You Are Mine (23 page)

“I wasn't sleeping on the streets,” he said instead, “but I was hungry all the fucking time. And
I
had an opinion on art.” He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze on the crowds of people around them and making sure none of them got too close. But he felt the flick of her attention and heard the small silence that indicated surprise.

He hadn't shared his past with her because he didn't share it with anyone. It was full of death and violence anyway, and God knew she didn't need any more of that in her life.

Yet a mention wouldn't hurt. A small offering that might prompt more trust and less sarcasm.

“Oh,” she said. “Don't tell me you were hanging around art galleries as well?”

They began to move past ancient sarcophagi and frescos, statutes of Anubis and Bast, of long dead pharaohs sitting on thrones, and urns and cases full of jewelry.

“No. The cinema.”

She was still looking at him, he could feel it. “The cinema?”

But she wasn't going to get any more. Not yet anyway. He'd planned to dole it out like breadcrumbs, pieces of himself to lead her through the dark maze of her fear. Strengthening the bond between them so she'd have a lifeline to follow.

Not to mention binding her closer to you.

The dragon shifted inside him, heavy and hot. Wanting its treasure to keep, to hoard.

Yes, fuck, that too. He couldn't deny it. But he wouldn't keep her. The whole point of this was to set her free, not lock her in another damn cage.

“I watched a lot of movies as a kid,” was all he said as they rounded a corner and walked out into the massive hall that housed the ancient Egyptian temple.

The temple itself was on a raised dais, surrounded by a pool of water. One of the gallery walls was made out of glass, letting light flood the hall and giving views out over Central Park. People moved around the exhibit, talking and taking pictures. It was majestic, atmospheric.

Eva went still beside him, clutching hard on his arm. “It's … big. I mean the hall is.”

“You don't like that?” He began to lead her toward the stairs that led to the temple.

“I … not really.” Her breathing had accelerated, the pulse at the base of her throat beating fast.

“Breathe slowly, Eva. Focus on your hand on my arm.”

“I can't—”

“Did you touch yourself last night?”

That shocked her. She blinked, sliver blonde lashes fluttering. “What?”

“I told you not to, remember?” He kept his voice pitched low, only loud enough for her to hear. “Did you do as I said?”

They approached the steps, climbing up toward the ruined temple, floodlit and monumental on its dais.

There was color in her pale cheeks. “Yes.”

He hadn't expected her to, not given her confused feelings about her sexuality, but then Eva could be unpredictable. And she did love giving him the proverbial middle finger.

“Good,” he murmured. “Perhaps I won't have to punish you after all.”

She turned her head away, ostensibly looking at the temple as they approached it. “As if I'd let you.”

“It wouldn't be a case of ‘letting,' angel. Sometimes a punishment can be exactly what you crave.”

She said nothing to that as they stopped in front of the exhibit, the space around it miraculously clearing for a moment. She tilted her head back, looking up at the remains of the temple, seemingly absorbed. The tension had left her features, the stiffness dissipating from her posture.

Perhaps she was going to ignore what he'd said. Probably because she didn't know quite what to say to it. Or rather, she did know but didn't yet have the courage to say it.

I can take any punishment you care to name.

He'd get her to say it. Tonight he would.

But before that happened he had to put into motion the first part of his plan.

Gently, Zac uncurled her hand from his arm and put a little distance between them. Immediately Eva put her hand back in her pocket, her posture hunching. She didn't look at him, her attention wholly occupied by the temple itself.

A large group of Japanese tourists began to circulate around the exhibit, and Zac let the distance between himself and Eva widen.

She was angry, he could tell. And trying to ignore him. All excellent for his purposes.

He waited until the crowd of tourists were near. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Eva standing there.

Alone.

*   *   *

Punishment? Jesus, she could show him what to do with his freaking punishment.

People didn't crave it. At least, she was goddamned sure
she
didn't. She'd had enough punishment to last a lifetime.

Eva balled her fists in the pockets of her jacket and stared fixedly at the great stone pillars in front of her. Anything so she didn't have to be aware of the press of people around her and the vast open space above her head. It made her feel suffocated and dizzy, a weird, complicated kind of claustrophobia associated with wide-open spaces rather than closed-in ones. Agoraphobia technically, though she hated labels.

Fucking Zac. Yes, she could see the logic in coming here, and it did make sense to familiarize herself with the place. She just … hated everything about it.

Whether you like it or not doesn't matter.

She scowled because, unfortunately, that was true. Her feelings about it were irrelevant. She had to attend Fitzgerald's little party and she couldn't let the others down by refusing, even if the thought of confronting him left tracks of ice through her soul.

Loyalty was important to her, always had been, and hell, Alex had found the strength to confront his own personal demons in Monte Carlo. Could she do any less? Because if it was true, if Fitzgerald was behind the Lucky Seven and had a part in a human trafficking ring, she couldn't let him get away with it. Not after what she'd been through.

Eva focused on the ancient stone, breathing slowly. Her hand still felt warm from where it had been resting on Zac's arm. She shifted on her feet, the movement making her aware all of a sudden of the silk against her skin, of how it felt like she wasn't wearing any underwear at all, the fabric was so light.

She didn't like that either.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the edge of Zac's black overcoat as he waited beside her.

“Are we done here already?” she asked, impatient now to leave.

Zac didn't reply.

Irritated, she turned.

Only to see that it wasn't Zac beside her.

She froze. Because what she'd thought was the edge of Zac's overcoat was instead the back of one of the Japanese tourists who happened to be wearing a black jacket. Which meant …

She was alone.

