The list was so long I stopped listening after a while.
As soon as the Interpol agents had Marcus in handcuffs Sebastian ordered, “Get him out of here.” His gaze, still burning with anger and vengeance, focused in on me. “In my office.” As soon as we stepped inside he turned and barked, “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. He didn’t touch me.”
“Bullshit.” He took a handkerchief out of the interior pocket of his jacket and I grabbed it from him. I stroked his face and pressed it under his nose absorbing the dripping blood.
“I swear he didn’t. It was all talk. He was just taunting me.”
Suddenly uneasy, he said, “What did he say?” His eyes unblinking.
“Nothing I ever want to hear again, let alone repeat.”
“Vera,” he pleaded.
“No, Sebastian. I’m not discussing it.”
I told myself it didn’t matter. I told myself it had all happened before me. But when my head hit the pillow that night, I stayed awake ’til dawn with those ugly images running through my head.
Chapter Eighteen
The road to Montreux was breathtaking in its bucolic majesty. Steep, emerald green mountains jutted up arrogantly, penetrating the cerulean blue sky with impunity. Their permanence inspired awe, their stark beauty admiration.
My gaze moved from the open sunroof of the Bentley, to the man in the driver’s seat. Sharp angles, stark beauty, fierce and arrogant. I smiled at the similarities. Lost in contemplation, he was quiet for most of the hour and a half drive. I could feel the tension pulling him apart. We had no idea what awaited us at Charles’.
After Marcus was arrested, Interpol and the Feds moved quickly on The Crescent Foundation, freezing assents and arresting one Dr. Farshid, the head of the charity. Marcus gave them all up, no coercion necessary. Two days later we were on the road to Montreaux.
“You love him,” I claimed the obvious.
“Charles? He was like a father to me.” Then, shaking his head, he clarified, “He was more than that––he was a friend when I had nobody.”
My chest caved in on itself, an enormous weight squatting on it. It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned how alone, or how lonely his childhood had been.
“Ben?”
“We couldn’t speak much when he was training. Then the war.”
“And your father?”
His eyes slid to mine. He scoffed. “If it hadn’t been for Charles, we would never have reconciled. He’s the only one that ever got through to him.”
“As hard as I try, I can’t understand your father. Loyal to his friend, and yet, neglectful of his only son? It’s just bizarre.”
“Preaching to the choir. I’ve been trying to figure it out for thirty five years, and I still don’t have a clue.”
“Are you going to be okay?” No explanations were necessary. He knew what I was implying. There was so much at stake. We both had harbored hope that Charles was somehow innocent of everything other than poor judgment, but after Marcus’ arrest that chance had withered away.
“I have to be––don’t I?” he said in a resigned voice, his disappointment palpable. The one person that had ever been there for him, and he would soon lose him as well.
Impulsively, I sifted my fingers through his hair and his expression softened. Sighing deeply, he trapped my hand and brought it to his soft lips. One, two, three kisses on my knuckles. His touch reverent. He was always reaching for me, always so affectionate. Baring my open wrist, he brushed his lips on my pulse, making me shiver while certain other parts of me grew hot and bothered.
“Pull over.”
His face snapped in my direction. In the mirror of his sunglasses, I saw my reflection. Cheeks flushed. Spark of lust in my eyes. There was no doubt where my thoughts were headed. His brow wrinkled and pulled together in question. Sliding his sunglasses off, his eyes where two, mischievous crescents trying to asses the situation.
“Pull over now,” I repeated more forcefully, pointing to a deserted clearing off the road where he could park the car. I almost laughed when he did as he was told. He parked the Bentley under the shade of a tall conifer.
“Vera…” he drawled, his husky voice filled with wonder and poorly hidden excitement, my name a supplication on his lips. How could one word imply so much?
Before the engine was off, I had my greedy hands on his belt buckle, undoing it and yanking the tiresome thing from his waist. He chuckled as I quickly ripped open his pants. His eyes bright, scintillating with anticipation, complemented the smile kicking up the side of his sensual mouth.
“What’s gotten into you?”
“You,” I replied, a fierce need to please him, to make him feel loved seizing the reins of my self-control, overriding the sense of propriety that I still held onto. I wanted to do things with him, and to him that, in my wildest dreams, I would’ve never entertained with anyone else. But most of all, I wanted him to never feel alone again.