Chapter Nineteen
Ashlynn
He pushed inside of me, and I screamed. His hand went over my mouth, and he held a knife to my throat.
Steele roared, trying to get to me, but at that moment a shot rang out, and I could hear his body collapse onto the floor.
“Ashlynn!”
I opened my eyes, only to find myself in Steele’s bed, his silk sheets covered in my sweat and twisted around my body. I was still in my nightgown, and there was no one there but the two of us.
“Ash, are you hurt?”
Steele was kneeling beside the bed, a concerned look on his face. My head swam, the scotch and champagne I’d had threatened to come back up as nausea hit me hard.
“I think I might be sick,” I whispered, and before I could say anything else, Steele picked me up and carried me to the bathroom, his strong arms circling around me.
I sat on the floor of the bathroom, dry heaving. Steele looked away, and I wasn’t sure if he was grossed out or just trying to give me privacy. Either way, I was thankful he was there. Of course, the fact that I was nearly raped was entirely his fault, but I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have sent me into that house if he had any idea that it was a possibility.
He handed me a soft towel, once again monogrammed with D.S., and I wiped my eyes and stood up on shaky legs.
His eyes were hollow and blank as he looked at me. “Do you want me to carry you back to bed?”
“No, I can manage.” I was already embarrassed to be falling apart in front of my enemy. I hated showing him how weak I truly was. I wished I could brush off what happened to me, but the truth was, I’d never been so scared in my entire life. More so than when I was in the basement with Steele before. Even when he threatened to touch me, there was an element of control in his actions. Tonight’s encounter was different, and my attacker, Lord Stanley, looked wild and crazed. If Steele hadn’t been there in time…I shuddered, knowing what would have followed.
“Are you cold?” he asked, following me back to his bed.
“A little,” I answered, pulling the sheets back and getting into bed. Before I could protest, he crawled behind me, pulling my body to his. His chest was warm against my back, his breath hot against my ear.
“What are you doing?” I asked, as his arms circled my waist.
“Keeping you warm,” he responded, lying his head down on the pillow. “I suggest you get some sleep.”
His muscled arms were heavy against me, and for a moment I felt uncomfortable in the arms of my captor. But the longer he held me, a feeling of peace started to wash over me. I remembered the way Steele had looked when Lord Stanley had me on the ground, and the ferocity in which he’d protected me. Knowing that nothing could get past this man, and the protective cage his arms provided, I drifted off to sleep.
The first sensation I felt when I woke up was Steele’s arms wrapped tightly around me. The second was his erection, pushing against my backside. I opened my eyes, adjusting to the darkness of the room. Unlike the guest room I had inhabited, there was not a drop of natural light in Steele’s bedroom. The only way I knew that it was morning was from the clock on the nightstand. It was eight o’clock, and I’d slept peacefully the rest of the night.
I shifted in the bed, trying to sneak out before Steele got up. I gently peeled his arms away from me and sat up. My head throbbed, and I had a major hangover, both from the champagne and the scotch I’d drained the night before. I looked at the nightstand and noticed there was a glass of water and some aspirin waiting for me. I popped the pills in my mouth, and then got out of bed.
“Ashlynn.”
His voice was raw with emotion, and the tone was enough to stop me dead in my tracks. I didn’t turn around, but I stopped, preparing to listen to what he had to say.
“I’m sorry.”
Steele didn’t lock the door to my bedroom again, and now that the water damage was gone, I returned there. Clothes suddenly appeared in the closet, and I was back to wearing jeans and sweaters, my usual uniform. The undergarments weren”t to my taste, but a hostage couldn’t be picky. Part of me wondered if Steele had picked them out just for me, hoping he’d get to see me in them, or if it was just a personal shopper getting what was in style. But, either way, it was nice to feel like me again.
I took a tentative step out of the bedroom, looking both ways down the hall. After the attack the previous night, it seemed as if Steele was willing to grant me a little bit of freedom. There was no one there, no one watching me. I went down the stairs, noticing that the fans drying the carpet were removed, and I entered the kitchen. There was no one there either, so I tiptoed in, my bare feet hitting the heated floor. I noticed that the knife block was gone, and I snorted. But I actually wasn’t sure what I would have done if it was there. I couldn’t kill Steele before, and now that we’d slept together, and spent last night sleeping in each other’s arms, I was more confused than ever before.
I sat in the library, wondering what to make of my newfound relationship with Steele. He was still holding me hostage, yet…I was afraid to leave his side. Twice now I’d been endangered, and both times Steele was there to save the day. He held me so tenderly in the night, and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t exactly what I needed at that moment. I’d never felt so safe and secure, even living in the penthouse in New York. Something about this man made me feel bulletproof, and after what I’d been through, the feeling was more than welcome. In fact, I ached for that type of safety and security. I’d seen more in the last two weeks than in my entire life, and I was no longer sheltered from the dangers of the world.
