You Are Mine (17 page)

“Zac then,” Honor said. “It's either him or Eva. We don't know for sure if Fitzgerald has been the one issuing threats or not, and I guess if he is, he'll know who Zac and Eva are. But … they're the only ones otherwise who aren't directly involved.”

Alex's blue eyes met hers. “That we know of.”

“Yes,” she echoed, remembering Eva's white face. “That we know of.”

“Eva won't like that,” Katya murmured, with supreme understatement.

“I think,” Gabriel said, “that's going to be Zac's problem.”

*   *   *

Eva was already halfway down the hallway by the time Zac managed to get out of the room, walking quickly, her head down, hands still stuffed in the pockets of her jacket.

She wasn't going to stop for him, that much he already knew. Which left him with only two options: let her go or stop her in another way.

Letting her go wasn't an option, especially not when it wouldn't solve anything for them or for the people in the room they'd just left. And besides, he'd be damned if she'd slap him in the face in front of everyone else, then walk away like it was nothing.

He was angry. No, scratch angry. He was fucking furious.

Zac didn't call her name or shout at her to stop this time. He just moved. Fast.

A few long-legged steps took him right to her, then he reached out, took her by her upper arms, spun her around, and pushed her firmly up against the wall.

Her mouth opened in shock, her delicate features about as white as her hair.

He didn't keep hold of her, releasing her almost immediately. But to prevent her from escaping again, he put his palms flat on the wall on either side of her, caging her against it with his body.

There was terror in her gaze, a blind, unthinking terror. And yet she bared her teeth at him like a cornered thing, wild with fear and ready to attack.

“Do. Not. Run. From. Me,” he said, enunciating each word with absolute, complete authority.

“Fuck. Off,” Eva spat. She lifted her hands and shoved against his chest with surprising strength. The move was a shock since he wasn't expecting her to touch him, and it almost unbalanced him. But he managed to remain on his feet, and when she gave him another shove, he didn't move.

With a small cry of frustration, Eva raised a hand as if to hit him again.

Christ, he'd had enough of that.

Zac grabbed her wrist before she could get in another slap, pinning it to the wall beside her head. Then he did the same to her other hand for good measure.

“You're panicking.” He kept his voice clear and cold, aiming it with the precision of a scalpel to cut through her unthinking fear. “Take a breath and calm down.”

“No! Let me go, asshole!” Eva pulled at his restraining hands, trying to get free.

“I won't allow you to run away or hit me again. Now do as I say. Calm the fuck down.”

Her chest heaved, small round breasts pushing against her black T-shirt, her skin flushed pink. Giving him a taste of what it would be like to have her submitting to him.

He'd always tried not to think about it since there was no point fantasizing about something that may not ever happen, but now, holding her against the wall like this, he could imagine it vividly.

Eva, naked. Her skin glowing in the light, like alabaster lit from within. Her pale hair over her shoulders, covering her breasts. Her silver eyes would find his and stay there as he whispered dirty things to her, playing with her mind to get her as wet as he possibly could without even touching her. Only once she was panting, willing to do whatever he wanted, would he allow himself a touch. His fingers trailing down her throat, between those beautiful little tits, over her stomach, down to the pale curls between her thighs.

More than a touch. A claim of ownership. Making her his in every way that counted.

His blood pulsed, thumping loudly in his head. His cock getting hard.

He wanted, oh Jesus, how he wanted. Her heat, her sweetness, her sensuality, because he was sure they were all there, just waiting to be unlocked. And also her courage, her fight, her spark. All of it given to him.

But most of all, the most precious, the most vital: her trust.

Which she still hadn't handed to him, despite her promise.

Eva had stopped pulling, twin spots of color now blazing on her cheekbones. She was staring at him as if she'd never seen him before in her life.

And he knew, he goddamned
knew,
that it wasn't with fear this time. There was something different in her eyes. Something that looked, whether she realized it herself or not, a hell of a lot like heat.

He caught his breath, the dragon inside him hungry, roaring to get out. But he ignored it. He wanted her begging for him, desperate for him. And that spark of heat in her eyes was too new, too small. If he took what he wanted now he would crush it.

She looked away from him. “Let me go,” she said, her voice breathless yet less panic-stricken.

“Not if you're going to hit me again.”

She was silent a moment, her mouth tight. “I won't. I promise.”

He didn't want to let her go. The rapid beat of her pulse against his thumb, the soft, vulnerable skin of her wrist, the scent of her … all intoxicating sensations that he wanted to keep hold of. Savor them as he savored all the things he enjoyed.

Patience.

Zac forced himself to release her. But he didn't move away, placing his palms back on the wall on either side of her, keeping her caged.

She dropped her hands, rubbing absently at her wrists. “Give me some room, asshole. I can't breathe with you looming over me.”

“No.”

“Oh Christ, Zac, what the—”

“You slapped my face in a room full of people, Eva. Then you ran. Why?”

“Because you were being a prick.”

Hell no. He wasn't going to let her get away with that. “Don't lie to me. It was because I touched you and you couldn't handle it. Just like you couldn't handle the thought of confronting Fitzgerald.”

Her jaw had gotten hard, defiance in her eyes. “I was fine—”

“You were scared,” he cut her off. “Acknowledge it. Accept it. Because until you do, afraid is all you'll ever be.”

That spark of defiance glowed hot in her eyes for a moment. Then she turned her head again, looking away. She didn't speak, her fingers still rubbing at her wrists.

“I know this is hard,” he said. “I know you don't want to go to this function and confront Fitzgerald. But the people in that room need you. They need your strength and your determination, and you have so much of both, angel.”

Her throat moved in a convulsive swallow. “I … just want the past to be over. I don't want to have it dragged up again. And I certainly don't want to fucking talk about it.”

