so he’s still several feet away. He licks his lips, and I can’t help pressing my thighs together. There’s something about Alexander that’s both dangerous and irresistible. He’s like a roaring fire tempting me to put my hand into the flames. I know it’ll burn, but the pull is too strong to resist.
“Every asset in the estate is owned by the De Vil Dynasty, the company my ancestors formed long ago. My siblings and my father all have an equal share. So, my sweet wife, I do own this house.” He lowers his gaze to my chest. “Drop the towel.”
Despite knowing this is what he came for, and my traitorous body jumping up and down with glee, my rebellious brain is still in charge for now.
“No.”
He takes another step. “Drop. The. Towel, Imogen. I won’t ask again.”
A hint of impatience is usually present when he speaks, and this time is no different. My mind races at a million miles an hour. What’s changed? Why now? He’s shown such little interest in me sexually, even though I know he finds me attractive. Is my body sending out some pheromone signals or something that he’s picked up on?
My fingers tremble as I give the towel a single tug. It drops to the floor. Alexander’s breathing changes, shortening, like he’s thundered up a flight of stairs and is slightly winded. I lift my gaze to his, but he’s not looking at my face. A blush creeps over my neck and up to my cheeks, and still he doesn’t touch me. I may be inexperienced, but I’m not an idiot. He wants me desperately.
An urge to test the theory comes over me. Gently, I cup my breasts, squeezing them together. I brush my thumbs over my nipples, sucking in a sharp breath as I do. His eyes flare, his pupils dilating as he watches me touch myself. I’m tempted to lie down on the bathroom floor and spread my legs, if only to see what he’ll do.
“Turn around.”
His voice is laced with a demand I couldn’t disobey even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I pivot, seeking the mirror, but the angle is all wrong, and I can’t see him. I listen keenly, straining for the slightest sound that might give me a clue to his intentions. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I can’t pick up on his breathing any longer. Then I hear it. The soft click of a door. I whip around and stride into the bedroom. Alexander has gone, and the ache that’s steadily grown with each fractious encounter blooms once more.
My gaze shifts to the bed. The black card is gone, too, and in its place is a gold one. Frowning, I cross the room and pick it up. I blink several times in case my eyes are deceiving me.
It’s got my name on it: Mrs. Imogen De Vil. He came for his card.
But he left me one of my own.