Chapter 16 #2
“I won’t let you face him alone. Sure, you’re the only one with the credentials to stand up to him in court, but I won’t sit idly by while my woman takes all the risks,” I say.
Tears shimmer in her dark brown eyes, but she chuckles and shakes her head.
“You’re ridiculous, but thank you,” she says.
I sigh and lift our joined hands to my mouth so my lips brush against her knuckles as I speak.
“It’s been a week since I told you to use me, but you haven’t made any requests. Do you think I’m incapable?”
She shakes her head.
“I may perform other lip services for you, but not when it comes to promises,” I say with a nip to the back of her hand.
Her throaty chuckle travels down my spine and pulses in my balls.
“I’m not used to asking for help, but I’ll try harder.”
I hum and sneak the tip of my tongue between her fingers. She shivers. A surge of guests increases the traffic near us, so I lower our joined hands to the railing.
“Would either of you like a beverage?”
I turn to find a waiter offering me the last two drinks on his tray. I thank him and hand one to Brook before taking the last one. With a slight bow, the man scurries away.
Brook eyes the glass.
“You don’t have to drink it, little rabbit. I just thought you might want something to hold,” I say.
“Like you’re not enough?” she scoffs as she threads her fingers through mine again.
I chuckle and turn back toward the cityscape, sensing her need for a few more minutes to recuperate.
After a few moments, she takes a sip of the champagne.
“This tastes nothing like the wine I had before the class reunion,” she says.
I quirk a brow.
“Was that your first time drinking?”
“Yep. I was never interested enough to try and always too busy to waste time or money on it.” With a dramatic huff, she sends me a wicked side eye. “You’ve taken too many of my firsts,” she chuckles.
Heat curls through me. I take a drink but the cold, bubbly liquid does nothing to cool me down.
“You’ve taken many of my firsts, too. A dressing room. The kitchen counter. Up against the wall. Bent over the couch in my office. My desk. The shower—”
She elbows me before she throws back her head and drains her glass of champagne.
“Okay, time to go,” she says.
A laugh escapes me. She rolls her eyes and turns toward the party. I finish my drink and set my glass on the railing before catching up with her.
Her father stands between us and the front entrance. Although his back is to us, tension coils through Brook.
“Actually, I need the restroom first,” she says.
I nod and change our trajectory to the back hall.
When she leans against my side and presses her hand to her stomach, alarm heightens my senses.
“I shouldn’t have drank that so quickly. I do not feel well,” she mumbles.
Concern forms a ball of queasiness in my stomach. I wrap my arm around her and cup her elbow, offering her more support while ushering her forward faster.
We rush past several people. I do not return their greeting. Brook’s pale complexion compounds my worry.
“Almost there, little rabbit,” I murmur.
She nods but winces and stops.
I ensured she ate at the office, albeit in between orgasms. Her stomach has food in it still.
One glass of champagne shouldn’t affect her this much, even if her tolerance is nearly nonexistent.
Maybe she has an aversion since last time I’m sure she was also drugged.
Or maybe she’s sick. She hasn’t spoken about her medical test results from last week, but I was incorrect to assume she’d have told me if something was wrong.
My little rabbit has been too strong for too long.
She’s right; asking for help will be a chore for her.
She can’t be sick. I need her healthy and whole so she can enact her revenge and live a long, happy life by my side.
I cut off my frantic thoughts and turn into the woman’s restroom. She digs in her heels and shoves the heel of her palm against my chest.
“Stay in the hall. I’ll be fine. Five minutes,” she demands.
“Brook—”
“Once was enough. I can hold my own hair back.” At the mention of our first morning together after a ten-year hiatus, my gut lurches. I don’t want to go back to where we were then. I want her to trust me. “Just give me five minutes,” she pleads.
Pleads. My little rabbit aims desperate, glazed yet firm eyes up at me.
This is not how I wanted her to beg me.
I swallow my misgivings and step back.
She stumbles around the corner and pushes through the door.
I shuffle back into the hall and lean against the wall straight across from the restrooms. The seconds lag as my impatience and worry grows. I check my watch every other breath. Nausea swirls in my gut.
Maybe we drank from a bad bottle of champagne. Waves of sickly heat roll up from my toes, but I refuse to leave my perch until Brook returns.
Sweat beads down from my temples.
I flag down an impeccably dressed older woman.
“Would you mind checking on my girlfriend, please? She wasn’t feeling well,” I say.
“Of course. What’s her name?” she asks.
“Brook Simons.”
The world tilts as the lady pats my arm.
“You’re a good boyfriend. I’m sure she’s fine,” she says.
I nod.
My vision fractures.
Brook is in the bathroom. The lights in the hall are too bright.
A familiar silhouette turns into the hall from the opposite side of the building to the ballroom. I squint and check my watch again. My head weighs a million pounds.
“Mr. Ricco, I’m so glad I found you.”
Ms. Lynn slips her hand into the crook of my arm.
Brook served her papers this morning. She’s fired. I’m suing her.
This isn’t the office. I brought my little rabbit to a fundraising gala.
Clarity stabs through me.
The face in the crowd behind Brook’s father was Ms. Lynn’s boyfriend.
He’s Chad Prescott’s stepson, Dustin Prescott.
Brook’s stepbrother.
My brother Angelo’s new business partner.
This cannot be a coincidence. As Ms. Lynn pulls me away from the wall, I fight through waves of weakness and push her away with sluggish arms.
“Get off me,” I slur.
The woman with perfectly coifed white hair emerges from the bathroom.
“Sir? There’s no one in there. I checked all the stalls and—”
I push past her and shoulder through the door to the women’s room. Adrenaline clears away the worst of my symptoms. After kicking in each stall and confirming the room is empty, I dart back out into the hall and glimpse the tail of Ms. Lynn’s dress as she hurries around the corner.
I push through the haze of whatever drug they slipped into my drink—our drinks—and run down the hall after her, cursing myself for not being suspicious before now. There were only two glasses left on the tray.
I should’ve recognized Dustin Prescott from the photo.
Ms. Lynn has worked at my company for over a year and a half, but I never suspected she was a spy for my brother.
Angelo was always a sore loser, and even though he won the right to inherit my father’s company, he wouldn’t be happy with my success.
I failed Brook. She’s in danger. I must find her. Now.
Desperation lends me speed.
Not even the devil can help those who dare touch my little rabbit.
Brook is mine. All mine.
Only mine.