Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) (16 page)

He dropped her hands and moved away to take the pants off the hanger. He handed them to her. “Put them on. I have imagined your ass in riding breeches for more than twenty-four months. I want my curiosity assuaged.”

“Frigid and rude with a touch of letch. Nice.”

His dark brows lowered. “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” she muttered as she snapped the “breeches” out of his hand and got into them. She tried not to be too disappointed. At least they’d made some headway. He’d actually been with her for a while there. She slipped on the socks and knee-high boots he handed her next. He waited while she tucked the shirt in, then walked a few steps backward and slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Turn,” he said in a low voice that had a new rasp to it. “And remain with your back to me.”

“Are you serious? Don’t you think you’re taking this a little far?”

“If I ask you to bend forward while I stroke my cock, then you can accuse me of taking this too far. Turn.”

She swung away and barely made it before a smile claimed her face. What an idiot. Would he really jerk off to the sight of her in riding gear?

“Run your hand over your ass cheek, Yasmeen. Your right hand. I want to see your rings…”

The low rumble that came from him as she slowly caressed her own ass was animalistic in nature. She gave her cheek a squeeze to make the show worth watching.

“Anything else?”

Something landed on her shoulders, and she looked back as he draped a soft wool cape around her and fastened it under her chin. It was the same midnight black as the boots and reached her calves. He turned her and brought the hood up then got out of the way so she could see her reflection in the mirror.

“Brilliant,” he murmured.

She looked at herself with a critical eye. The outfit had to have cost a thousand dollars. Her gaze went to the man who’d provided it and she wasn’t sure which was more beautiful.

“I feel…soft. I thought riding clothes would be stiff and scratchy. This is beautiful.”

He nodded. “Come. Before I change my mind and keep you under lock and key.”

As they walked, she paid attention and was pretty sure, if she needed to, she could make her way back to their room on her own without written instructions.

“Where are we going?”

“Into town.”

Really? Who knew?
“Does the town have a name? Why aren’t you coming?”

“I have work to do. And Sorin will take you either to Bran or Rasnov.”

“Your work can’t wait?”

“No.”

“Can I bring something back for you?”

His step slowed and he looked down at her as if surprised by the offer. “No, thank you, pet. I will have all I need once you return to me.”

“’Kay.” She looked straight ahead as her body begged her not to take one step out the door, and worse, her heart sang like a desperate fool.

Without giving her time to do much more than say hello and thank Sorin for taking the time out of his day to taxi her around, Lucian bustled her out the front door and into the backseat of a Bentley similar to the one she’d gotten into at the Waldorf after Markus’s service. The door made a thunk sound when Sorin closed himself into the drive’s side. Reinforced? Bulletproof, maybe?

“Point out to Sorin anything you think you might like and he will arrange to have it here upon your return.” He tucked something into the pocket of her cape. “In case you’d like to support the local economy and pick up a souvenir or two.” Taking her chin, he turned her face toward him. “Do not be offended when no one speaks to you. The moment they see you with Sorin, they will know who you belong to, and they will be wary; their distance is kept out of respect. If we go in together one day, it will be different.” He kissed her cheeks then shut her in. After a tap on the roof, Sorin pulled around the circular drive and headed down the lane.

Yasmeen was just about to go on a fishing expedition when a ringing came over the Bluetooth. And so the drive was spent not finding out a damn thing about Lucian but with her looking out the window at the gorgeous scenery while Sorin accepted one call after another. Would have been interesting if she’d been able to understand the conversations, but because they were in Romanian and in what she was sure was Italian, she was left in her head once again. Not the best place to be for one who was prone to obsessing.

As the forest passed by, thick with bare beech trees and full pines, she resettled in her seat and felt something poke into her leg. She reached into her pocket to pull out what Lucian had given her. Seeing the roll of cash was like being kicked in the stomach. Her muscles tightened, her skin shrank, and heat consumed her entire head.

He’d fucked her. And now he’d paid her. Did he have that condo overlooking Central Park waiting for her at home?

The moment they see you with Sorin, they will know who you belong to, and they will be wary; their distance is kept out of respect.

Respect? Fuck him. It would be kept out of fear. But the locals wouldn’t look at her and stay away because of that fear. They would see Lucian Fane’s whore and not bother because she wasn’t worth their trouble.

“Oh, God,” she whispered as she slowly placed the roll of money into the cup holder at her elbow. Why did he have to go and clarify her role? She’d been content with the rose-colored-glasses version where she was voluntarily remaining with him to try to help him through a bad time. She hadn’t even cared that she’d allowed him to see that she enjoyed the sex. She was a single woman attracted to a man. Why shouldn’t she?

But for cold hard cash? No.

She looked out the window to see they were entering a small town. There were red roofs everywhere and closed metal gates in front of quaint homes. Some were in disrepair while others were clearly the owners’ pride and joy.

“I wish Miranda was here,” she said out loud. As Sorin stopped speaking mid-sentence, she blinked the blur from her eyes and swallowed the knot that grew in her throat. Unlike yesterday, she suddenly resented Lucian for choosing her. She’d done nothing to deserve being stolen from her life and brought here to be treated like this. “She would have found a way to turn this around. I’m not good at pulling fun out of my ass the way she is.”

A click sounded, and she looked to the front to see Sorin had disconnected the call without a word of goodbye. “I believe you are being modest,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice.

