Her Wicked Heart (20 page)

He returns a grin of his own, but there’s emotion behind it, rather than his usual rakishness.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I was very, very tempted. I thought you were beautiful, but there was something in your eyes… something sad.” His hand is in my hair now, twining itself in the damp strands. “And then in the maze, you were so critical of yourself. I don’t understand. I don’t see how you can think that, even a little bit.”

I don’t want to be having this conversation right now. Not when my body is so eager for him. But at the same time, it doesn’t feel right to kiss him or pull him closer. Not when he’s looking at me like this. Not after everything he’s shared with me tonight.

“You don’t know me,” I say softly.

Ward lowers his face toward mine.

“I want to know you,” he whispers. “And not just your body.” His eyelids drop a little. “What were you thinking about in the pool?”

I close my eyes so I don’t have to endure the softness of his gaze.

“I was thinking about how peaceful it was,” I say after a moment. “About how everything seemed so perfect and still around us.”

His breath washes across my eyelids. “You were crying.”

I was right, then. He’d seen everything.

“It was beautiful,” I say. “And for a moment I could forget how much I hate this place.”

Ward is silent for a minute before responding.

“If you hate it so much,” he says, “then why are you here?”

It’s the question that’s continued to haunt me since the day I set foot in Huntington Manor. Ian asked it. Calder asked it. I’ve asked it of myself a hundred times.

But this is the first time I’ve found the answer.

“Because I deserve it,” I hear myself say.
This
is my punishment for the way I’ve lived my life. For the things I’ve said and done and felt in the past year and a half.

“What do you think of me?” Ward says quietly.

My eyes fly open. “What do you mean?”

He traces the edge of my ear with his finger, and his eyes follow the movement.

“As a person,” he says. “What do you think of me? Am I an asshole? A violent idiot you find attractive against your better judgment?”

“Of course not,” I tell him quickly. “I don’t—I mean, maybe you could work on your temper, but that doesn’t make you a bad person. You’ve had a lot to deal with in your life.”
And I don’t even know the half of it, if what Asher suggested is true.

“And you’ve dealt with a lot, too,” he replies. “Nobody’s perfect. We deal with things in different ways.”

Part of me wants to believe him. But just like with everyone else, I know he doesn’t see the full picture. How can he know what I’ve dealt with? I’ve lied to him about who I am.

But before I can argue, he leans down and kisses me. It’s softer than his other kisses, but it still thrills me from the inside out.

Slowly, his hand drifts down my body, and his touch scorches my skin. He kisses me again, still gently and dreamily as if we have all the time in the world. I sigh against his mouth and raise my hands to his shoulders, trying to pull him nearer.

But he’s taking his time. His fingers slide back and forth across my stomach, so lightly that I’m surprised it doesn’t tickle.

He kisses my lips, my jaw, my nose, my eyelids. He presses his mouth gently against one of my temples, then the other. And then he’s kissing my hair, my ear, my neck. Every kiss is as soft as a whisper, but the reaction of my body is as violent, as hungry as it ever was. I’m alive with nerves, and the throbbing between my legs is growing stronger with every touch of his lips.

When his mouth joins mine again, I raise a hand to his neck to keep him there. This time, he doesn’t try to pull back. He presses my lips open with his tongue and lets his mouth sink against mine, giving me breath and breathing me in all at once.

When he finally shifts his body and brings his full weight down on me, it’s like my entire being sighs. It was waiting for this, this delicious pressure. My hands slide around his back, holding him in place, but instead of kissing me again, he lifts his head.

“Protection,” he murmurs.

I want to groan, but I release him and let him roll off of me. I’m thankful he’s responsible, even though my body aches at his absence.

I watch his back as he moves toward his jeans. His skin is still marked with bruises from the fight, but somehow, that only makes him look more invincible. He’s all muscle and hard lines and taut skin. Positively exquisite. He looks so yummy that I want to lick every last drop of rain and pool water off of him.

His eyes darken when he turns and notices me watching him. He moves back toward me slowly, then sits down on the edge of the chaise lounge. This time, his lips start lower. His mouth begins at the crest between my legs—making me squirm in anticipation—and then he slowly works his way up my belly, between my breasts, and over my throat. I close my eyes and revel in every sensation.

His fingers touch my cheek and he lowers his weight on top of me again.

“Open your eyes,” he murmurs.