It wasn't an admission, not quite. But it was step in the right direction. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. You know this.”

She looked down at her hands. “I want to go home.”

“No, what you want is to hide.”

“What's so damn wrong with that?”

“One touch, angel. I took your hand and it terrified you. That's why you hit me, wasn't it?”

She said nothing, still looking down.

“You don't want anyone getting close to you. You don't want anyone touching you. You can't even go outside without me, yet you still won't trust me. And you insist you're fine.” He paused, watching her face, her features set. “You're letting your fear do your thinking for you, Eva. And that could put every person in that room at risk.”

Again silence.

And he let it sit there for a long moment, trying to read her expression. Pale lashes shielded her eyes, but her mouth was tight. She was struggling.

“You have to trust someone, sometime, Eva,” he said, keeping his voice hard, because he couldn't be gentle anymore. “Otherwise your fear will swallow you whole.”

He hoped she knew he took no pleasure from having to do this, from forcing her to see what was happening to her. He didn't want to undermine her very real strength, but the fact was, she was fighting the wrong enemy and she had to understand that.

This was a strong woman. Who'd overcome a difficult past, whose sharp intelligence and energy had built a company from the ground up and turned it into one of America's biggest in a very short space of time.

And it was wrong that she should be trapped like this in a cage of her own making.

“You want me to go to this fundraiser,” she said after a moment. “You want me to face him.”

“You have to. We need confirmation of who he is, and you're the only one who can do it.” He paused. “You told me you remembered his voice.”

She looked away, her lashes falling, veiling her gaze. “I'm not ready.”

“You'll never be ready.”

“I can't…”

“You can. You will.” He pushed himself away from the wall, allowing her some space. “Right now, you're coming home with me so we can sort this out once and for all.”

Her head came up sharply. “Why? I just want to go home.”

“You mean you want to run away and hide.” He couldn't allow her to keep following this pattern of running when she was scared. Because a day would come when she ran home and stayed there. “The time for running is over, angel. Besides, you promised me. No more arguments.”

She muttered something filthy under her breath. Then shrugged. “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

More bravado. And yet he noticed that her breathing had normalized, that the tightness around her mouth was gone. She was still touching her wrists and not quite looking at him, but she wasn't shaking. Almost as if she'd forgotten how close he was standing.

Almost as if she was getting used to it.

He didn't want to count it a victory yet, but it was definitely progress of a sort.

That little spark would become flame, would burn hot, he'd make sure of it.

 

CHAPTER NINE

Zac's place was a five-storied brownstone on the Upper West Side that he had all to himself. Built around 1910, it had been beautifully restored and radiated old world glamour. Yet behind its beautiful façade was a high-tech, state-of-the-art security system and computer network that Eva had installed.

The place was very much like Zac himself, at least on the outside. Polished, civilized, and very, very upper-class Brit.

Her favorite place to be, though, was his library. Probably because it reminded her of the Nine Circles clubroom at the Second Circle.

The walls were covered from ceiling to floor with expensive library bookshelves, all filled with books. There were Persian rugs on the floor in muted golds and blues, soft dark brown leather wingback chairs, a dark brown leather sofa in front of the old fashioned fire, low tables here and there with lamps on them, stacks of books, and other knickknacks.

It was in the front, overlooking the street, long dark blue velvet curtains drawn back from the windows, letting in the afternoon sun.

A peaceful, restful room.

She used to feel safe here. Yet right now … not so much.

Not after Zac had held her up against the wall in the corridor of the Second Circle, his fingers around her wrists. Not after she'd felt that hot pulse go through her when his eyes met hers, and she'd become so conscious of him. Of where his fingers touched her skin, of his big body inches from hers, of being surrounded by him. Overwhelmed by him.

Yes his closeness had overloaded her already screaming nerves and okay, she'd admit it, she'd panicked. Shoving him, trying to hit him again. Going totally off the rails until his cool, calm voice had penetrated her fog of terror.

And that's when that awareness had struck. That strange heat. A heat she'd seen reflected in his golden eyes.

For a second she hadn't been afraid. In fact, she'd wanted … more.

You want him.

Eva ignored the thought, moving to the fireplace as Zac went over to a large, beautifully carved oak cabinet and pulled out a bottle of wine and a glass, pouring himself some of the deep red liquid. Then, as he always did when she was here, he switched on the electric kettle he kept there too, boiling water for her tea.

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets, watching him, an odd restlessness churning inside her.

She should have argued more. Should have insisted she went home. That stupid damn promise he'd made her give him …

The careful movements he made as he began organizing her tea infuriated her. Christ, no matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, he was always doing things for her. Making sure the room was warm. Making sure she had her favorite drink. Making sure she was comfortable. Caring for her needs. And she'd never questioned it, taking it for granted, barely even aware of what he was doing.

Well, she was bitterly aware right now. And it only added fuel to the burning mix of emotions inside her, an anger she didn't quite understand.

“You don't have to make my tea for me,” she snapped gracelessly. “I'm not a child.”

“Too late. It's done now.” He turned around, coming over to where she stood by the fire and placing her china cup and saucer on the table near the sofa. Then he turned to put his wine down on another small table beside his usual armchair before sitting down in it.

“Why?” she demanded. “Why do you do all of these things for me? The tea. The fire. The blankets and shit. Do I look like a kid to you?”

Zac said nothing, stretching out his long legs in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He picked up his wine, sipped at it meditatively as his amber gaze studied her.

She felt uncomfortable and antsy. She couldn't seem to stop noticing things about him. The way his tattooed fingers curled around the glass. The pull of the material of his suit pants around his powerful thighs. How thick and soft his black hair looked.