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But as the last hug ended and I looked up into cold blue eyes, I was suddenly ready to go. William had made this night miserable.
When he and I had been in the same room, his eyes hadn’t left me. Always studying, always waiting to see if I would do something I shouldn’t. And even though he never said or did anything to make me uncomfortable tonight, I couldn’t get that horrific morning with him out of my mind, and it made my skin crawl.
But it was clear his women adored him . . . and I now understood Lucas’s words: it was also obvious they followed the rules.
The women were all close . . . the best of friends. There didn’t seem to be jealousy between them, but then again, I had only been there for a few hours. They were loud and infectious with their laughter, and scolded Lucas as if he were their child, but the mood shifted when William was with them. They all seemed to wait for him to give them something to do and clung to his every word. There was a great deal of respect when they spoke to him, and yet they were always at ease with him and even made jokes at his expense in front of him every now and then—something I was sure came with living together as long as they all had.
I didn’t know how to explain it, but I could see it.
And I hated it.
Hated that the women’s friendships and their devotion to William had come from being stolen. Hated that they’d been bought by a man so cold and unforgiving and cruel. Hated that William and this life was so much better than what they’d had before they’d been kidnapped that they’d happily chosen to stay.
My heart ached knowing I would never understand the kind of suffering those women had gone through. Knowing they would never see the beauty that life and love had to offer.
“Until next time, Briar,” William said in that elegant accent that made my blood run cold.
I forced a smile and murmured, “Thank you for dinner,” before turning to follow Lucas, already walking toward the car.
Calm . . . withdrawn.
Liar.
His fingers had traced random shapes on the inside of my thigh throughout dinner. His large hand had gripped my hip possessively when I’d passed him in the hall on my way to help the women with dishes, his eyes conveying how hard he was struggling to keep himself from me. He had followed me into the bathroom and shoved me up against the door to attack my mouth and neck for heated seconds before he’d abruptly stopped and slipped back out.
And I had been counting down the hours until we could leave so I could have another hint of how much he wanted me.
I’d never craved a kiss as much.
He slipped into the car after I did, and as soon as the door closed behind him, energy sparked between us. He held up a hand so it was hovering just above his leg in a silent command to wait, so I sat still with my head bowed as I fidgeted with my hands, waiting for the driver to take off.
I wanted to know how he thought the night had gone, and if William had said anything. I wanted his touch. I wanted so many things . . .
“Luc—”
He lifted my head and pinned me up against the door of the car, his mouth slamming down onto mine in a feverish rush after we turned out of the street. A rumble vibrated deep in his chest when I turned in the seat and pushed back until our positions were switched so I was now leaning on him.
He gripped at my bottom and pulled me higher on his lap, pressing me down where he strained against his pants. I broke from the kiss and tilted my head back—a silent plea of my own.
“You were perfect,” he growled against my throat, and I smiled as relief filled me.
“You were bad,” I accused.
He laughed huskily and tightened his grip on me as his mouth dipped lower on my chest, and his hands released me to push my top up.
I pressed my hand against the top of the car to steady myself and arched back, needing his mouth on me—needing so much more than what he could give me now when this already was so much more than I had allowed in over a month.
“Wait, no,” I choked out through my heavy breaths just as the shirt passed over my lace-covered breasts. “Wait.”
He dropped the shirt immediately but groaned my name in frustration as he ran his hands over his face and through his hair.
His dark eyes were fire.
They were need and want, seduction and frustration.
“I’m sorry I just need a second to—I just need to breathe.” I scrambled from his lap and over to the door, rolling down the window to reveal the city covered in night . . .
And I forced myself to breathe.