I obey. His gaze is dark, and there’s an intensity in his blue eyes that makes my heart sing. But it’s not just lust—it’s understanding. Genuine awareness and feeling. He senses what I sense every time I’m near him—that we get each other. That there’s some connection here that goes beyond the physical.

It’s hard to breathe.

He nudges my legs apart with his knee, and still his eyes never leave mine. My hand flies up to touch his side, but there’s no impatience or desperation in my touch. I want to savor this moment by moment. I spread my legs, letting him settle between them. He’s ready to go, but there’s no hurry here.

Just when I think we’re about to be joined, he pauses. Slowly, he reaches down and pulls my hand from his side, then lifts it above my head against the cushion. He does the same thing with the other hand, and his fingers interlock with mine on either side of my head. He continues to look down at me, and I find that I can’t even blink. I don’t want to miss a moment of this. I want to see every emotion that flickers across his gaze.

Only then, finally, does he enter me. His eyes flutter halfway closed as he thrusts, but they spring open again immediately. The heat in their depths is growing stronger every second, warming their color to a dark cerulean.

And when he moves, the color only deepens. His breath comes faster, and mine’s so ragged I feel like it hardly comes at all. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even kiss me, because leaning forward would break the connection between our eyes. I twine my legs around his, locking myself to him. His fingers tighten on mine, and I squeeze back. Energy passes through every place we touch, every place our bodies twist around each other.

Neither of us says a word. We move together on the cushions, furiously and more passionately with every thrust, until I know nothing but the wild joys of his body and the fierceness in his eyes. He never breaks my gaze, not even when the sweat drips from his face down upon my cheeks and lips. Not even when my nails dig into the backs of his palms. Not even when my pleasure crests and I cry out.

He’s still looking into me when his own climax comes. His eyes widen slightly with the force of it, and his body tremors on top of mine as he gives me those last desperate strokes.

Only when he’s given every last bit of his lust does he lean down and take my mouth again.

And for the first time in a long time, I know what it feels like to want to give everything to someone else.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

We make love again that night, and we drift in and out of sleep between our explorations of each other’s bodies. It’s the best sleep I’ve had in recent memory. When I finally wake up, the sky has lightened a little—just enough to signal that dawn might not be too far away. It hasn’t stopped raining, but it’s still a light, peaceful drizzle.

Ward stirs beside me, as if somehow in his sleep he’s sensed me waking beside him. We’re still on the chaise lounge, our arms and legs twisted around each other, and his eyes drift slowly open. A smile curls across his lips, and he tilts his face forward and leaves a soft kiss on my temple.

“Can I ask you something?” I say softly.

“Mmhm.” He’s moving his mouth across my hair now, as if making up for the lost kisses during our earlier embrace.

There are so many things I want to say. To confess. But now that the moment’s here, I’m terrified. My tongue doesn’t want to move. Somehow, while I slept, I lost a bit of that emotional intimacy I felt between us last night. I need to find it again.

I take a deep breath. “Why are
you
here, if you hate it so much?”

His lips pause. I didn’t want to ruin this moment by overstepping my bounds, but before I completely change the way he looks at me, I want to know exactly where he’s coming from.

I pull back slightly from him so I can look him in the eyes.

“I mean, I know this is a good opportunity,” I say. “But you don’t seem happy. You don’t get along with anyone here. And you seem to loathe Carolson. I mean, I understand he’s a rich douche, but…”

I want to tell him what Asher said, but I don’t want him to think that’s why I’m bringing this up. I want to know the truth for me. For
us.
Whatever “us” is. And I want to know it for him—so I can help him heal from it, just as he’s been trying to help me.

I watch his face as he tries to put together his response.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he says finally.

“Of course I’ll believe it.”

“No, I mean that it’s going to sound ridiculous. At least ridiculous outside of a soap opera.”

You should meet my family
, I think. But now I’m curious. I prop myself up on my elbow.

Ward rolls over onto his back and gazes up at the ceiling. “So, you know about my mom.”

I nod, not understanding.

“Her last year was rough. She couldn’t really work anymore, and the bills were piling up.” He sighs. “I did what I could. I’d been saving up. I was hoping I’d have enough in a few years to go back to school. Study architecture and all that.”

I reach out and touch his arm.

“But most of that money ended up going to her bills. I made sure her mortgage was paid, stuff like that. I didn’t want her to end up homeless if she… if she pulled through. In the end, it didn’t matter. Her assets were all sold off to pay off her debt.”