I wondered where Steele was. I hadn’t seen him since I woke up in his bed this morning, and I figured he was as confused as I was, and avoiding me on purpose.
I heard heavy footsteps move past the library, and then commotion at the front door. Curiosity got the better of me, so I placed a marker in the book I was reading and lifted myself out of the black leather chair.
Steele was standing in the foyer with a massive, wrapped parcel. He shook hands with the delivery man that brought it, then closed the door behind him. His eyes focused on me as I came closer, but he kept silent as he unwrapped the package.
It was the painting he’d sent me to investigate at Lord Stanley’s party. The second the brown paper was torn off and the bright colors exposed, I blanched, sick to my stomach after realizing what had happened the first time I’d seen the painting.
Steele’s face met mine, and the usually hard lines of his face softened.
“Quincy, please come take this to the basement,” he called. “And tell Cooper to find a buyer immediately. I don’t wish it to be visible anywhere in the house.”
Quincy appeared as if from nowhere and removed the painting.
“Thanks for doing that,” I mumbled.
In usual fashion, he didn’t respond. Instead, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable and dark. I was just about to turn around when he spoke, gently.
“Have dinner with me?”
I didn’t know why, but I paid special attention to my hair and make-up. My feelings towards Steele were still complex. I refused to care for the type of man that would take a woman hostage, but his treatment of me last night confused the hell out of me. For the rest of the evening, I felt like I was with…a lover. The way he tenderly held me, took care of me…it was really…nice.
I found an attractive purple dress in my closet and put it on. My waistline was much tinier than it was when Steele first took me, so it hung a little more loosely than clothes usually did on me. I decided to leave my hair down in soft, loose curls. For my eyes, I went for a smoky and seductive look. I didn’t know where Steele was taking me, but I wanted to look nice. And, since I was supposed to be his fiancée to the outside world, I knew he’d want me to look my best.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches on my make-up, there was a knock on my door.
I answered, and Steele stood there, freshly shaved and looking handsome in a dark navy suit. He nodded appreciatively when he looked at me, a slight smile on his face. He didn’t go out of his way to hide his desire anymore, and, at this point, it seemed pointless anyways. It was no secret that we were insanely attracted to each other, with chemistry so explosive that it blurred and crossed lines it never should.
“Are you ready?” he asked, offering his arm to me somewhat nervously. It was shocking to see him anxious. He was usually so confident that it was irritating. But as I took his arm, I realized I was nervous too. Something had changed between us, and this new territory we found ourselves in was startling to both of us.
He led me down the stairs and back into the garage.
“What car do you want to take?” he asked, and I looked around the garage, seeing eight different vehicles, from the Hummer we rode in before to several sports cars, and even a pick-up truck.
“I don’t have a preference,” I said, and he took me over to an Aston Martin. I didn’t know a ton about cars, having grown up traveling in taxis and limos, but I knew it was a seriously expensive ride. He opened the door, and I slid inside. He got in the driver”s seat, and then we cleared the security gate and rode down the streets of London.
When he pulled up to a small runway right next to Heathrow, I was immediately surprised.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“I told you, I’m taking you to dinner,” he said simply, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“At the airport?”
“In Paris.”
My mouth dropped as I looked out the window at the private plane sitting on the tarmac. ‘Steele Enterprises’ was written on the side of the plane, and Steele tossed the keys of his car to a uniformed man standing near the plane.
He gestured to me, and I made my way up the steps and aboard the aircraft.
There were eight seats, all covered in a handsome cream leather. The chairs reclined and spun, with tables in between. Steele motioned to the seat on the far side, and I sat down. A uniformed man came up from the back of the plane with two glasses of champagne. Steele didn’t touch his, and I knew it was because he preferred scotch. I drank mine down, getting more and more nervous as this evening grew into something far larger than just dinner.
Steele sat in his chair, reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal that the attendant brought him. His legs were slightly apart, and his wide shoulders made the recliner look small. I watched his eyes move back and forth as he read, his face relaxed. After a few minutes he put the paper down and looked at me. My eyes met his, and I fought the urge to look away. Seeing his blue eyes sparkle under the light humanized him, made me like him a bit more. I struggled to break the intensity that was building between us.
“So, do you normally jet off to Paris when you take a woman out?”
He glanced down briefly, almost as if he was embarrassed. “I’ve never taken a woman out before.”
