hardness in his eyes for a brief moment, before
the shutters slammed closed again. “Go on.”
There
wasn’t much else to say. “I’ve yet to sit final exams, but I studied how to do
building budgets, deal with local councils, permits, trade requirements. I’m top
in the class for an eco-sustainable village concept for our mid-terms.” I
fibbed. I came second, but if he wanted me in property, shit, I’d be the best
in property I could be.
He
leaned back, steepling his fingers again. I fast recognized the trademark move.
Q moved with power and the undeniable knowledge of perfect control. “How did
they take you?”
The
abrupt change in conversation side-lined me.
I
thought I’d pushed the terror down deep from being kidnapped, and purged myself
last night through a wash of tears, but panic rose and roared, blotting out
everything, apart from the agony of seeing Brax bleeding and men knocking me
unconscious. Oh, God, would I ever be free?
Q
shifted, waiting. He neither cared, nor took sadistic interest as I struggled
with memories. Why the hell did he bring it up? Bastard.
I
answered in monotone, pretending I hadn’t lived it. Surprisingly, it helped
distance myself, and a shot of pride filled me. I’d fought and taught Leather
Jacket a lesson or two. I celebrated the small win. “I was taken in Mexico.
They hurt my boyfriend, knocked me out, and took me somewhere.”
“Did
they hurt you? Apart from your ankle?”
If
he classified being beaten and tattooed, then yes. I nodded.
He
sucked in a breath, forehead furrowing. “Did they rape you?”
Leather
Jacket tried, but failed. A cold smile tugged my lips. “No. One tried. He
wasn’t successful.”
His
hard smile matched mine, and something webbed between us. Understanding?
Respect? Something I said changed the way Q thought of me.
My
pulse accelerated. Perhaps, if I made him see me , not as a possession
but as a woman, things might not be so lost after all.
Whatever
his feelings, if his respect granted safety, I was all for it.
Whatever
happened between us disappeared when Q murmured, “What’s your name?” He kept eyes
shadowed by looking at the newspaper on the table. Did he not think I noticed
the casual question?
I
pursed my lips, not answering.
After
a moment, he looked up, glaring. “You will tell me your name.”
My
breath came faster, hurting my rib, but I remained silent. What are you
doing, Tess? Is another beating really worth keeping your name a secret? I
knew the answer: yes, it was. My name was the only thing I owned. It was sacred.
I
jumped as Q called, “Suzette!” His chin rose, showing a graceful neck and
rough-smoothness. Cords of muscle hinted at a rigorous exercise program, yet
his body wasn’t bulky. In another life, I would’ve drooled over him. He ought
to be on the cover of a GQ magazine. My eyes narrowed. Was that why he called
himself Q? So egotistical.
The
maid appeared. Her soft smile and adoration for her employer shot me in the
heart. How could she be loyal and like this man?
“Oui,
maître?”
“Enfermer
la dans la bibliothèque. Retirez le téléphone et l'ordinateur portable. Ca comprend?”
I
blinked, wishing I’d stayed with French in high school. Rusty cogs worked hard,
shedding dust on a language I knew, but hadn’t used in years. Something about a
library and a computer.
My
eyes flashed between Q and Suzette.
She
bowed. “Oui, autre chose?”
My
mind sped, letting my brain stretch and remember. She’d asked if he wanted
anything else. I’d never been thankful for a good memory before, but I wanted
to cry with relief—I wouldn’t be completely in the dark.
Q
froze, and Suzette locked him in her hazel stare. Her stance yelled protectiveness,
understanding. Eyes urged him to do… what?
They
stared for an eternity, involved in silent conversation, leaving me a third wheel.
Finally, Q nodded, sighing, “Vous savez?” You know.
She
relaxed, face full of sad acknowledgement. “Elle
the shutters slammed closed again. “Go on.”
There
wasn’t much else to say. “I’ve yet to sit final exams, but I studied how to do
building budgets, deal with local councils, permits, trade requirements. I’m top
in the class for an eco-sustainable village concept for our mid-terms.” I
fibbed. I came second, but if he wanted me in property, shit, I’d be the best
in property I could be.
He
leaned back, steepling his fingers again. I fast recognized the trademark move.
Q moved with power and the undeniable knowledge of perfect control. “How did
they take you?”
The
abrupt change in conversation side-lined me.
I
thought I’d pushed the terror down deep from being kidnapped, and purged myself
last night through a wash of tears, but panic rose and roared, blotting out
everything, apart from the agony of seeing Brax bleeding and men knocking me
unconscious. Oh, God, would I ever be free?
Q
shifted, waiting. He neither cared, nor took sadistic interest as I struggled
with memories. Why the hell did he bring it up? Bastard.
I
answered in monotone, pretending I hadn’t lived it. Surprisingly, it helped
distance myself, and a shot of pride filled me. I’d fought and taught Leather
Jacket a lesson or two. I celebrated the small win. “I was taken in Mexico.
They hurt my boyfriend, knocked me out, and took me somewhere.”
“Did
they hurt you? Apart from your ankle?”
If
he classified being beaten and tattooed, then yes. I nodded.
He
sucked in a breath, forehead furrowing. “Did they rape you?”
Leather
Jacket tried, but failed. A cold smile tugged my lips. “No. One tried. He
wasn’t successful.”
His
hard smile matched mine, and something webbed between us. Understanding?
Respect? Something I said changed the way Q thought of me.
My
pulse accelerated. Perhaps, if I made him see me , not as a possession
but as a woman, things might not be so lost after all.
Whatever
his feelings, if his respect granted safety, I was all for it.
Whatever
happened between us disappeared when Q murmured, “What’s your name?” He kept eyes
shadowed by looking at the newspaper on the table. Did he not think I noticed
the casual question?
I
pursed my lips, not answering.
After
a moment, he looked up, glaring. “You will tell me your name.”
My
breath came faster, hurting my rib, but I remained silent. What are you
doing, Tess? Is another beating really worth keeping your name a secret? I
knew the answer: yes, it was. My name was the only thing I owned. It was sacred.
I
jumped as Q called, “Suzette!” His chin rose, showing a graceful neck and
rough-smoothness. Cords of muscle hinted at a rigorous exercise program, yet
his body wasn’t bulky. In another life, I would’ve drooled over him. He ought
to be on the cover of a GQ magazine. My eyes narrowed. Was that why he called
himself Q? So egotistical.
The
maid appeared. Her soft smile and adoration for her employer shot me in the
heart. How could she be loyal and like this man?
“Oui,
maître?”
“Enfermer
la dans la bibliothèque. Retirez le téléphone et l'ordinateur portable. Ca comprend?”
I
blinked, wishing I’d stayed with French in high school. Rusty cogs worked hard,
shedding dust on a language I knew, but hadn’t used in years. Something about a
library and a computer.
My
eyes flashed between Q and Suzette.
She
bowed. “Oui, autre chose?”
My
mind sped, letting my brain stretch and remember. She’d asked if he wanted
anything else. I’d never been thankful for a good memory before, but I wanted
to cry with relief—I wouldn’t be completely in the dark.
Q
froze, and Suzette locked him in her hazel stare. Her stance yelled protectiveness,
understanding. Eyes urged him to do… what?
They
stared for an eternity, involved in silent conversation, leaving me a third wheel.
Finally, Q nodded, sighing, “Vous savez?” You know.
She
relaxed, face full of sad acknowledgement. “Elle
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