I know how that goes
, I want to say. But I don’t interrupt him.

“So I was broke,” he continues. Then he shakes his head. “I say that like it’s some kind of excuse. It’s not. I couldn’t care less about the money.” He exhales loudly then rolls over onto his side, facing me again.

I search his eyes, but I can’t wade through all the emotion there.

“My mom said that knowing she was going to die changed her,” he says softly. “I remember her saying at one point that it was the best thin
g that could’ve happened to her because it made her see the world differently. It made her realize how blessed she was. And how stupid she’d been for holding on to past pain and regrets.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but she contacted my father. Told him she forgave him and thanked him for giving her the best thing in her life.”

“You,” I whisper.

He nods. “I didn’t realize she was in touch with him at all until the funeral. This guy walks up to me and starts talking to me and I knew. Immediately.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just strokes the back of my hand with his thumb.

“What did he say?” I prompt after a minute. “Who was he?”

But even as I ask the question, it hits me like a sledgehammer.

Holy crap.

He nods grimly, realizing I’ve worked it out. “Edward fucking Carolson.”

Holy friggin’ crap.

I should’ve realized this ages ago. I mean, it’s so obvious now. His anger toward Carolson was always so personal.

“I can’t…” I sit up. “I had no idea.”

Oh, God—is
this
what Asher suspected? If word gets out that Carolson has a secret illegitimate son, the press will have a field day. Especially considering Ward has a job here at Huntington Manor, the high-profile project that’s launched Carolson into the public eye.

“Who else knows?” I ask him.

He rubs his forehead. “Haymore, for one. Carolson made it very clear that I was to have and keep this job.”

That’s okay. Haymore would never risk his job by blabbing Carolson’s secrets. And it makes perfect sense now—this was why Ward was never fired, in spite of his behavior. It explains why Carolson didn’t do anything that day at the spa. But thinking of the fights makes me nervous.

“Do the other subcontractors know?”

He shrugs. “I don’t think they know everything, but it’s no secret that I’ve been given preferential treatment around here. That’s definitely pissed them off.”

That complicates things. A
lot.
If the other workers hate him, I doubt many would hesitate to sell him out if they learned the truth. Ward needs to get out of here before all hell breaks loose.

“One thing I still don’t get.” I lay my hand gently on his chest. “
Why
are you here? You’re obviously still angry with Carolson—for good reason. Why did you agree to this?”

“As I said, I was broke.” His hand closes over mine. “He offered me a lot of money to come down here. Basically double what I would’ve expected on a job like this. By the time this project is done, I’ll have enough for almost two years of school.” He squeezes my fingers. “But as I said before, that’s just the excuse I’ve been making to myself. The truth is, I spent my whole life wondering about my biological father. Hating him, yes, but I think there’s a part of me that was always hoping he’d come find me one day. That he’d want to be a part of my life. And in a sense, that’s what he did. He told me he wanted to make up for the things he’d done. He offered to pay my way through school, but there’s no way in hell I would’ve just accepted money from that man. So he told me he had a job for me down here.”

I have no words for him, so I just continue to stroke his chest.

“I thought…” he says. “Honestly, I don’t know what I thought. I certainly wasn’t stupid enough to think we’d be one big happy family or something. But I thought we might have the chance to… I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “But then I realized what a fraud he was. He’s a businessman. He sells you what you want to hear whenever it serves him in some way. He never had any interest in getting to know me. This was all just his way of dealing with a guilty conscience. He wanted to throw cash at me and feel like he’d done his duty toward me and my mom. He thinks that money solves everything. That it’s the answer to all of life’s problems. It’s bullshit.”

It’s certainly not hard to see where his hatred of the wealthy came from. I lie down next to him again and snuggle up against his side. He pulls me close to him.

“Why haven’t you quit?” I ask.

“I’ve thought about it. A lot.” He sighs. “I don’t know why I can’t. Obviously I’ve tried to get my ass fired a few times, but you can see how well that’s worked. Maybe I just…”

“You’re still holding out hope that he might show some normal human compassion?”

“No. I gave that up a while ago.”

We lie there in silence for a while.

“Does his family know?” I say finally.

“Only Troy, I think. Carolson’s pulled him into the family business and he noticed that I was getting a much larger salary than was normal. So the last time he and his father came down here, he sought me out.”

