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He’d killed my father.
 

Roth killed my father. An accident. Self-defense. Dad was still dead, and Roth had, accidentally or intentionally, caused his death.
 

“I need to—I need to think. I need space.” I turned toward Roth, tugging the ends of my robe together, struggling to keep from totally losing it. “I don’t know anything anymore. This…it changes everything. Just like you said it would.”

Roth took a step toward me, and then another, close enough that I could smell our sex on him still, smell
me
on him as I looked up into his tumultuous blue eyes, his chest a hard wall in front of me, his hands on my waist. “Kyrie….”

I slammed my fist on his chest, pushing myself away from him. “You
killed
him.”

“No. It was an accident,” he insisted calmly.

“You
killed
him!” I screamed, backing away. “He’s still dead, and it’s still your fault!”

He didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

“How did…how did we get here? Why did you bring me here? Why this game? Why….” I shook my head. Everything inside me was twisted and shaken up and confused. My feelings for him remained, but they were now competing with a thousand other emotions I couldn’t begin to sort out yet. “Why, Roth? Why? Why couldn’t you have just…left me alone?
 
Let me starve? Let me fumble along in my shitty little life? I would never have known. I wouldn’t have known you…none of
this
” —I gestured at the bedroom— “would have happened. I’m so…so
fucking
confused, Roth!”

He stepped toward me. “Kyrie, please. I brought you here because…I wanted you. I had to know you. I told myself that it would just be for a little while. Just to…see how things went. I had you blindfolded so you wouldn’t recognize me, so we could establish a connection before you put things together. And then…the first time I saw you, standing there in my foyer, afraid but so courageous, determined. Fiery. And I knew, right then, that you were mine. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“Any of what?” I glanced up at him. I was seconds from bolting, but I had to know what he meant.

“Any of
that
.” He pointed at the bed, as I had. “That was something…beautiful. Something miraculous and incredible. I never expected that.” He cupped my face. Hands rough, eyes blazing. Body close and hard and huge. “I never expected to fall for you, Kyrie St. Claire. But I have.”

I ripped myself from his grip, stumbling backward, tears falling now. “God
damm
it, Valentine!
Now
you tell me? Now that…god, Jesus.
FUCK!
” I spun in circles, emotions at a boil, lust for Roth competing with love for Valentine, both at war with my anger for the man who’d killed my father, however accidentally, and confusion over what to do, what to think, what to say, what to feel, where to go. “I’ve got…I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t look at you or be around you. Not and think straight.”

“You’re leaving, then?” Roth asked.

I choked on a sob “You killed my father, Roth! How am I supposed to feel? What am I supposed to do?”

“Very well, then." He straightened, spine ramrod stiff, jaw set, eyes cold, expression closed. “I’ll have Harris take you where you need to go.” He snagged his shirt off the floor and tugged it on as he left the bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, turned as the cotton fell to cover his carved abs. “I’m letting you leave, Kyrie. But don’t think you can get away from this thing between us.” He smirked, a hard curve of his lush lips. “Because you can’t. I own you.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking closed behind him.
 

I dressed slowly, shakily, pulling the sundress on and zipping it up my back. I fled to my quarters, packed my things into my suitcases. I refused to look at the room around me, to think of anything except my next breath, my next step. I took only what was already mine…from
before.
After everything was packed, I took a shower, forcing myself to keep it short and efficient. I wanted to linger. I wanted talk myself out of going, or out of staying. I wasn’t sure which was true. I needed to go, but part of me wanted to stay. Part of me knew I’d never, ever, find anything like what I had with Valentine. I’d gotten a taste of him, of his world, and I didn’t ever want to leave it. It was more than a palatial home, a suite of rooms stocked with all the best clothes; it was more than the fancy cars and private helicopter flights to the opera. It was more, even, than the sex. And the sex was motherfucking mind-blowing, out-of-this-world incredible. It was Valentine Roth. I’d never met a man like him before, and knew I never would again. So, yeah, I wanted to stay.
 

But the fact remained that he was involved in my father’s death and the subsequent unraveling of my life. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. Not even slightly. Panicked emotional overload welled up inside me, choking me, making it hard to see, to breathe, to perform the most basic functions. All I wanted to do was collapse to the floor and sob, but I couldn’t. Not here. Not with
him
still around.
 

