Страница 132 из 222
“If that’s your wish. Though, I would strongly advise you to make the effort of attending more of our meetings. Important matters are discussed that affect you.”
“I’ll have the next one added to my calendar.” I push up from my chair and straighten my coat.
“Very good.” Friedrich sighs, sitting back in his chair. “In the meantime, I’ll request more information regarding Mr. Boyd.”
Eased back in my office chair, I sip my liquor, staring across the room as the elevator dings and Isa steps out. I don’t know why my pulse quickens at the sight of her, like any second she’ll take off on a dead run and make me chase her.
As she edges closer, I don’t take my eyes off her. Couldn’t if I wanted to.
“You changed out of your dress.” I drink in the beauty of her in a simple T-shirt stretched over supple breasts, and tight leggings that hug her toned calves. My mind rewinds back to earlier in the night, when I had my face buried between her thighs, while her moans echoed all around me.
“It was uncomfortable.” Something is different about her, the way she doesn’t volley some smartass remark and hasn’t met my gaze once since walking into the room.
“What’s wrong?”
Her brows flicker, and she winds her fingers in the hem of her shirt. “You had Rand fetch me.”
“And?”
“And … it just felt a little … strange. After what happened in the courtyard tonight.”
“You’d have preferred I come myself.”
“Would’ve felt more personal. Less like a business transaction.”
I polish off the rest of my drink, setting the glass down on the coaster, and rise up from my chair. Dragging a finger over the smooth mahogany wood, I round my desk and come to a stop only inches away from her. The twitch of her shoulder, the quick rise and fall of her chest, the steady diversion of her gaze--small cues I notice that tell me she’s nervous around me all of a sudden.
Reaching out a hand, I brush my knuckles down her cheek and catch the subtle tilt of her head away from my touch. “Something else is troubling you.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit. You took my mother back to her room. What happened then?”
“Nothing.”
I curl my fingers around her fragile jaw and guide her eyes to mine. “What happened?”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Nothing happened. We ran into Nell at the elevator, and both of us helped your mother to bed.”
“And where exactly was Nell when my mother entered the masquerade without any clothes?”
“She took a smoke break.”
“How convenient. And how is my mother now?”
Eyes hidden beneath the long dark lashes, she nibbles on her bottom lip that I want to take between my teeth while I hold her pi
“You think I’m cold, and that I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m just trying to understand, is all.”
“Understand this.” I tip my head to gain her attention, and when she meets my gaze with those puppy dog eyes, it takes an incredible amount of control not to act on my desires. “There are few that I trust as a general rule. But I knew she was in good hands with you.”
A flicker of a smile dances across her face, but I’m not sure I’ve broken down whatever shield she managed to construct in the last couple of hours. Still grasping her jaw, I lean forward and take those lips, setting my other hand to the crown of her head as I tilt her chin up. The taste of mint toothpaste greets my tongue as I prod past her teeth.
I slide my hands down her back to her ass, and squeeze just enough to make her squeak against my lips. Traveling further down to her thighs, I lift her up, never breaking the kiss, while I wrap her legs around me and carry her around my desk. The chair catches me as I lower the two of us onto it. Reaching up her shirt, I run my hands over her belly, and up toward her breasts, while I devour the flavor that lingers on her lips.
Straddled over my thighs, she pushes against my chest, pulling her lips from mine, and breathes hard between us. Quiet for a moment, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry for this, but I have to know. I have to ask. What really happened to your son?”
As soon as the question tumbles out, my suspicions about Nell are confirmed. It isn’t the first time the woman has attempted to scare off one of the staff here with her little conspiracy theories. We let her off with a warning the last time, on the grounds that it’s not easy hiring help with the Blackthorne reputation looming over this place. She’s not the first to try and piece together what happened to my son, and won’t be the last, it seems, as much as I hoped otherwise with Isa.
With a light nudge, I back her off my thighs, and she clambers to her feet, standing before me.
“You want to know if I killed my son.”
“If I offended you, I didn’t mean ... I’m just trying to--“
“I want to show you something.” I lean forward and open the largest of three drawers on my desk. The moment I slide it out, the familiar pangs of agony punch at my chest. Held within, are pictures and drawings, a few crayons, and Roark’s favorite toys. The last remnants of my son that I gathered and stored away, keeping them for myself. I’ve never shown anyone my collection. Never gave a shit what anyone thought about me.
Isa kneels down beside the drawer and reaches in for a picture that I can’t bear to look at right now. He was two and a half years old, and my mother had snapped a picture of us, as I’d just tossed him into the air and caught him. Roark’s face was bunched with laughter, his tiny hands plastered at my cheeks as I held him up for a kiss.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t start out the best father. I hate myself every day for that. But he’s the only thing in this world that I learned how to love.” As if I’ve torn open an old wound, my chest aches with the admission, and I frown to keep the familiar anger from rising to the surface. I don’t owe her any of this, but without it, I’m still the monster. The Devil of Bonesalt who murdered his wife and son. At least now she knows, even the devil was capable of love once.
Eyes brimming with sadness, she sets the picture back into the drawer and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Lucian, I’m so sorry.”
Words that fail to breach my disappointment. All my life, I’ve battled rumor and fairy tales, if not of my father’s infidelity, then my mother’s flirtations. The accusations about my son and wife are something I have to live with for the rest of my life.
It’s fucking exhausting.
“I know now what first drew me to you.” The familiar jab of pain strikes my temples, and I screw my eyes shut, trying to ignore the agonizing distraction. “You were different. You didn’t cower like I was some kind of murdering monster. You looked me in the eyes when you spoke to me, like you saw right past all this shit.” I gesture to my face where the disgusting vestiges remain, and shake my head. “But you are just like them. Just like everyone else who feeds into the bullshit lies.”
“I’m not, Lucian, I swear.”
Another stab of pain is lightning behind my eyelids, and I breathe hard through my nose, mentally counting to ten, just like when I was a kid, waiting for the chasing thunder. “Get out.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean--”
“Get out!” The anger comes too fast, pounding against my skull, and I slam the heels of my hands against my temples. Breathing. Keep breathing.