“What?” I exclaimed. I found it hard to believe that he didn’t have women throwing themselves at him all day long. Heck, if I would have met him under different circumstances, I wouldn’t have wasted any time trying to flirt with him.
He flexed his fingers, staring at his hands and then picking a small piece of fuzz off of his suit jacket. “I don’t date women.”
“So this is how you tell me you’re gay?” I teased, trying to make this conversation less awkward than it was.
“You of all people know my…sexual preferences,” he said, meeting my eyes briefly, the emotion between us raw. I couldn’t help but picture the night we spent together, wrapped up in a tangle of limbs, exhausted from the pleasure. Most men loved sex, but Steele relished in it. “All of my…encounters…are purely physical.”
“No dates? No dinner?”
“No kissing,” he said, his voice somewhat small and diminished.
This was not what I was expecting. I’d imagined him to be a womanizer, making every single woman bend over backwards to please him. I thought he’d tell them he loved them before dumping them, and they would cry their hearts out over him for months and months.
“Do these women…ever want more?” I was genuinely curious how any woman could turn him down. He was handsome, rich, sophisticated—aside from his unique hobby of kidnapping innocent women, he was a catch.
Steele sighed, looking out the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “I make it very clear what my expectations are. Most of the time, they’d rather have a small taste than skip the meal altogether.” He shrugged, and, almost as if we were one person, I could feel the loneliness that plagued his soul.
I struggled, wanting to ask the question burning in my mind, but I was afraid of the answer. The reckless part of me, however, threw the question out there.
“But—you’ve kissed me…”
Another deep sigh.
“I know,” he replied, and he let the question hang in the air, unanswered. He was always mercurial and mysterious, but I could barely read him now—and maybe I didn’t need to. He’d confirmed what I already knew: things were different between us.
The flight attendant brought him a scotch, and he seemed to relax a bit more once he’d finished it. I was starting to wonder if he was ever truly sober. I rarely saw him without a drink in hand.
I refused a second glass of champagne, my hangover still fresh in my mind.
The flight was quick and smooth, and we arrived on a private runway just behind Charles De Gaulle airport. Steele disembarked first, and I followed him to another car, this one a Lamborghini. I only recognized it because my father owned one that was tucked away in the garage at our house on Martha’s Vineyard, which we retreated to during the hot summer months.
Steele opened the car door for me, his chivalry a welcome change. I struggled, trying to figure out who the real Steele was. Was it the cold and calculating man who locked me in a basement for revenge? Or was it this version of him, the gentleman who opened the car door and left aspirin on the nightstand for me?
We drove quietly through the city, each lost in our own thoughts. The silence was actually quite comfortable, and I’d gotten used to his presence over the past week.
Had it only been a week? Perhaps two? I’d lost count of the days, and I found myself not worrying about it. I’d already lost my job with the Harringtons, and there was nothing left for me back in the states.
Steele pulled up to an expensive looking restaurant, and he handed his car keys to the valet.
“So now you’ll let someone touch your car?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
Steele put his hand in the small of my back, gently directing me towards the door. The gesture was incredibly intimate, but it seemed natural.
“I don’t mind people touching my cars. I just don’t trust anyone associated with Lord Stanley—rightfully so,” he replied.
We got up to the podium at the front of the restaurant, and the ma?tre d” just beckoned Steele forward, chattering at him in French. I understood enough to figure out that Steele was a well-known figure at the restaurant. What was even more shocking was the fluency Steele possessed. He responded seamlessly in French, and, for the second time, I wondered about his heritage. He didn’t quite have a full British accent, and he spoke French beautifully.
We were shown to a private room off to the far side of the restaurant. The finest crystal lined the pristine white tablecloth, and a single red rose was in a vase on the table. Once we were settled with our menus, I gave Steele a look.
“Yes?”
“You own the restaurant, don’t you?”
He looked a bit sheepish, which was an odd expression to see on his usually stern face.
“It’s nice,” I said, glancing at the menu. I picked a salmon dish, and Steele chose a filet. The waiter poured a glass of scotch for each of us, and then left us alone.
“So, what made you choose Cambridge?” Steele asked, and I realized it was the first time we’d had a normal conversation.
I took a sip of the scotch, letting it warm my throat. “Honestly? It was the farthest university away from home that my father agreed to pay for.” I dipped my head when I mentioned my father, but Steele remained emotionless.
“Your mother passed?” He knew the answer before he asked it. He obviously assigned people to dig up information on me, probably before he even thought about taking me.
