Magnate (Acquisition Series Book 2) (14 page)

“I don’t.” I did. I just needed to hear it, to know how much worse things could get.

“Because if you can’t stay strong, I’ll make sure your father suffers. I’ll make sure you suffer.”

I snorted and snatched the drink back from him, downing it. “Yeah. I think my suffering is a given with or without my good behavior.” I avoided the topic of my father. His kind eyes flashed through my mind, though I supposed they weren’t truly kind, not anymore. “Got anything else? Anything to stop me from marching right back up to that stage over there and telling all your pals to go shove their Acquisition right up their asses?” I ordered another drink.

“Plenty. Are you going to suffer tomorrow? Yes. But I can make you suffer every day after.” His voice darkened and he gripped my hip painfully. When the bartender set the drink down, Lucius knocked it away. “You’re mine for months and months. I can think of all sorts of nasty things, Stella. Far worse than anything you could ever dream up. Pain, torture, violations that will make tomorrow seem like a pleasant memory.” He moved his hand around the front of my thigh and cupped my pussy as he pushed me into the bar, my ribs crushing painfully against the wood. “If that’s what you want, then by all means, go on up to the stage.”

I tried to squirm away from him, but he only pressed me harder and his fingers sank farther between my legs, massaging my core through my jeans.

“Get off me,” I growled.

He ignored me, his fingers making my body come alive when I wanted to stay numb.

“But,” he let off and moved his hand back to my hip, “if you do what I want you to do, then I will do everything I can to protect you. And once this is over—”

“Lunch with the queen. I got it. Now get the fuck off me.” I pushed away from the bar.

“Stella!” Dylan shoved past a couple of guests and embraced me, picking me up off the floor and squeezing me to the point where I wished I hadn’t had that drink.

“You’re here.” I was starved for an honest touch, for someone who I knew cared about me and not because of some stupid game.

He set me down. “Yes.” His cheeks were red and his breath smelled of something strong.

“Are you drunk?”

“No. I mean, Cal shared some choice whiskey, but I’m not drunk.” He shook his head, the movement slow.

“You’re drunk.” A shock of pain hit my chest. “You came here and got drunk with these people?”

“I was just trying to play along. Calm down.” He put his heavy arms on my shoulders and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m going to be the one, Stella. Tomorrow. It’ll be me.”

“You’ll be the one to what?”

He grinned, his perfect smile unnerving more than comforting. “You’ll see. But it’ll be me. I’ll take care of you.”

“I think that’s enough.” Lucius menaced from behind me.

“I can talk to my sister if I want to.”

“Your former stepsister, you mean?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“She’s not your blood. She’s no concern of yours.”

“She’s not your blood either, asshole.” Dylan had a point.

“She doesn’t have to be. I own her. Now step the fuck back before I drop you and kick you while you’re down again.”

“We’re just talking,” I said. “Can’t I talk to someone? Please?” I’d never tried asking him nicely. Maybe it would work.

“Yeah, you can talk to me.” Lucius put his arm across my neck, pulling me back into him. “Fuck off, Dylan.”

“Stop.” I elbowed him, but he didn’t let go.

Dylan glowered and dropped his gaze back to me. “Remember what I said.” Then he turned and moved away in the crowd.

“Get off.” I rolled my shoulders and Lucius lowered his arm, but not before grazing my breast.

I turned and glared at him. “Asshole.”

He smirked and took another swig. “So?”

“I’m going back to my room.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need you to be seen.” He set his glass on the bar and took me by the arm. “Just smile and fucking nod. That’s all you have to do.”

He waded through the horde of people and dragged me with him. He knew so many of them, striking up easy conversations about childhood events, fun times in college, or how the sugar business was going. But no matter who he spoke to, the conversation always worked its way back around to me.

“Stella’s an artist,” Lucius said for the tenth time that night.

A woman, perhaps no more than fifty, and impeccably dressed in winter white, smiled and sipped her wine. “So am I. Several pieces on display in New York and Los Angeles. What sort of galleries have you been in?”

“A gallery in my hometown has, well, had a few of my pieces,” I said.

“Hometown gallery?” She raised a perfectly-drawn eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. “How quaint.”

Lucius smiled. “I heard one of Stella’s pieces was recently on display in New York at one of the hottest up and coming galleries. It sold for fifty thousand dollars just last week.”

I cocked my head at Lucius. He certainly knew how to spin a lie.

“Oh, is that so?” She simpered at me over her glass.

Lucius didn’t miss a beat. “It is. I don’t know if you know the piece, but it was called
The North Star
.”

Something was off. I did have a piece called
The North Star
, but it sold at the town gallery a month ago, not in New York last week. And definitely not for $50,000.

Her eyes widened. “That was you?”

“It was her.” Lucius squeezed my hip and crushed me into his side, pride written into his smile.

“Congratulations. I actually saw that piece in person at La Vie Gallery and was impressed. I had no idea someone of your—” she waved her hand at me like I was some interesting animal behind glass at a zoo “— situation could create something like that.”

“I would take that as a compliment, but since it wasn’t, I won’t.” I smiled at her, wishing for her death.

Lucius forced a laugh as the woman’s expression soured.

“Good luck tomorrow, dear.” She gave me a tight smile, and Lucius pulled me away toward another group of people.

“Bad form, Stella,” he whispered in my ear. “Try again.”

We visited several more clusters of people who chatted about mundane first world problems before turning to my enslavement like it was just another topic.

