Page 32 of His to Keep
I clench my jaw as my stomach tightens yet again. I fucking hate this. I need to do something to get my mind off her. I glance over at the blonde, appraising her. I could ask her to stay after the others go. Hell, I could probably slip her into the penthouse right now without anyone even knowing. I could get inside her, get some relief, maybe stop thinking about Rebecca’s soft curves and gorgeous face for two seconds. But when I meet the blonde’s gaze, I know that’s not going to happen. I don’t want muddy brown eyes or fake tits. I want Rebecca.
What the hell am I doing? How am I just sitting here right now drinking bourbon? She’s out with another man. He might be touching her right now. God, he might be hurting her. And even though that’s kind of what she signed up for as a submissive, I know that their relationship is not healthy. He doesn’t treat her right. She shouldn’t be afraid of him.
Jesus. I’m such an idiot, letting her go there to meet him when I know how she feels. He scares her. And I just left her with him. I was so focused on my own jealousy that I didn’t even think about her well being.
“Go home,” I say abruptly, and the blonde steps back, surprised.
“I’m sorry?”
“The night is over.” I turn away from her, raising my voice for the others. “Sorry to cut this short,” I call out. “But there’s somewhere else I need to be.”
Blank faces stare back at me. Fuck it. They can see themselves out. I turn on my heel and head back into the penthouse, already pulling out my phone to call for my car. I need to get to Club Wyld and—
I freeze when I see her standing in the entryway. Rebecca has her arms wrapped around her middle, like she’s trying to hold herself together, and she looks more pale than usual, her eyes wide.
I’m across the room to her side before she can even open her mouth. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing,” she says quickly. I don’t buy it. Her eyes are red. The thought of that asshole making her cry has rage rushing through me.
“Bullshit. Where is he? Still at the club?”
I move to push past her but she grabs a hold of my arm. Her blue eyes are imploring as she stares up at me. “Luke, please. I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. I promise.”
“You’re crying.”
“We had an argument.”
I grit my teeth. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Can we just…” she takes a deep breath, unfolding her arms. “I came here to talk to you.”
I cup the side of her cheek, tilting her face up to look at me. I study her features, looking for some clue as to what really happened. She seems okay—a little shaken, but unharmed. I nod once. “Go wait in my bedroom. I need to tell Emily to see the guests out.”
Her eyes go even wider. “The dinner party. Oh my God, I completely forgot. Please, go back to your guests and—”
I place a finger over her perfect lips to quiet her. “I already kicked them out. I was on my way to come find you.”
Moisture fills those big blue eyes and her words come out as a squeak. “You were coming to find me?”
I brush my lips gently across hers, unable to stand even an inch between us for a second longer. “Of course I was, sweet girl.”
She closes her eyes, a single tear escaping, and something in my heart rips in two. I know, in that moment, I would move heaven and earth to keep her from ever crying again. “My bedroom,” I tell her, kissing her one more time before forcing myself to release her and go deal with the assholes on my terrace.
* * *
It takesme less than ten minutes to clear everyone out. I concoct some bullshit about an emergency at the office, and even manage to smile and shake hands apologetically while doing it. I leave Emily in charge of the caterers and clean up, tell her that I’m not to be disturbed unless the building is on fire, then pour out two glasses of my best cabernet and go to find my girl.
I pause in the doorway to my bedroom, taking her in. She’s sitting in my Eames lounge chair in the corner, looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the city lights spreading around us. She looks tiny in the masculine chair, her shoulders hunched, arms once again around her middle. I want to pull her into my arms, to curl up in that chair with her in my lap. And I want to make sure she never leaves this room again.
She looks up as I approach, smiling shyly when I hand her the wine. “Thank you,” she murmurs, not meeting my eyes. So I set my own wine on the side table and kneel in front of her, giving her no choice but to look at me.
“What happened?”
She takes a deep breath. “He was entertaining a client at the club. I figured it would be the same as usual—I would sit quiet and look pretty while he wined and dined some asshole.” She swallows, and the only slightly tampered rage from earlier boils up again.
“Tonight was different. We were having a drink out in the front lounge, watching the show, and Aden told me he wanted us to do a scene. I hadn’t been planning on—not tonight—with everything between me and you—” She shakes her head, looking uncomfortable. “I thought I’d have a chance to work some things out before I was with…him…like that.”
I have to clench my fists to keep myself from punching someone at those words, at the idea of her ever with himlike that, in the past or future.
