Chapter One
Bright lights flicker over the pinkness covering my eyes, adding another excruciating layer of pain to my throbbing head and the sticky gash over my left eye.
At first I can’t say why I feel this way or what the heck is going on. No, I lie perfectly still and keep my eyes screwed shut, waiting for Lucian to come and harass me out of bed.
I’ll say ‘my head’s killing me’, and he’ll be his usual self and practically fall all over himself fixing me up or getting me to the doctor. For some reason, he hates it when I feel anything less than stellar.
I can’t tell you why, either, since sometimes when I catch him looking at me his face is so inscrutable I could swear he feels nothing at all. Then at other times he looks at me in a way I can’t decipher, but…it makes my stomach feel all butterfly wings and nervous joy.
Eventually I realize that this, all these rambling musings, are nothing more than my mind’s way of tricking me into a sense of calmness because I know exactly what’s going on around me, and none of it is even halfway as good as Lucian haranguing me to get up so I can cook him breakfast and kiss him goodbye.
No, this is me trapped in a moving vehicle with the one man I’d hoped never to see again.
When the hysteria that bubbles up lightens a bit—only through sheer force of will and the fear that he’ll know I’m awake—I crack a lid and squint forward, pressing my lips together as the enormity of my situation hits me.
Wesley has me tied, hand and foot, in the backseat of a car expensive enough to have leather seats—ooh, soft and comfy—and is currently driving while listening to Chicago.
Ironic.
In this position, tied as I am—wrists to ankles—I’m pretty sure that he has nothing to worry about. Everything on me is numb and feels like concrete.
Doesn’t stop my limbs and joints from hurting, though, I can tell you that much.
The fear gets worse then, because I’m well and truly at his mercy, something that his actions thus far have pretty much proven he doesn’t feel for me.
Let’s back it up.
After Lucian had called I’d run to the front door and flung it open like an idiot, intent on waiting on the front steps for Ben. Silly me. As soon as that barrier had cleared the frame he’d been there, his face a mask of seething hatred and what I now recognize as his intention to harm me.
“What are you doing here, Wesley?”
He hadn’t answered, had lunged at me instead, and somehow my spazzed out brain had known that he was up to no good. I’d freaked and slammed the door, twisting to run and get back to the phone.
Somehow I’d known what he was going to do—well, not known exactly, but I’d been terrified enough to bolt. He’d tackled me at the kitchen door, taking me down so hard we’d both flown into the counter.
Things are a little sketchy for me after that, since his NFL tactics had landed my eye against the smooth marble and I’d been fighting to stay conscious.
I remember fighting, though. And ruining the surprise birthday cake I’d baked. Sure, Lucian had known I’d made cake. What he hadn’t known was that I was making it to celebrate his birthday, something I shouldn’t have known, since he’d been so closed lipped about it.
Luckily for him I have the memory of an elephant—a very svelte one, thank you very much—and…oh, who am I kidding, I’ve never forgotten his birthday, not once in seven years.
Just happens to be this year I’m baking him a cake instead of drinking cheap wine and toasting ‘the rat bastard asshole butthead’.
Now, though…now I’m probably halfway to death.
“I know you’re awake, Ash, so you can stop pretending.”
Sheeeit.
I roll over onto my side with a groan and open my eyes fully, cursing beneath my breath when a family of rhinocer—is it rhinoceros, rhinoceroses or rhinoceri?
Oh, whatever. The bastards take up residence inside my skull and proceed to mash the hell out of my gray
Bright lights flicker over the pinkness covering my eyes, adding another excruciating layer of pain to my throbbing head and the sticky gash over my left eye.
At first I can’t say why I feel this way or what the heck is going on. No, I lie perfectly still and keep my eyes screwed shut, waiting for Lucian to come and harass me out of bed.
I’ll say ‘my head’s killing me’, and he’ll be his usual self and practically fall all over himself fixing me up or getting me to the doctor. For some reason, he hates it when I feel anything less than stellar.
I can’t tell you why, either, since sometimes when I catch him looking at me his face is so inscrutable I could swear he feels nothing at all. Then at other times he looks at me in a way I can’t decipher, but…it makes my stomach feel all butterfly wings and nervous joy.
Eventually I realize that this, all these rambling musings, are nothing more than my mind’s way of tricking me into a sense of calmness because I know exactly what’s going on around me, and none of it is even halfway as good as Lucian haranguing me to get up so I can cook him breakfast and kiss him goodbye.
No, this is me trapped in a moving vehicle with the one man I’d hoped never to see again.
When the hysteria that bubbles up lightens a bit—only through sheer force of will and the fear that he’ll know I’m awake—I crack a lid and squint forward, pressing my lips together as the enormity of my situation hits me.
Wesley has me tied, hand and foot, in the backseat of a car expensive enough to have leather seats—ooh, soft and comfy—and is currently driving while listening to Chicago.
Ironic.
In this position, tied as I am—wrists to ankles—I’m pretty sure that he has nothing to worry about. Everything on me is numb and feels like concrete.
Doesn’t stop my limbs and joints from hurting, though, I can tell you that much.
The fear gets worse then, because I’m well and truly at his mercy, something that his actions thus far have pretty much proven he doesn’t feel for me.
Let’s back it up.
After Lucian had called I’d run to the front door and flung it open like an idiot, intent on waiting on the front steps for Ben. Silly me. As soon as that barrier had cleared the frame he’d been there, his face a mask of seething hatred and what I now recognize as his intention to harm me.
“What are you doing here, Wesley?”
He hadn’t answered, had lunged at me instead, and somehow my spazzed out brain had known that he was up to no good. I’d freaked and slammed the door, twisting to run and get back to the phone.
Somehow I’d known what he was going to do—well, not known exactly, but I’d been terrified enough to bolt. He’d tackled me at the kitchen door, taking me down so hard we’d both flown into the counter.
Things are a little sketchy for me after that, since his NFL tactics had landed my eye against the smooth marble and I’d been fighting to stay conscious.
I remember fighting, though. And ruining the surprise birthday cake I’d baked. Sure, Lucian had known I’d made cake. What he hadn’t known was that I was making it to celebrate his birthday, something I shouldn’t have known, since he’d been so closed lipped about it.
Luckily for him I have the memory of an elephant—a very svelte one, thank you very much—and…oh, who am I kidding, I’ve never forgotten his birthday, not once in seven years.
Just happens to be this year I’m baking him a cake instead of drinking cheap wine and toasting ‘the rat bastard asshole butthead’.
Now, though…now I’m probably halfway to death.
“I know you’re awake, Ash, so you can stop pretending.”
Sheeeit.
I roll over onto my side with a groan and open my eyes fully, cursing beneath my breath when a family of rhinocer—is it rhinoceros, rhinoceroses or rhinoceri?
Oh, whatever. The bastards take up residence inside my skull and proceed to mash the hell out of my gray
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