Everything You Need: Everything For You Trilogy Book 1 (33 page)

I have nowhere to turn and nowhere to hide.

I’m surprised he isn’t laughing. He indifferently expects me to accept my miserable fate, to need no explanation. What other possible reason can there be for such abject degradation?

I claw at the collar that’s choking me, trying to rip the eternal knot of inevitability in vain from my neck. Its tiny padlock crushes my spine. In frustration I turn my criminal fingers to the too-tight bodice of my dress. I can’t breathe. I can’t think straight.

I don’t know what to do.

Chapter Sixteen

An explosion of flashbulbs bursts through the window as the limousine glides to a halt at the front of the queue. Blackstock has expertly aligned it for us to exit right onto the red-carpeted drop-off point.

My eyes careen through the blacked-out window, over the seething mass of onlookers heaving behind the barriers. The volume of so many excited voices invades the false sanctuary of the car increasing my turmoil. Noises grow louder then more distant in alternating waves, washing over my head.

I stare, open-mouthed as a liveried doorman moves in to open our car door. He might as well be carrying a shotgun aimed at my head.

My body shakes. Half my muscles dissolve; the other half, lock rigid in total shock. I snatch at superficial and highly inadequate breaths, aware of my own hoarse gasping but completely unable to draw up a single passable lungful. The shallow panting makes my head spin and it’s only the fact I’m seated that prevents me passing right out on the floor. The limousine’s super-chilled air swims ineffectively over my clammy skin. No amount of breathing practice can save me now. I’m well past the point of no return. Words refuse to exit my moving lips and I turn in desperation to Jack, tears making him waver before my pleading eyes. The hopelessness of my only possible rescuer being my sole persecutor pounds through my throbbing skull.

Jack hits the intercom addressing Blackstock, cabined way up front. “Drive on.”

Blackstock’s instant reaction to his order hurls me back against the window. I catch a glimpse of the startled expression on the doorman’s features as his hand is five seconds from getting ripped off but my own wild-eyed, freaked-out reflection in the smoky glass is what finally forces an abrupt stream of oxygen into my lungs, before I pass out. Jack snaps my seatbelt shut.

Why has he done this to me? Does he want me to know how easily he can destroy me, if he chooses to?

He misreads the question in my eyes. “A deferment, Tabitha. We’re going back but we need to get you straightened out, first.”

Blackstock is hidden behind his blacked-out glass partition. Jack gives him a further instruction which goes over my head as I struggle to maintain my superficial oxygen supply.

I can’t speak. Jack monitors me closely and doesn’t relax. I detect the stream of annoyance – disappointment – in the rigid lines of his body despite his guarded demeanour. I wonder if he can’t bring himself to remonstrate with me but his silence punctures me more than any blazing row ever could. I’ve never wanted to get away from him as much as I do right now. My hand flutters over the door handle ready.

Jack drops his arm weightily over mine, preventing me acting on my thoughts.

“Breathe. Concentrate on nothing but inhaling and exhaling. In and out. Again. Again.” The words sound clipped.

He leans over to the bar, extracts a bottle of mineral water and holds it to my lips. I flap my arms blindly as if he’s trying to finish me off, almost knocking it out of his hand.

I focus outside. Inside, the atmosphere is too fraught to bear. The financial heart of the city blurs quickly before we skirt an area largely unpopulated at this time of night. I’ve long ago lost all sense of direction. It’s taking me longer than usual to master my breathing. Nothing seems to be working except my frantic heart-rate which has elevated ready to burst.

The car halts down a totally deserted side street, the engine ceases and fear grips my belly as I continue my struggle for air. If I’m disposed of here in the darkness, the only trace of my scarlet existence will be the mockery of my name on a card proclaiming a Black & White ball. It wouldn’t disgrace Agatha Christie. My compromised lungs haul at air fruitlessly.

Jack hits the intercom once more. “Take a walk, Blackstock, I’ll call you when I need you."