“Yes. She was really my best friend. When she was gone, there wasn’t a reason to stick around.” I grabbed a slice of bread from the basket on the table, slathering it with butter. It tasted incredible, and my mouth watered as I waited for the main course to arrive.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He seemed sincere, and it made me wonder about his family.
“Are your parents alive?”
He drummed his fingers on the tablecloth, one hand on his glass. “No.”
I was disappointed that I didn’t get a long backstory, so I tried again. “Lord Wethers?”
He smiled, and I grinned back.
“I’m titled. Even though I’m technically a bastard.”
“That I knew,” I smirked.
He actually laughed aloud, and the sound was so jovial that I wanted him to laugh more.
“You rarely hear that word used in the actual sense anymore,” I said, taking another drink of scotch, as he polished off his first glass.
“My father was the next Earl. He died young, but not before he knocked up my mother. She was from a prestigious family, but when they found out what happened, she was disinherited and forced to live on the streets. She became a prostitute to provide for herself.”
I squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable with this revelation. Bits and pieces of this man were coming together before my eyes, and it humanized him.
I wanted to ask more, but at that moment our dinner came, and I attacked my plate. I hadn’t had a decent meal in forever, even before I was taken hostage, and the smell alone was heaven.
Steele cut into his filet, but instead of focusing on it, he watched me eat.
I should have tried to use some manners, but I was too starved to show any kind of restraint. The fish was so incredibly tender that it fell apart in my mouth and I groaned under my breath. Steele caught my look, his eyes meeting mine, and I knew he hungered, not for the food in front of him, but for me.
I was starting to worry because I shared the exact same desire.
We ate in silence, but so much was conveyed without words. A tilt of the head, a biting of the lip. The tension and heat continued to simmer between us, and by the time the waiter came to clear away the plates, I knew what was going to happen before the night was over.
“Dessert?” the waiter asked, this time speaking in English for my benefit.
“Later,” Steele replied, looking at me darkly.
When we pulled away from the restaurant, I noticed we were heading out of the city rather than back to the airport.
As though he sensed what I was thinking, he cleared his throat.
“We’re not heading back to London.”
“Where are we going?”
“My home,” he said, accelerating now that we’d left the city limits.
Steele’s home was on a massive estate, easily a hundred acres. Trees covered the entire property line, and it was clear this was where he preferred to spend the bulk of his time. His mood lightened as we drove up the long gravel driveway, and he was practically giddy when he pulled the car into the garage.
Although it was dark, the manor house loomed in front of me. It was gorgeous, reminding me of some of the beautiful old stone mansions in New England. It sprawled on and on, and I wondered if he was often lonely, living in such a big house by himself. The more time I spent around him, the more I wanted to know how he spent his life before I came into it. His work seemed to revolve around emails and phone calls, and besides the party and when he had to rescue me from the Irish, he didn’t often leave the house. I wasn’t sure if it was because he was keeping tabs on me, or if he was just a loner by nature.
Another touch on the small of my back, and he led me into the house.
A mixture of old and new lay before me, melding together to create a design that was entirely Steele. The amenities of the house were all modern, right down to the heated floors, but the artwork, furnishings, and trim were antiquated. I could feel his eyes on me as I took in his manor; could feel the way that he silently waited for my approval. I’d only seen the hall, but it was magnificent.
“How can you ever leave?”
“I normally spend most of my time here. I’m only in London for business meetings.”
“And for kidnapping hostages,” I reminded him.
“For that too,” he said, a slight smile on his face.
“How long are we going to stay here for?”
Steele stroked his chin. “As long as we need to.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but with the way our relationship was going, I wondered if perhaps he would free me. He didn’t seem interested in revenge anymore, and I know he didn’t want to see me hurt.
Steele headed up the staircase, and I followed him, my high heels softly clicking on the opulent marble flooring. The first hall he took me down was covered with portraits, and, like the Harringtons, I assumed they were ancestors. He stopped in front of a door towards the end of the hallway and motioned for me to step inside.
Familiarity hit me like a runaway train. From the photographs on the walls to the comforter on the bed, it was all mine. Even the couch was the one I’d scrimped and saved for, and the afghan my mother had made before she died was resting in the same spot I left it in.
“I—when did you do this?” I stammered, shocked at the scene before me.
“This afternoon. I had my men pack up your apartment. You’re overdue on your rent, and I didn’t want you to lose your personal belongings.”
My eyes misted as I walked farther into the room, my fingers lightly stroking the purple afghan. My dresser was in the corner, and I walked over to it, pulling open a drawer. The scent of my fabric softener hit my nose, and I pushed aside my socks until I pulled out the last romance novel my mom had read.
“I’ll leave you alone to get settled,” Steele whispered, and he gently shut the door behind him.