Savage (12 page)

J
enna looked out the window
, taking in the city as they made their way toward the bank. She was still in shock at the evidence of Farrell’s wealth. Kate had said he was rich and powerful, but Jenna didn’t know she meant
that
rich.
That
powerful.

After they’d left her house, Farrell had navigated the Lotus to a quiet tarmac at Heathrow. A nameless man in trousers and a leather jacket, his face hidden by sunglasses, had taken the keys from Farrell and driven off. A moment later Farrell led her to a private plane a hundred times more luxurious than her own home and twice the size of her apartment in New York. The pilot had been waiting for them, and they’d been wheels up in under ten minutes.

Farrell offered her the use of the bedroom at the rear of the plane, but she didn’t trust herself, Farrell, and a bedroom in the same vicinity. She’d played it safe instead, watching London disappear below the clouds and pretending to read a magazine she’d found on the small table next to her seat.

It was impossible to truly read or concentrate with Farrell reading the newspaper right across the aisle. He was larger than life, his electric energy filling up every inch of space in the plane’s cabin. It was a palpable current reaching to her from across the plane, setting her body on fire. Her eyes kept drifting to his big thighs, pulling taut the fabric of his trousers. It was hard to keep her gaze from the bulge between his legs, the muscular rise of his chest under his shirt. She’d had to force herself to look away, cross her arms to keep her body from trembling.

She’d been relieved when they finally landed. Now at least they could move. They could go to the bank, look inside her father’s safe deposit box, and get back to London and their separate residences, the only way to be sure she would steer clear of him.

They’d been met by a driver who had loaded their bags into the trunk without a word. Against all reason, she felt a little thrill that Farrell would go to such lengths to help her on such short notice.

Not that she needed his help.

But he was right. The faster she finished in Madrid, the faster she’d be home with Lily.

She expected to go straight to the bank, but fifteen minutes after they left the airport they pulled up outside a gorgeous old building. It wasn’t huge — only six stories — but what it lacked in height it more than made up for in grandeur. Jenna recognized the architecture as Belle Epoque, which meant the building had to have been constructed sometime in the early 1900s. A sign at the top of a copper turret identified it as the Ritz.

She sat up straighter in the back seat, then turned to Farrell. “I thought we were going to the bank.”

“We are,” he said. “But we may as well leave our stuff here while we do it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t we going back to London today?”

“That’s up to you,” he said. “I assumed you’d want to make sure your business was concluded here before you made that decision.”

“I don’t have any business other than the bank,” she said.

A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “We won’t really know that until we see what’s in the safe deposit box, now will we?” He sighed, then continued. “If the trip is as straight forward as you hope, we can leave immediately. But your father left something here for a reason. I thought it best to make sure we had a place to stay if the situation proves more complicated than you imagine.”

She couldn’t deny the logic. What if whatever was in the safe deposit box led them to something — or someone — else in Madrid? What if her father had been having an affair and the contents of the safe deposit box named the woman? Would Jenna want to meet her? Find out more about her father?

She didn’t know. And Farrell was right; she wouldn’t know until she found out what was inside the box.

“Okay,” she said.

Their driver removed their bags, handed them to a porter, then gave something to Farrell before departing. They made their way through an intimate but lavish lobby, decorated with white marble floors and an antique staircase lined with rich, red carpet. Jenna was frantically calculating the balance on her credit card when Farrell made a beeline for the elevators.

“What about our rooms?” she asked, stepping in behind him.

“Taken care of.”

He inserted a key card into a slot on the elevator control panel and her stomach lifted as they rose into the air. She stood silently next to him, trying not to panic. A quick trip to Madrid to find out what was in her father’s safe deposit box had turned into time alone with Farrell in a lavish hotel.

This was not good.

She watched the numbers climb to the sixth floor. The doors opened, and they emerged directly into a luxurious room awash with sunlight. At one end of the space, a set of old windows looked out over the city, the tops of the trees providing privacy beyond the carved white banister of the balcony. A set of blue velvet sofas, their legs curved and gilded, sat between two end tables, both decorated with vases of fresh white peonies, and an antique marble fireplace was set into one wall.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s our room.” Farrell bent to pick up his bag, obviously left by the porter, although Jenna had no idea how how he’d gotten upstairs before them.

She didn’t move. “This looks like one room.”

“It’s not,” he said. “There are two bedrooms and two bathrooms, so you needn’t worry about your privacy.”

He disappeared beyond a doorway on the left, leaving her alone in the living room. She hesitated, wanting to call him out on the arrangement without sounding ungrateful. Finally, when she had her wits about her, when she’d stopped imagining her and Farrell naked in one of the bedrooms, she followed him into the room.

A massive bed dominated the room, decorated in rich reds and blues. The room was also fitted with a writing desk, a small sofa, a large painted wardrobe. A set of glass doors with old bronze handles led onto the balcony. Beyond it, she could see more trees, could hear the muffled buzz of traffic in the city. Farrell was unpacking, moving between his duffle bag and the dresser.

“Don’t you think you should have asked me before setting us up in the same room?” she finally asked.

He didn’t stop moving while he spoke. “I own shares in several hotel chains. This is one of them. This suite is reserved for me when I visit. It seemed foolish to make reservations elsewhere, especially when we won’t be staying in the same room. Yours is all the way on the other side of the suite.” He straightened, met her eyes. “Does that make you feel better?”

Yes.

No.

She wanted to run from him.

Wanted to run to him.

“And if we get what we need today we’ll go right back to London?” she asked.

“If that’s what you want, yes.”

She heard something unspoken in his words. An invitation. A hope. A promise.