Little crystals of ice began to form in her bloodstream. Freezing her from the inside out. The chill crept up her throat like a hand circling it, squeezing, suffocating …

Breathe, damn you. Breathe.

Eva fought to inhale, scanning frantically through the crowds of people that suddenly seemed to be all around her, swamping her. But she couldn't see his familiar figure anywhere.

He wasn't there. He'd left her.

The space above her head seemed to possess an immense weight, pushing down on her head. The people around her were a stampede, closing in on her. She turned in a circle, trying to find him, but the faces of people were all a blur as dizziness took hold.

Her knees were weak, her feet blocks of ice. She wanted to drop to the ground and curl in on herself.

You need to get a fucking grip, idiot.

Yeah, she did. But she couldn't. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like she was having a heart attack or something, her breathing slipping out of rhythm, becoming choppy and ragged.

You're losing control. You need to keep yourself safe.

Yet she couldn't seem to move. Her feet were rooted to the spot, frozen in absolute, blind terror.

She began to tremble, all her muscles locking.

For the first time in seven years, he wasn't here. And she needed him. She needed him to help her feel safe. But he'd gone. Oh Christ, why? Why had he left her here alone?

The noise from the people around her seemed to gain in volume, crashing like thunder. Too loud, too overwhelming.

“Zac?” Her voice was a whisper in the middle of a hurricane. “Zac, where the fuck are you?”

But there was no answer. There was only noise.

Nausea churned in her gut.

She was going to die, wasn't she? She was going to die right here and now, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Then just before she dropped to her knees on the floor, an arm slid around her waist, strong and sure. The heat of a solid, male body against her back.

She opened her mouth to scream, nothing but a hoarse scrape of sound coming out.

“Eva,” a familiar voice murmured in her ear, cutting through all the noise, through the nausea, through the ice in her veins. Through the fear. “It's all right, angel. Be still.”

Zac.

Relief swamped her, vast as an ocean. She had to close her eyes, grit her teeth to stop the little sob that threatened to escape. But there was nothing she could do to prevent her body from sagging back against him, heedless of the difficulties of touch or of her own stubborn pride, needing only to be close to him, to melt into the safety he represented.

She was shaking and she couldn't stop that either.

He didn't move, keeping one arm around her, holding her. And though she wanted desperately to move away, put some distance between them and try to recover herself on her own, she didn't think she could actually stand without his help.

“Where were you?” she croaked, her voice hoarse with fright. “You left me.”

“I didn't leave.” His breath was warm against her neck. “I moved away a few meters, that's all.”

“That's a goddamn lie. I looked around and couldn't see you!”

“Because you panicked.”

She kept her eyes closed, trying to get her breathing back under control. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't panicked, that she was fine, but there was no way she could keep denying it. No way to escape the truth that was staring her in the face.

He was right. Her fear
was
blinding her.

Yet even now, she couldn't quite bring herself to agree. “Why did you step away? Was it some kind of stupid test?”

Gently, Zac began to remove his arm, and she couldn't help herself, the words coming out before she could stop them. “Don't let me go. Please…”As soon as she said it she wanted to take it back, hating the pathetic catch in her voice.

But of course it was too late.

His arm around her stilled. Then firmed.

He was so warm, a wall at her back. Reassuring. Protective. Part of her wanted to keep on resting against him, while another part wanted to shove him away, angry at him for doing this to her. For making her so aware of her weakness.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. There was a weird note in his voice, a strange tension in his big body behind her. “I wanted to see what would happen if I wasn't in your immediate vicinity.”

“Bastard.” It was all she could think of to say.

“You thought I'd gone.”

“Of course I did.”

A silence.

Then his voice in ear. “Did you really think I would leave you alone here?” And too late she recognized the weird note in it. Anger. “Did you honestly think I wouldn't be somewhere, making sure you were safe?” His arm tightened around her. A manacle. “Even now, even after seven fucking years, you don't trust me.”

You hurt him.

A lump rose in her throat. “I … guess not.”

The muscular arm around her tightened even further. “Tell me why. The real reason, not some bullshit, bloody excuse about protecting yourself.”

His voice was an iron bar wrapped in velvet. Demanding the truth from her whether she wanted to give it or not. An admission she didn't want to make staring her in the face.

You owe him.

She swallowed. “Because I'm … a-afraid.”

Another long silence.

Then finally he said, “Understand, I'm done with proving myself to you, angel. If you can't see past your fear enough to trust me after all this time, you never will. But I want what I want and I'm not compromising.” His arm uncurled from around her waist and he let her go, stepping away.

Her back felt cold, his warmth gone. She felt bereft. Turning, she stared up into his dark face, his expression as impenetrable as the two-thousand-year-old rock of the temple behind her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, even though she already had an idea.

“Stop pretending.” His voice was curt, the look in his eyes hard. “Do you want to stay safe in that prison cell you call an apartment? Crawl into Fitzgerald's party the scared, broken little girl you were just now?”

That stung. A lot.

Scared, broken little girl.

She
hated
he'd seen her like that.

Because she wasn't a scared broken little girl and she wasn't going to fucking crawl. She refused. She would go into that fucking party with her head held high and she was going to look Fitzgerald in the eye.

“I'm not a—”

“You know what I want. If you're not prepared to give yourself to me completely, to let me own you body and soul, then you'll be walking out of here alone.”

And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she refused him, he'd do exactly what he said. That he'd walk out of here and she'd never see him again.

Something inside her howled in despair at the thought.

You can't let him walk away.

No, she couldn't. Nor could she pretend that sex would be the price she paid to have him in her life.

Zac's hands on her body, touching her skin …