“No. She’s the fun one.” He had no idea who she was talking about, but she didn’t care. She just needed out of her head. The more she stressed, the worse things got. In all likelihood, Lucian could have given her the cash because he knew she had none and he was a generous guy. “I’m just along for the ride. Like I am here.” They passed a horse pulling a flat trailer full of bricks along the bare road. The driver glared as they passed. “Why do all the homes appear locked up.” There were shutters on the windows and the curtains were drawn. “Do they know Lucian’s visiting?”

Sorin’s deep chuckle had her lip tilting at the corner. It fell in the next second. She wasn’t in a smiley mood.

“Maybe they are keeping the heat in.”

She nodded. “Ever seen a real vampire, Sorin?”

“Not this trip.”

Her lip went up again, this time lingering. “Is that a variety store?” she asked, sitting straighter as they neared a salmon-colored building with a little black truck and a horse out front.

“Yes.”

“Can we—er, never mind. Why the horses?”

“Cheaper than petrol. Would you like to stop?”

“No. It’s okay.” She wanted to check out the junk food—her weakness. Chewy candy bars and salty chips. Mmm. But, petty or not, she didn’t want to use Lucian’s money.

She craned her neck as they crossed a bridge that had a running stream beneath it. “The water doesn’t freeze?” she questioned.

“If it wasn’t constantly running it would.”

They passed a group of men milling around in front of an auto shop. More unfriendly looks came their way. “Should I prepare myself to be spit on? Are people going to shelter their children if we walk too close to them? Maybe curse us and wave their crosses in our faces?”

Another chuckle was pulled from Sorin’s bearded mouth. “You do ask a lot of questions. I thought Lucian was being intolerant.”

Her mouth went flat as they crossed a set of tracks. “Are those for a freight train or passenger?”

“Freight. And the trains do not slow because they do not want to leave town with something they were not carrying when they arrived.”

She ignored the veiled warning. “Will we go somewhere for lunch?”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Then, no. You will have lunch with Lucian when we return?”

“How are you spending your days in the Fane Fortress? Are you allowed to come and go at will?”

“I generally go when Lucian goes. I am bringing you out today because he gave me his word he would not leave the castle. He needed some time alone.”

She blinked as a thought occurred to her for the first time. Had Lucian made her leave because he had someone else coming for a visit? Could that someone be a woman? The thought was as sickening as it was infuriating. She refused to give a label to that sharp sting spreading through her heart. Refused.

“To do what?” The words were torn from her. “I wouldn’t have intruded if he had to work.”

“Your very presence is an intrusion.”

“Nice,” she muttered, giving up. These men needed some lessons in manners.

“We have come to Bran, not Rasnov. Would you like to tour the famous castle?”

“No, thank you.”

“Walk through the bizarre?”

“If you want.”

He pulled to the curb and shut the car down. She yanked on the handle as he got out. Nothing happened. Didn’t improve her mood.

The door opened, and Sorin’s big hand was waiting. She took it, refrained from squeezing it hard enough to break a bone, and allowed him to help her out. A Starbucks traveler mug was offered.

“Cheer up, Ms. Michaels. We do not want the locals to think you are here under duress.”

A waft of caramel macchiato drifted under her nose, and suddenly she was sitting at a table with Eric and Miranda, complaining about having to work on a day they were taking off to go to Staten Island and bum around.

She gracefully accepted the olive branch and couldn’t say anything for a long moment. Her throat closed up completely when she took her first sip.

What the hell was she doing here? She moved over to look into the window of a small store but didn’t see the toy bubble guns and plastic fishing sets. She was using the reflection in the clean glass to see behind her, wondering if they had payphones in Bran, Romania.

And if they did, what? Meathead was going to allow her to use one? And what would she say to the operator if he did? Would he or she even speak English? Nine-one-one was universal, wasn’t it?

She worried her lip. Even if a police officer walked up and bit her in the ass right then, what would she say to him?

“Oh, no! Kidnapped? Drugged? Being held against your will? What is he doing to you, ma’am? Has Mr. Fane assaulted you? Forced himself on you?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. I kind of happily had the most amazing sex with him because he blows my mind when he so much as looks at me. And get this, officer, even after I’m shown what he thinks of me—look at the thousand dollars he just gave me!—I don’t want to leave. Will you rescue me from myself?”

Uh-huh. What a sad, horny little thing she was.

“Ms. Michaels?”

She jerked away from Sorin’s touch and bumped her elbow into a stand of postcards that would have toppled over if he didn’t have the reflexes of a cat. Sucking in a breath and grabbing her arm because she’d nailed her funny bone, she glared up at him. “Don’t you know better than to interrupt a woman when she’s self-loathing?”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind the aviators he’d put on, but she had a clear view of his teeth flashing. “My apologies.”

“Listen. How about instead of leading me around this bizarre, you give me a lift to the nearest airport? Or train station?” At his stoic look, she kicked the toe of his boot. “Show me a donkey and I’ll make due, Sorin. Come on. Gimme a break.” She knew she was blowing hot air at this point. Did he? “And don’t you think it’s time you called me Yasmeen?”

“No. And I’m afraid I have no choice but to tell him of this conversation.”

She laughed. “So? I’m not bribing you. I’m appealing to your moral sense of what’s right and wrong. I really think I should go home.”
Or at least
want
to go home
, she added silently as she sipped her coffee.

“It is generous of you to assume we have that to appeal to.”

A small shiver skittered through her. “Don’t you?”

“We do not kill puppies or beat children,” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “so that is something. Start walking. People are staring.”

She started walking, noting the vendors were indeed staring. The men tipped their heads to Sorin while dropping their gaze. The older women stared at him, smiling and nodding as if he was a celebrity who’d just donated a million to save the village from total annihilation. No one looked at Yasmeen for more than a quarter of a second.