Because We Belong: A Because You Are Mine Novel (3 page)

“Absolutely.”

An inexplicable chill passed over her heated flesh like an invisible shadow, and was gone in an instant. She sighed with relief as she straightened her freed legs and stretched like a content cat.

She hardly thought about her automatic, certain reply until later. Naturally she and Ian would be here together later.

They would be in each other’s arms, where they belonged.

Chapter One

SIX MONTHS LATER

“N
othing is certain, is it? Nothing,” Francesca said bleakly as she set down the investment and finance section of the morning paper, the headlines exclaiming over the faltering Japanese economy. Her gaze lingered on one headline:
Japanese Conglomerate Hires Investment Banking Firm to Sell
. She bit her lip nervously, jumping slightly when her housemate, Davie Feinstein, touched her shoulder.

“Some things are certain,” Davie said with a significant look she endeavored to ignore. She accepted the steaming cup of tea he offered her and gave him a smile as he sat. He started doling steaming pancakes onto their plates.

“Like taxes and your weekend breakfasts. Like your friendship?” Francesca asked, forcing her voice into an airy tone because they were skimming a sensitive topic, and she refused to go there on this bright December morning.
The
sensitive topic: Ian’s abandonment of her a half a year ago following his mother’s death. But not just his mother’s unexpected death, also the discovery of the poison truth about his biological father . . . a truth that had been revealed by Lucien Lenault after Francesca and Ian had made love so intimately that summer evening. One moment, their future had been secure and bright. All of that changed in a matter of seconds by the slashing knives of truth.

And doubt.

She knew Ian had been fearful his entire life that his unknown father had at the very least taken advantage of his mentally ill mother, at worst, raped her. The identity of his biological father had remained a mystery to him, however, until that evening six months ago. That fateful night when Lucien and Elise had come to dinner, Lucien had known he’d been providing a shock by telling Ian they were half brothers, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d also revealed that their common parent, Trevor Gaines, had been a rapist and serial reproductionist—a man who got a sick fascination from impregnating as many women as he could. The impact of that revelation, along with his mother’s sudden worsening condition and death, had had a decimating effect on Ian.

Francesca didn’t like to think of that other issue that she’d suspected had been yet another crack in Ian’s well-being, the bizarre coincidence that Ian had asked to videotape her during sex the very night he found out his criminal father got his kicks out of taping his conquests and victims. She suspected Ian had made some self-condemning judgments after that, but he’d never given her the opportunity to assure him he was a far, far cry from being remotely similar to Trevor Gaines.

She’d wanted nothing more than to comfort and ease his suffering, but he’d left . . . disappeared without a word to her or a personal message. Gone. The man she had meant to marry, whom she loved more than life itself.

As had become the custom, she and Davie were avoiding the fact that the man she’d been the most certain about in the world had disappeared off the face of the earth, and was determinedly refusing to be found.

“Taxes and my friendship are definitely certain. As for my weekend breakfasts, I’ll make them as long as somebody comes to eat them,” Davie was telling her, passing the syrup.

“I miss Caden and Justin the most during weekend breakfasts,” Francesca said.

“Actually, Justin said he’d try to stop by after going to the gym this morning.”

“Really?” Francesca asked hopefully. Davie nodded.

Why did everything have to change? Davie, Justin, Caden, and she had been tight friends and roommates for years. But then she’d met Ian, and her life had taken a course she’d never imagined. She’d spent more and more time in Ian’s luxurious downtown penthouse and planned to move there permanently when they married. As one of the wealthiest, most influential men in the world, Ian had taken her to places she’d only dreamed about before and exposed her to movers and shakers not only in the art world—
her
world—but from all walks of life, from business leaders to politicians and celebrities. He’d introduced her to challenging lovemaking, taught her the power of submission . . . turned her body into a honed instrument for experiencing distilled pleasure. He’d transformed her into a more confident woman who was sublimely comfortable in her own body, a woman who fully owned and took pride in her accomplishments and sexuality.