So I packed, showered, dressed in an old pair of faded jeans and a WSU T-shirt, gathered my hair into a wet ponytail, and pulled my suitcases to the foyer. Harris was waiting, as was Eliza.
 

I nearly cried when I saw Eliza’s unhappy expression. “Miss Kyrie,” she said. “He is a good man. Try to remember that. And I think…he will never care for anyone the way I see him care for you.”

I choked. “I
have
to go, Eliza.”

“I know. I see that. It will be lonely here without you.” She turned on her heel and strode away.

Harris took my bags and led the way to the parking garage, silent the entire way. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the back of the Mercedes on the way to the airport that Harris said anything.
 

“I’ve never seen him treat anyone the way he does you.”

I shrugged. “I believe that.” I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Did you know?”

Harris shook his head. “I don’t know the details. I have my suspicions as to…the nature of his interest in you. How that occurred, I mean. Regarding…your father. But he never spoke of it, and it’s not my place to ask.”
 

I only nodded and lapsed into silence the rest of the way to the airport. My mind was racing, a thousand distorted thoughts clamoring and jangling, emotions rifling through me one after another, and it was all I could do to remain calm and coherent. At the airport, Harris parked near a hangar. Inside was a small private jet, not the same one we’d flown in on. He loaded my things into the jet himself, had a brief exchange with a technician of some sort, and then led me up into the cabin of the jet. He took the pilot’s seat, and went through the process of verifying a flight plan and readying the airplane for flight. I sat in one of the deep, luxurious chairs, buckled and waiting, thoughts and emotions whirling.
 

Eventually we took off, although I barely noticed. There was no flight attendant this time, no champagne. No blindfold waiting for me on the other side.
 

What did await me when we landed? I didn’t know.
 

The flight passed in an endless blur, minutes dragging like days, yet the hours flitting by in a heartbeat.
 

Another Mercedes was, inexplicably, waiting for us on the tarmac when we arrived. Harris moved my luggage from the jet to the car and still, in silence, drove me away.

“Where to, Miss St. Claire?”

“Layla’s.” It was all I could think of. I didn’t even bother asking if he knew where she lived.
 

But of course he did. I’d retreated into false numbness. Everything was still there, roiling deep down, but I’d managed to shut myself down until I knew it was safe to have my breakdown.
 

I knocked on Layla’s door at six in the evening, Harris standing behind me, holding my suitcases.
 

She opened the door, saw me, and burst into tears. “Kyrie! You’re home!” She pulled me into a hug, then backed away, examining my face. “Oh, shit. This ain’t good.”

“No….” The word was barely audible, thick with barely held-back tears.
 

“Give me those,” she said, taking the suitcases from Harris.
 

Harris paused. “Do you require anything else from me, Miss St. Claire?”

I shook my head. “Thank you, Harris.” I managed that much in a steady voice.

He nodded, went down the steps, and then turned back. “Kyrie? Give him a chance. If you can.” It was the first time he’d ever used my given name.

I couldn’t answer, so I only nodded, and watched him go.

Layla pulled me inside, led me to the couch, and sat beside me. “What happened, Key?”

I only shook my head, heart in my throat, tears pricking my eyes. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I burst into tears, and they didn’t stop until I’d cried myself to sleep. The sobs came long and hard and relentless, subsiding momentarily, only to begin afresh, wracking me hour after hour.
 

Layla curled up on the couch with me, holding me as only a best girlfriend can, not asking any questions, just letting me cry, letting me sleep.

14

THE STORY

Waking up was not a pleasant experience, this time around. I didn’t even get that fleeting moment of blissful forgetfulness before reality asserted itself. I woke up and my very first thought was:
Valentine killed my father.
My second and third thoughts were, respectively:
Valentine loves me
, and
I’m in love with Valentine.

And then, of course, the inevitable, unanswerable question:
What the FUCK am I supposed to do now?

I rolled over, my face smushed up against the rough fabric of the couch, which stank of old pot and cigarette smoke and worn-in dust. I coughed, rolled away, and sat up, then rubbed my face with both hands, as if to push back the fresh wave of tears that were already bubbling behind my eyelids. The scent of coffee and fresh-baked cinnamon rolls finally filtered through to my awareness. I looked up to see Layla approaching, two mugs of coffee held in one hand, a plate of gooey, icing-glazed cinnamon rolls in the other.
 

