Page 43 of The Dove
Their moments together in Dunnottar’s music room came back to her in a flood of memories—the hours they’d spent playing together, the night he had ravaged her on the carpet, the times he’d lain her across his pianoforte and fucked her. She could not help the fondness coloring those memories, a longing for the peace and isolation they’d had in the Scottish castle. Things had been easier then, without all the implications of his presence in London and the rumors swirling about them.
Perhaps that was what drove her to sink to her knees beside the piano bench—which was consumed by his entire width, leaving no room for her. It was what drove her to lay her head on his thigh and wrap her arms around his calf, holding on for dear life and closing her eyes. She let the music flow through her, touching and healing all the parts of her that had been hurt, flooding her soul and dousing it in the dark blanket of Adam’s potent essence. She found peace in his madness, comfort in the snare of his trap. His body relaxed beneath her touch, the tension in his hard thigh melting away as she laid her cheek onto it, rubbing against the fabric of his breeches like a cat seeking its master’s attention.
He did not give it to her until he had finished playing, the final chords of music melting away into the shadows, leaving them in soothing silence. Only then did his hand come down on top of her head, his fingers stroking over her hair, tucking it behind one ear. She felt his gaze on the side of her face as he smoothed his knuckles over her jaw, over and over and again, as if savoring the feel of her skin against his.
“I saw Olivia,” she whispered. “In the master suite. I … I did not know, Adam. I’m so … I’m sorry.”
It never failed, even when he tormented her, treated her to his brand of cruelty—she always crawled to him, always begged his forgiveness. Because the things he’d done to her had been his only way of coping with the pain … something she always saw in hindsight. She’d come crashing through his front door, hurling accusations and insults at him, not knowing that he’d just returned home to the news that his sister had arrived. What he must have felt when he’d seen her, heard the insults she’d spewed at him.
Guilt churned in her gut, making her cling tighter to his leg.
“You did not know,” he murmured in response, still touching her, stroking her cheek, her hair, the shell of her ear.
They stayed silent for another long moment, until he spoke again.
“She did it to herself,” he whispered, his voice low and tortured in the dark. “The cuts on her arms. She … I do not think she wanted to die, but … she could have.”
She wrinkled her brow, gazing up at him and searching for his eyes. He avoided looking at her, staring off across the room. Yet, even from her position on the floor, she saw the turmoil in the dark depths, felt it spiraling through his blood and rushing to the far reaches of his body.
“At dawn, I will send for some of your things,” he added. “Due to the present circumstances, I think it best for you to remain here … under my protection.”
Her blood ran cold, a frisson of dread racing down her spine. His tone told her he would not be swayed, and after the things that had occurred last night, she was afraid of what lengths she might push him to if she argued.
“Adam …”
“I will not have the men of London thinking they canpurchaseyou,” he snapped, finally looking down at her. “Do you understand? I will not have it.”
Sighing, she shook her head. “I will simply lay low for a while.”
He stroked her hair again, though she felt the subtle threat in the gesture, the firmness of his touch as he took her chin in his hand and held her face.
“Perhaps I am not making myself clear enough. Damn the rumors … damn it all. You belong here, with me, and here is where you will remain. I believe I told you quite explicitly last evening that I am done playing the gentleman with you. I will not argue or attempt to bargain. You no longer have any say in the matter, little dove.”
Shock rippled through her at his assertion; yet, a part of her was hardly surprised. She had learned quite some time ago that Adam always got what he wanted, even if at the expense of others. She wholeheartedly believed he would come after her if she attempted to leave. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she straightened, rearing away from him.
“This is not about me,” she argued, narrowing her eyes at him. “If I remain here, then you can convince everyone—convince Bertram—that I am your mistress.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Half thetonthinks it, anyway.”
She shot to her feet, grasping the edge of the pianoforte as the blood rushed back into her legs, her skin tingling and her feet throbbing. “I might have been wrong to accuse you last night, but the rest of what I said holds true. This must end, Adam. I cannot take it anymore. You cannot continue using me to strike out at Bertram.”
“I can,” he snapped, swiveling on the bench so that he faced her. “And I will. You would have your brother to blame for that, little dove. When I first arrived here, I was coming foryou.”
Shaking her head, she avoided his gaze and tried to hold back tears. Every time she allowed herself to think he actually cared … that he truly wanted her for himself, he did something to remind her that this was all about Bertram, all about having her around as a convenient tool he could use against her brother.
“No,” she replied. “This has never been about me. It has only ever been about you and Bertram. You’ve made it very clear that I am less than nothing to you … just a means to an end. You only like possessing me because it means you always have a piece of him in your palm … a piece you can crush with a single motion, at any time.”
He rose to his feet, annoyance clenching his jaw, his eyes aflame with green and amber tongues of fire. Taking her hand, he yanked her closer, twisting her wrist and fitting her palm against his crotch. The swell of his cock against her hand sent a little thrill through her. He was hot and hard, throbbing with destructive power and promise.
“Do you honestly thinkBertramhas anything to do withthis?” he murmured, his gaze growing heavy-lidded. “You think I’ve driven myself mad these past three months over him … when I can barely think for wanting you in my bed, beneath me, on your knees at my feet?”
His words, the intensity of his stare as he held her gaze, refusing to back down, to drop her hand from where it rested against his cock, gave her pause. The evidence of his lust for her could not be denied. And, yet …
“Choose,” she argued, raising her chin and meeting his challenge head-on. “You can have me, or you can pursue your revenge. You cannot have both, Adam, not forever … not without losing your grip on one. So, choose.”
His gaze faltered, his hand tightening around her wrist as his jaw ticked in response to her challenge. His nostrils flared as he leaned in closer, crowding her vision so that she could see nothing beyond him.
“My sister almost killed herself,” he rasped. “Not for the first time. My niece does not know who her father is, but someday, when she asks, I will be forced to come up with a suitable enough answer … and even then, it will only suffice until she is old enough to demand the truth. Niall is in love with the ghost of a woman who does not possess the faculties to love him back the way he deserves. None of them will be the same ever again … and you would force me to choose between destroying the man responsible, or having you?”