“And you told him?”

“Didn’t have to. He figured it out on his own. Apparently he’s well aware of his father’s many… indiscretions. Sometimes I think he hates his father almost as much as I do. I almost believe there’s a chance he might escape turning into that asshole one day.”

I smile, but it’s hard to enjoy the fact that he’s acknowledged a rich guy might be a decent person right now.

“One of the reporters suspects something,” I say. There’s no point in holding it back at this point.

Ward stiffens. “What do you mean?”

I sit up straight, suddenly feeling awkward. But I need to tell him.

“One of the reporters—Asher Julian—approached me and asked about your connection to Carolson. He saw that Carolson had brought you in from Chicago and he couldn’t figure out why.”

I watch Ward register this information. Even by the fluorescent lights, I can read the concern and confusion in his face.

“Why would he go to you?” he asks finally. “Do you think he’s talked to other people, too?”

“I don’t know about other people,” I say. “But he came to me because he somehow knows we’ve been… friendly. I don’t know when he saw us. But he thought I might know something.”

“And, what? He thought you’d just spit it out?”

There’s a brief flicker of joy at the realization that his first thought wasn’t to question whether or not I’d shared anything. He trusts me.

And that’s what makes this next part so hard.

Just do it, Lou. Just say it.

“He has some leverage against me,” I say.

That gets Ward’s attention. He sits up next to me, concerned. His fingers slip beneath my chin, and he turns my face toward his.

“What kind of leverage?” he says. “What did he do?”

I can sense the anger in his touch, see it in his eyes—but it’s not directed at me. It’s
for
me. On my behalf. He’s upset that Asher’s blackmailing me.

Just spit it out. Just tell him.

But it’s hard to admit to my lie when he’s looking at me like that. I pull away from him and stand up. I’m very fully aware that I’m still naked, but there’s nothing I can do about that now. Ward is watching me, but I don’t look at him. I just let the burn of his gaze sink into my skin.

“You’ve explained to me why you stay here, even though you hate it,” I say finally. “But I never gave you
my
reasons.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare. I’ve started pacing, trying to find the right words.

Say it, Lou.

“The truth is…” I begin, closing my eyes.

SAY IT.

“The truth is, this used to be my home.” The words are hardly more than a whisper.

He continues to be silent for what feels like an eternity. My stomach is one giant knot as I slowly peel my eyes open again.

“What do you mean by that?” he says, though I can tell the wheels are already working in his head.

“I grew up here,” I say. “Addison Thomas isn’t my real name. It’s Louisa Cunningham.”

Though I know he’s arrived at that answer before I say it out loud, my words confirm his fears. His entire demeanor changes.

“You’re…”

“Louisa Cunningham,” I say again. “Though most people I know call me Lou.”

He stands suddenly, then laughs. But it’s not a happy, carefree sound. It’s strained, confused.

“You’re joking, right?” he says.

I don’t respond.

He shakes his head, incredulous. “
The
Louisa Cunningham?”

This time I give a single nod.

But Ward still can’t seem to accept it. “Why the hell are you here? Working as Haymore’s assistant?”

“It’s hard to explain.” My nakedness feels like more of an issue now, and I cross my arms across my chest. Not that it hides much.

“Who knows?” he asks. “Haymore?”

“No, of course not. No one knows. No one here, at least. Except you. And that reporter. That’s what he was using to threaten me.”

“So you… what?” he says. “Decided to come back here on a whim? Decided to play spy or something?”

“I’m not
spying
,” I say. “It’s not like I can just run off and report everything I’ve seen here and have some mighty influential power sweep in and fix things. No one cares what my opinion is on the changes they’ve made here. And even if they did, there’s nothing I or anyone I know can do about it.”

“I don’t get it,” he says. He’s truly agitated. Far more upset than I expected him to be at this stage. Deep down inside of me, I thought he might actually understand.

“I needed closure,” I say. “But I couldn’t just waltz over here and give myself the grand tour. Even if they let me have a look around, which I doubt, you know they would’ve been watching me. ‘Oh, how’s poor little Lou dealing with her family’s downfall?’ I needed to figure some things out, and I needed to do it on my own. Without every news outlet breathing down my neck.” I’m starting to sound a little deranged, but I don’t care. I’m exhausted. My body feels like it could give out at any minute. And Ward’s looking at me in a way that breaks my heart.