But then tragedy had struck. Ian had willfully vanished. Justin and Caden had both prospered at their jobs and moved into their own homes. When she’d returned to live with Davie full-time in his Wicker Park townhome, so much had changed. She herself had altered; the free-spirited, gauche young woman she’d once been had disappeared, and a more sober, contained, sad and bitter woman had taken her place. Davie had always been there, though, a solid, reassuring pillar in her life. He’d been there to help her stanch her wounds, encouraged her to focus all her energy on finishing her master’s program and her painting. Thanks to Ian’s prestige and patronage, her reputation had grown in the art community. She was at no shortage of commissions for her work, and had even turned down a few lucrative ones.

Still, sometimes it felt like her life had come to a shrieking halt. She was still disoriented, her brain quivering from the jarring impact of abrupt loss.

She poured the syrup on her pancakes, her attention once again drawn to the newspaper and the news about Tyake Inc. selling because of the Japanese financial crisis. Davie noticed her preoccupation when she began to drown her pancakes. He touched her hand. She blinked and lifted the syrup bottle.

“Is there something in the paper about Noble Enterprises?” Davie asked cautiously, referring to Ian’s multibillion-dollar company.

“No, not that I see,” Francesca said evenly before she set down the bottle and picked up her fork. She was once again highly aware they’d come very close to the topic of Ian. Ian was synonymous with his hugely successful company, after all. Or at least he had been, before he’d forsaken his position at its head.

She heard a knock at the front door and set down her fork, glad for the distraction.

“Why is Justin knocking?” she asked as she stood, perplexed. Justin, Caden, Davie, and she were practically family, after all.

“I don’t think I unlocked it yet this morning,” she heard Davie say as she left the kitchen and walked down the hallway. Francesca twisted the lock and whipped open the front door.

“You’re just in time—” She halted midsentence when she realized it wasn’t her friend Justin standing on the front steps.

“Lucien,” she said, shock ringing in her voice at the unexpected sight of Ian’s half brother. Just looking at his classically handsome face and dark, tousled hair made her flash back to that horrible night. She vividly saw Lucien’s rigid, concerned expression and heard Ian’s hollow tone as he’d stared at the photo of his biological father.

My mother. That’s why she sometimes acted afraid of me—all my life, she’d wince and cower at times at the very sight of me . . . because I looked so much like him. Because I had the face of the man who took advantage of her. I had the face of her rapist.

She forced the excruciatingly painful memory of Ian’s words from her brain and tried to focus on Lucien. She’d been avoiding him, just like she’d been avoiding everything associated with reminders of Ian. It was nothing against Lucien, or his new wife, Elise. In fact, she cared deeply about the couple. It was just a survival instinct. Reminders of Ian cut too deep.

Lucien’s nostrils flared slightly as he studied her somberly, his sharp, assessing gray-eyed stare reminding her uncomfortably of a blue-eyed one.

“I’m sorry to invade your privacy,” he said quietly in his rich, French-accented voice. “But it’s very important that we speak.”

Her heart sunk sickeningly. “Is it Ian? Is he all right?” she asked, shivers of dread crawling across her skin.

“I still haven’t heard from him. From what I understand from his infrequent communications with Lin, he’s fine. Alive and functioning anyway,” Lucien added under his breath, referring to Ian’s talented executive assistant, Lin Soong. His mouth pulled tight in what Francesca thought was concern . . . or was it anger? She knew Lucien didn’t agree with his brother’s self-imposed exile. According to Lucien, he didn’t have any more of an idea where Ian was than did Ian’s grandparents or Francesca. Lin insisted she didn’t know where Ian was, either, but Francesca wouldn’t be surprised if Lin was lying at Ian’s request. Lin was unfailingly loyal to him.

She became aware that Davie had approached and stood near her elbow.

“David,” Lucien said, nodding his head in a sober greeting.

“Lucien, come in. It’s cold out,” Davie said, urging the other man into the entryway. Francesca backed up, vague embarrassment striking her when she realized she’d left Lucien standing outside in the cold. “What’s going on?” Davie asked, shutting the door.

Lucien spoke directly to Francesca. “It’s Noble Enterprises. We need you Francesca. You know the arrangement Ian made. A unique set of circumstances has arisen. We need to make some crucial decisions.”

It felt like the blood rushed out of her head. Dizziness assailed her. She became uncomfortably aware of Davie’s perplexed glance of query in her direction.

“What’s he talking about?” Davie wondered.

Francesca swallowed uneasily, avoiding both men’s stare.