I try to get a grip on my wild imagination. Jack isn’t happy with me for spoiling his grand entrance. When Blackstock steps out and heads off into the distance, I’m totally shocked. I turn, silently pleading for his retreating figure to turn and save me, incapable of speech. I wheel around until my eyes lock on Jack’s. When he releases my seatbelt, my pulse surges dangerously. What has he done that for? I slick the tip of my tongue along my air-scorched lower lip.

“You’re pushing… me… too hard.” I gasp out the accusation. “I’m not fearless… like you.”

“I don’t expect you to be fearless. And the reason I push you hard is because I know you can rise to it.”

I’m disturbed by the resolutely determined look growing in his Arctic blue eyes as I continue the battle to save myself. The thought occurs I might need to make a run for it.

“Keep those breaths coming. But slow it down now. Draw deeper.”

I focus on his voice. Considering everything, his voice is steady and I wonder fleetingly what exactly it would take to make the guy lose it. Is there anything he can’t handle faultlessly? Although it doesn’t matter what Jack expects, my stupid lungs won’t obey either of us.

“You did this.” I’m close to tears. I’ve nothing to be sorry for. Jack should be apologising to me. He set out to humiliate me, not the other way around. My fight reaction starts to engulf me as the adrenaline surges and my muscles tense.

“I’m teaching you how to handle the unexpected.” He pauses. “You allow unimportant stuff to crowd out your primary focus. It’s not the way to be a winner.”

Unimportant stuff? Like distress? Humiliation? Self-preservation? I stare incredulously. I swallow past the huge lump in my throat, my fingers clawing robotically at the metal collar.

“Your expectations… are unreasonable.” He set me up to fail in the first place and my voice returns, with anger at its heart, as my wheezing levels out.

“Am I the only one to have faith in your inner strength?” His look of complete self-assurance frustrates me even more.

“Bull-shit! This isn’t about strength. It’s about supremacy. Yours. What the bloody hell did you expect?”

“I expected you to behave like the poised, intelligent woman you are.”

“You can’t have believed I wouldn’t react,” I scream. “You have me dressed up like a vampire at a virgin’s ball.”

He laughs mirthlessly. “Melodrama, Tabitha? This gets better. Your enemies will feast on that. What sort of reputation are you planning on building for yourself?”

Not the same one he’s intent on building for me, that’s for sure. He can go hang. As my breathing settles my temper soars. Words wheel round my head shrieking like gulls.

“You made damn sure I found out right at the last minute, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” I completely lose it. “Why did you even bother to give me that much notice? Eh?” I thump him hard in the chest with the heel of my hand. Twice. “Why not just let me walk into the lion’s den completely oblivious that I was tonight’s banquet and entertainment all rolled up into one? Think what fun you could have had before I finally got it!”

I ignore the warning signs as he absorbs my wrath: ice shards in his eyes, the pulsing at his tight jaw but my blood’s up and I’m in full unstoppable flow.

“Of course, you wanted me to fall apart, right in front of everyone. And be sure to get it on camera, so you could laugh over it for years to come. You could have posted it on the internet. Think how many hits you would have got. Pretty good advertising.” I heave up another full breath and continue. “I don’t know what I was thinking, trusting a word you said. You got me so mixed up in your bloody little power games, I began to believe you actually might be trying to help me. I’ve been an utter fool. You planned this atrocity right from the start. Of course. Jack Keogh hasn’t built his grotesque empire without being a megalomaniac tactician. Well I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I wrench at the door handle and shove. “But I’m not playing. I’ll find my own bloody way home. Enjoy your mind-numbingly boring black and white ball. It won’t be getting any colour out of me.”

“Done?” He reaches out a hand, tugs the door closed and flips the central locking switch which shuts me up instantly.

I watch astonished as he removes his jacket and unhurriedly hangs it.

“Let me out of here.” I rattle the secured door hard.

He ignores me. One hand reaches for a cufflink and I watch in horrified fascination as he deftly releases it. He grasps my wrist flipping my hand over and drops it into my open palm, closing my fingers around it.

So he’s finally returning the unwanted gift now we both know this is over. He kept them just for this moment? The pain I feel is a bruise deep inside my heart. I grip the metal so hard in my clenched fist I feel physical discomfort.