The next cluster we visited included Dylan’s mother, Marguerite. She didn’t speak, only listened to Lucius while the other ladies laughed. Her lips were pressed into a narrow line, and her gaze never left me. I wanted to speak to her, to ask if she knew anything that could help me. And, I admitted, I wanted to ask about my father. But her face was impassable, hard.

The next group was younger; Lucius fit in easily, though I kept glancing back to Marguerite as she whispered to the ladies around her. They would glance to me from time to time. I was obviously the topic of their hushed conversation, and none of the information looked good, given their expressions of distaste.

The hour grew late and, though I knew I couldn’t sleep, I was ready to be alone. At least, as alone as I could be. I didn’t want to be looked at or talked about anymore. If I couldn’t be numb, then I’d rather fight my fears alone instead of in front of an audience.

“Are we done?” I asked after we walked away from a particularly nasty pair of older men who leered at me and spoke of nothing other than the trial.

“We can be. Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

“I can find it. It’s just down that hall.”

“I know you can find it.” His light eyes were shrewd, the liquor doing nothing to dim them. “I just want to make sure you get there.”

“Fine.”

He led me away, his hand at my lower back as we wove between furniture and people. The hallway was cooler, the air less full of talk and noise.

“You did well. Except for Ms. Thibodeaux. I’ll never hear the end of that little art slight.”

“How did you come up with that lie about my art selling in New York??”

We turned the corner toward the Acquisition quarters.

“It wasn’t a lie. Your
North Star
piece did sell last week for $50,000.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did.”

I stopped and faced him. “How?”

“You’ll have to ask Sin. I’m not sure about all the details.”

I resumed my pace. “Vinemont sold my art? What for?”

“Like I said, ask him. I don’t invest in art. I just know good art when I see it.”

“Did you tell him my art was good?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Is this your room?”

We arrived at the double doors. “Yes.”

Lucius pushed inside. “Which bed is yours?”

“We haven’t really picked, though I think Brianne took that one over to the left.”

“So yours is next to Gavin’s?” He stepped between the beds and pushed one all the way to the far wall. “That’s better.”

“That’s juvenile.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Maybe. But I don’t want him touching you.”

“Well, when you’re living it up in your suite tonight and we’re down here afraid, I doubt there’s much you could do to stop us from touching.”

He strode to me. “If he touches you, we’re going to have a problem, Stella. A big one. We clear?”

“Sure. He won’t touch me. Don’t you worry.” I put the least amount of conviction into my words as possible. I didn’t know why I was trying to get a rise out of Lucius, but I was. Perhaps to repay him for his Dylan tirade.

He yanked me into his chest, the movement so sudden I gasped. “Do you ever shut up?” He kissed me.

I shoved him away. “Are you trying to cheat and get first dibs? Won’t that piss off the sadistic buddies you’re trying to impress?” I sneered. He’d shown me off for hours, parroting his talking points like he was running for office.

“Come here.” He fisted his hands at his sides.

“No.”

“Come. Here. I won’t tell you again, Stella.”

“Fuck you.” I stepped up onto the bed and then down the other side and turned back to face him.

“You want to do this right now?” He grinned and pulled his sweater and t-shirt over his head. His skin was smooth, light brown hair at the center of his chest and disappearing into his slacks. The V tattoo swirled out of his heart, the thick brambles snaring him. He was leaner than Vinemont, but just as fast. And he was determined, given the look in his eye.

“I want you to leave right now.” I was playing with fire. Something was so wrong about all of this. But I needed to feel something other than fear, other than horror.

“I don’t think that’s true.” He let his gaze run down my body, lingering at my neck, breasts, and thighs before returning to my face. “Your pulse is racing, your nipples hard, and I can just bet your pussy is wet, Stella.”

“Guess you’ll never know.” I backed away.

In one smooth movement, he leapt over the bed and tackled me onto the other bed against the wall. The air was squeezed out of my lungs as he wrestled my hands over my head. He stared down at me, his eyes alight with passion and need.

He claimed my mouth, his tongue sure as it swirled around mine, tasting and touching as he spread my knees apart with his. He was hard, his cock rubbing against me as his hips moved slowly. His kiss was hypnotic, the way he took me over, took my breath, and lit up every nerve ending. I wanted this, something to take my mind off the rest of it. Some small bit of fleeting pleasure before the devastating weight of reality crashed back down.

He moved to my neck, his lips worshipping my jugular as he switched my wrists to one hand. When he slid his hand under my top and squeezed my breast, I moaned. He ripped the cup of my bra down and twisted my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My hips rose against him, his cock giving more delicious friction. I ignored the flash of deep sapphire eyes that crossed my vision.

Lucius hissed when I raised my hips again, working him through his pants.

“Lucius,” I breathed, though another name was on my mind, hovering right along my lips. He sank lower, his mouth on my breast as his free hand yanked at the button and the zipper on my jeans.

He bit me hard, and I arched up to him as he slid his fingers into my panties. I was wet, and my skin was on fire wherever he grazed me with his mouth or his hands.

“Fuck.” He reached farther, pulling wetness from my entrance and smoothing it around my clit.

I squirmed and moaned as he circled my hard, sensitive nub. He relinquished my nipple and kissed back up to my mouth, his bare chest pressing into my skin.

He sank a finger inside me and groaned. “I need you, Stella.”

The words grated on me. Someone else had needed me, too. Vinemont—his eyes were there again in my vision. He was the ghost that lingered in every corner of my mind.

Lucius brought his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean. He kissed me again, but his taste was wrong. Everything was wrong. I was a furnace that had burned out, the flame gone, the room cold.