“You and the others can make the decision,” she said shortly under her breath to Lucien, as if she thought she could still hide the truth from Davie. From herself.

“We need you to make a decision this large. That’s the arrangement Ian made before he left. And you, out of all the members of his ad hoc board, have the majority powers for liquidating assets and making major acquisitions. Noble Enterprises needs you. Ian needs you.”

“Is this about Tyake?” Francesca asked, glancing into Lucien’s face hesitantly.

“You know that Ian has wanted to purchase that company for a long time?” he asked.

Francesca nodded. Davie and she were usually careful to avoid using Ian’s name. Hearing it not once, but several times this morning, felt like tiny missiles piercing her flesh.

“What’s this about? Francesca?” Davie demanded.

Francesca’s desperation mounted when she saw Davie’s bewilderment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because . . . because it seemed ridiculous. Ian walked out on me. He left me—”

“He left you access to a vast fortune, use of all of his properties, and a senior position on the temporary board of directors that he named to manage his company in his absence. I understand why you’ve refused to acknowledge those things, Francesca. I do,” Lucien added more softly, his compassionate gaze paining her more than an impatient or disdainful one would have. “But that doesn’t negate the reality. Thousands of people’s livelihoods depend upon the health and prosperity of Noble Enterprises. The same could be said of Tyake. You and Ian may not be together, but you, perhaps more than anyone, understood his personal feelings and goals for his company. I believe that’s why he left you with unique powers of attorney the rest of us don’t have. Ian’s grandparents are here in Chicago, as is Gerard Sinoit, Ian’s cousin. The only person we don’t have available on the board is you, and we’re hamstrung without you. I understand your saying you feel ill equipped for this, but Gerard, James, Anne, and myself can provide you a large resource of business knowledge. We’ll guide you. Ian’s vice presidents and executives have been managing day-to-day operations, with our casual guidance and instruction. But among the five board members, your vote carries the most weight in matters of major acquisitions and liquidations. The time has come when we can’t proceed without your involvement.”

“If I don’t have a place in Ian’s life, how can I take a place in his damn company?” Francesca hissed, her anger breaking through her brittle emotional armor. Lucien’s face remained impassive, his enigmatic stare trained on her. He didn’t say out loud she was being selfish by clutching her resentment, but Francesca imagined that’s what he was thinking. Lucien had his own marriage and business concerns to look out for, after all, but he’d made time in his busy schedule to do his part in helping to oversee Ian’s company.

She gave Davie a wild glance, all the while knowing her good friend couldn’t help her in this.
Damn, Ian.
How could he have walked away from her at the same time he stitched her into the very fabric of his life, into the company he’d poured his blood and sweat into, where he’d given the very essence of himself?

She’d never felt so cornered.

Screw him.
He’d forsaken both of them—his company and her, the two things he professed to care most about in the world. She was a wreck he’d left behind. Let his company be another travesty, it was nothing to her. It had once felt like she was burning alive to know he was in pain, and that he’d denied her the opportunity to offer solace. Her grief and hurt at his absence had been so great, her anxiety for his well-being so immense, it’d made a husk of her. Surely she had nothing left to give.

Despite her thoughts, a poignant memory of the last time she and Ian made love sliced into her consciousness.

Tell me you love me.

I love you so much.

Always.

Yes. Always.

“As I said, I understand why you’ve been determined to stay uninvolved,” Lucien said, bringing her back to the tense present moment. “People tend to hunker down when they’re in pain in order to nurse their wounds. It’s only natural . . . a healing instinct. But I’m still asking you to do this, Francesca, and not for myself.”

She barely controlled a shudder of grief. She winced and looked away from Lucien’s steady stare. He was speaking of her pain and reaction to it, of course, but he was referring to Ian’s as well. Isn’t that what he was doing? Holing up and licking his wounds?

“I’ll meet with all of you and see what you have to say, but I’m not promising anything,” she told him stiffly.

He nodded once. “That’s all I ask.”

* * *

The first heavy blow was seeing Ian’s large office, the very picture of masculine, austere luxury, and the familiar corner view of the river and skyline. Her thrumming heart leapt extra hard upon seeing the eager, concerned faces of Ian’s grandparents, Anne and James Noble.