Jack rolls up one sleeve. He casually turns the shirt cuff over and over until it’s firmly locked just above his elbow. My eyes are transfixed on his uncovered forearm. The strength of heavy bone, defined muscle and sinew forged from years of racquet sports and gym-busting physical endurance holds my attention like a magnet. I’m mindfully aware once more of how huge his hands are. My chest heaves with the deep thumping of my heart and I’m in danger of descending into a second panic attack.

Jack removes the second cuff-link. He holds it out to me in a ritual and I take it blindly in my other hand through the barrier of tears I prevent from spilling, over and over. A sharp pain pinches at the nerves between my eyes. Is he doing what I think he’s doing?

Hyperventilation followed by my breath-draining tirade has left me light-headed and more than a little removed from what is going on. Jack repeats the process with his second sleeve. He pulls his bow-tie undone, letting it hang around his neck and opens the top two buttons on his shirt. Why is he undressing?

“You have the cufflinks?”

I nod tamely.

“Don’t lose them. Don’t drop them,” he orders.

“Why are you being so weird?”

“Am I?”

I shake my head. His body language tells me everything I need to know. “Are you going to spank me?”

His momentary surprise transforms rapidly into a look of gentle amusement. “I don’t hit women. I thought we’d established that.”

My heart pounds right out of my chest and I’m positively hauling oxygen. “What are you doing?”

“Bringing down the tension a little.”

Sex? In the red dress? “Now?”

“Are we good to go?”

I nod my permission as first his lips descend to mine and he kisses me. It’s soft and done with infinite care but he doesn’t stay long enough, pulling us apart. I reach out my arms to draw him back to me again.

“No, Tabby. I want you to concentrate on what’s important.” Jack stares at me. His words have me melting. I read all sorts of meaning into everything.

I swallow convulsively. What is happening to me feels earthy and real. Jack’s fingers and eyes trail slowly down the length of my neck but are stopped, frustratingly by the bodice of my gown. I shift myself so he can remove it.

“The dress stays on.” He slides it half way up my thighs instead, stopping to caress my bare flesh as he exposes it and I murmur with the pleasure of his touch on me.

I reach for his belt. He stops me, his hands impeding mine. “This isn’t it, kitten. This is not the right time. I will determine when things are right between us.”

“But I want you,” I plead.

“Not the way I want you to.” He presses a few quick buttons on a keypad and I recognise the strains of
I Want To Know What Love Is
by Foreigner, drifting through the sound system. Its haunting melody and disturbing lyrics twist my mind into knots trying to read his message. But in my oxygen deprived haze and with my sensually aroused body, I don’t understand what he wants me to know.

Carefully but firmly he takes hold of my wrists and I look down at his hand on me. I clutch a cuff-link in each palm and tighten my fists around them. I try to wrench my hands back from Jack’s in a final show of perverse resistance but his easy strength prevents me. He tugs me decisively and I can’t believe what’s happening but everything slows and distorts as I tilt and turn and fall face down across his knee. He holds me there with a firm hand planted squarely in the centre of my back, pressing me flat over his hard, hot thighs.

Oh, God. He lied. He
is
going to spank me. At first the shock immobilises me. Then I struggle. I don’t know what is happening.

“You need me to do this for you.” His voice is composed and measured. “Unless you tell me not to and I will stop.”

I need you.
My frantic mind flies back to when I was barely eighteen. I’d begged him to take my virginity after a particularly nasty panic attack when I thought I was going to die without ever knowing Jack’s body loving mine. He held my shaking frame, soothing me, talking me down from my desperation. My near death. Helping me. And I’d misjudged his intentions; thought he felt about me the way I felt about him. That he’d understood every heightened emotion simmering in the depths of my adolescent mind, my touch-trigger body and in that one intensified moment, I begged him. I threw myself at him. He’d been horrified by the misunderstanding, by my easy virtue. He’d extricated his body from mine and I will remember that look on his face until the day I die. When I destroyed every last atom of my self-respect.