“I know what my bitch needs,” she said, setting everything down on the battered wood and scratched glass coffee table. “Caffeine and Cinnabon.”

I took the coffee and sipped at it, then grabbed a roll and took a massive, extremely unladylike bite. “You’re my lifesaver,” I said, my mouth full.
 

“I know.” She matched me chomp for chomp, and we proceeded to devour the entire batch of rolls.
 

Stuffed, I leaned back and wiped at the corners of my mouth with my thumb. I flopped my head to the side, meeting Layla’s concerned brown eyes. “Okay,” I said. “Ask.”

“OHMYGOD what
happened
?” Layla shrieked. She was the master of the ear-piercing, girly freak-out.
 

I sighed. “It’s a really, really long story.”

“Okay, well, I’ve read
War and Peace
, so it can’t be any longer than that. Jesus, I’m stuffed.” Layla pivoted on the couch and extended her feet across my thighs, laying her head on the armrest and her hands across her belly. “I should
not
have had those last two cinnamon rolls. Why’d you let me pig out like that, Key?”

I laughed and smacked her leg. “I did question your decision to eat that last one, if you’ll remember.”
 

“True. But it was just
so
good.” Layla let out a massive belch, and then covered her mouth with her hand as if shocked. “Seriously, Kyrie. I want to know everything.”

I tugged my hair out of its ponytail and jerked my fingers through the tangles. “Okay. But what I’m about to tell you stays between us. Like, you can’t breathe a word to anyone, not even Eric.”

“What is this, some kind of national security crisis?”
 

“Might as well be.” I let my expression tell Layla how serious I was. “He takes his privacy very seriously, and even though I left, I’m not going to compromise that.”

She raised her hands in an
I surrender
gesture. “Okay, okay. Mum’s the word. Jeez.”

I took a big breath, held it, and then let it out. “His name is Valentine Roth.”

Layla’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. What a name.”

“No kidding. And he’s…honestly? The most insanely drop-dead gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life. I mean, not even Alexander Skarsgård can top him. And he kind of looks like our boy Alex.” I had to blink back emotion. “Six foot four and built like a Greek god, blond hair, blue eyes. God, his eyes. He has this way of…looking
into
you. And his
voice
…Layla, you don’t even understand. I was blindfolded for the first three days, so every time I was around him, all I had to go on was the sound of his voice. Like, he can seduce you just with his voice. His words. Fuck me, Layla. The things he said to me….”

“Wait. Waitwaitwait.” Layla sat up, swung her legs off me, and leaned forward. “You were blindfolded? For three
days
?”

I nodded. “If I was around Valentine, I was blindfolded. And I didn’t know his name until after he finally took the blindfold off. It was…a game. Not a fun ha-ha game, though. A very serious exercise in trust. I don’t know how to describe what happened. What he did to me. The way he touched me, spoke to me. He could get me so turned on with just a few words, a kiss, a touch, and then he’d leave me hanging. He made me…crazy. Just crazy. I didn’t even know what he looked like, and I wanted him. Just the way he talked to me. You know what he said to me, the first time we met? Well, ‘met’ isn’t really the right word. When he brought me to his tower—”

“His
tower
?”
 

I laughed. “That’s how I think of it. He owns a building in Manhattan, and he had the whole top floor custom built into this…just ridiculously palatial home. It’s not a condo or an apartment, though. I mean, it’s a mansion, but it’s in a high-rise. I think he must have had the building custom-built for him, because there were, like, things in this place that shouldn’t have been possible in a high-rise. Like the library. It was, and I mean this very literally, the library from
Beauty and the Beast
. Shelves full of books going up to the ceiling, which was
easily
fifty feet high. He had actual suits of armor that had been used in battle in the fourteenth century. First-edition copies of, like,
Pride and Prejudice
and this hand-transcribed copy of Dante’s
Inferno
. No kidding. Super crazy-rare books.” I waved my hand. “That’s not the point. Yeah, he’s crazy rich. That’s not really relevant.”