She returned to the living room and picked up her bag, then took it into the other bedroom. It was every bit as extravagant as the room where Farrell would sleep, except this one was decorated in platinum blue and ivory. The bed was large, so plush she sunk a good four inches when she sat on the edge. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to strip off her clothes, slip under the covers, and sleep.

“Shall we check out the bank?”

She looked up to find Farrell leaning in the doorway. There was something graceful and sexy about that lean, something that made her want to lay back on the bed, open her legs, let him come to her. She nodded instead, trying to will away the throbbing need at her center.

They descended to the lobby and stepped out into a warm, spring afternoon. The air was slightly humid, fragrant with concrete and heat, and somewhere underneath it all, the improbable scent of wheat.

“What is that?” she asked Farrell.

“What?”

“That smell,” she said. “Like bread.”

He chuckled. “You’re not far off. It’s wheat.”

“Wheat?”

He nodded. “From the fields outside the city. I’m surprised you can smell it. It’s usually only noticeable in the summer.”

“Summer is right around the corner,” she said.

He nodded, his eyes clouding over. “I suppose it is.”

She wondered where she would be then. If she would be back in New York, or if fate had other plans. But that was foolish. You made your own fate. Crafted your own destiny. If she didn’t believe that, all the sacrifices she’d made — Farrell being the biggest of all — would have been for nothing.

He stopped in front of a sleek, red car and opened the passenger side door.

“No driver?” she asked.

“Not this time.”

She slid into the car, wondering at the mysterious wheels that turned behind the scenes of Farrell’s life. How many people were on the payroll to insure that he had a car, ready and waiting, across the sea? How many employees did it take to keep him informed of Jenna’s travel arrangements, file flight plans for the private plane, reserve the suite at the Ritz?

She tried to summon the fear she’d once felt thinking about Farrell’s lifestyle. Certainly the illegal activities of his business funded it all. But right now, after years of being responsible for everything on her own, she could only feel relieved. It was undeniably nice to have someone else make the arrangements. To have someone else take the reigns for awhile.

She buckled her seat belt as Farrell slipped into the driver’s seat. The car started with a low purr, and a moment later they were zipping onto the road and heading downtown. Farrell rolled the windows down, and Jenna leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, letting the wind whip her hair as the warm, almost-summer wind caressed her face.

She woke with a start, noticing the silence. The car wasn’t moving, and the engine was quiet. She turned her head to find Farrell staring at her. She met his eyes, their gazes locked in silence for what seemed like forever. Finally he reached out, touched a big hand gently to her cheek.

“You’re exhausted.”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a minor admission. She
was
exhausted, and not just from the early morning and the flight to Spain. She was exhausted from doing everything alone. From making all the decisions for her and Lily. From budgeting their money to make sure they could pay the bills. From laying awake alone at night, wondering about the future and whether Lily would be okay without a father and whether Jenna would ever find another man who touched her like Farrell. The weight of it had kept her awake for five years.

“Let’s take care of this,” he said, his voice low and full of promise. “Then I’ll take care of you.”

Her body hummed with the words. She knew how Farrell took care of her. Remembered well how he inhabited her so completely there was no room for anything else.

He slipped out of the car before she could say anything and came around to open her door.

“Which one’s the bank?” she asked, anxious to turn the conversation to safer ground.

Paseo de la Castellana was a wide highway with three lanes in each direction divided by a wide, grassy median that looked big enough to hold a park.The street was lined with an odd mixture of architecture — some of the buildings older than the Ritz, some of them made of glass and chrome and steel.

“That one,” he said, pointing to an elaborate building with arched windows and an enormous set of double doors.

She drew a breath. This was it. She would finally know what her father had been doing in the weeks before his death, for better or worse.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Farrell asked, stopping on the sidewalk. “We can go back to London now if you like. Forget this whole thing.”

She shook her head. “I feel like he wants me to know, whatever it is,” she said. She laughed. “That probably sounds crazy.”

She thought she saw a hint of warmth in the icy depths of his eyes. “Not crazy at all. Come on then.”

He led her through the doors into a cavernous room with triple-height ceilings and carved woodwork that had to date back to the 1800s. A gentleman in a suit stepped forward, but he didn't look like a bank teller. In fact, Jenna wouldn’t have been surprised if he was armed. He had the aura of cleverly disguised security.

“Welcome to the Bank of Spain,” he said in accented English. “How may we be of service to you today?”

“My father recently passed away,” she said, withdrawing the key card. “He left this, and I’ve been led to believe it belongs to a safe deposit box in your bank.”

“It does look like one of ours,” the man said, “but I’m afraid you must have an appointment to access our safe deposit boxes.”

“An appointment?” She heard the disappointment in her own voice. “I didn’t even think to call ahead.”

He smiled. “It’s quite all right. If you follow me, we can arrange something.”

She sighed. “Thank you. Will I be able to get an appointment today?”

“Arturo will give you more information,” he said, leading her to a small office.

An older man with jet black hair and a portly figure under a perfectly tailored suit rose from the desk near the window. The man who had greeted them explained what they wanted, then withdrew from the room.

They made small talk as the man named Arturo pulled up the safe deposit appointment schedule on his computer. After some clicking and tapping on the key board, it was revealed that the earliest available appointment was the following day at one pm. Farrell did what he could, giving Arturo his business card and implying a favor would be returned sometime in the future, but Arturo could only apologize. Tomorrow really was the best they could do.

They took the appointment and left the bank, stepping out onto the busy Paseo de la Castellana. It was afternoon, and the sun was high in the sky behind a bank of clouds. She was at a loss. In spite of Farrell’s warnings that they may have to stay, she had expected to return to London today.

Farrell took her arm. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He looked down at her. “I said I would take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do. You’re simply going to have to trust me, Jenna.”