What the hell is going on?
When he was gone, I was finally able to take a full breath. I clutched the back of the chair. “What was that?”
My father pulled me into his chest, his familiar smell of tobacco and books cutting through Vinemont’s more seductive scent. He was quaking violently. “No. Nothing. Forget about it. About him.”
“What did he want? What was in those papers?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care. If it has anything to do with you, I don’t want it. I don’t want him near you.”
I leaned away and looked into my father’s eyes. He didn’t meet my gaze, only watched the fire behind me the same way he would stare into my paintings. He studied something far away, past the flames and the bricks and the mortar.
Fatigue was written in every line on his face. Not even the flickering orange glow could hide how drained, how frightened he truly was. He hadn’t looked this haunted since the night he found me lying on the floor, almost two years ago. I rubbed my eyes, trying to erase his fear and the memories from my mind.
He let out a labored groan and fell back against the chair.
“Dylan!” I called.
My stepbrother appeared in the doorway within moments. “What’s going on? Was that the dick prosecutor I passed in the hall?”
“It doesn’t matter, just please help Dad to his room. He needs to rest.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Dad clutched me to him again, his grasp weaker, fading. “I love you, Stella. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens tomorrow.”
I forced my heart to stay together. If it shattered, I would be of no use. I couldn’t become a quivering heap of regret, not yet. Not until I found out what Sinclair Vinemont wanted from me.
Chapter Three
Sinclair
I tapped my fingers along the top of my thigh as I waited. I hated waiting. Something about it made me itch to do something, anything, to keep my life moving. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. Given my history, most likely bad.
I wouldn’t have to wait long. I knew she would come. The dutiful daughter, rushing after any salvation for her father she could find. Poor little idiot. Salvation had a price—the highest one imaginable—and I knew she would pay it the moment I first laid eyes on her.
She’d been sitting at her father’s side at his arraignment. Her red hair had been pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a black suit, as if she were in mourning. She wasn’t. Not yet. She would be soon enough. I’d caught sight of her as I walked through the door from Judge Montagnet’s chambers.
It had been immediate—I wanted her. More than that, I wanted to break her, to make her mine and take everything from her until I was the only thing she thought, or dreamed, or breathed.
She seemed easily breakable. Her pale skin and delicate wrists with the tell-tale scars were like a lure to me, and her understated curves would look perfect when reddened by my hand or belt. But my momentary infatuation faded with each step closer I came to her downcast eyes. She’d be too easy, too quickly cowed and brought to heel. She wasn’t a challenge, and I wouldn’t waste my time.
But then she’d looked at me. Her eyes were fire, heat, hate. I wanted to stoke the flames, to make her despise me with even more ferocity. I knew how to get her there, to drag her down into the darkness and twist her beyond recognition. I would do it, too. There was no longer an ‘if’, only a ‘when’. Things had been set in motion that were beyond even my control. She was my Acquisition.
I shifted in my seat and willed her to come to me. The sooner the ink dried on our deal, the sooner I could begin her education. The front door of the Rousseau estate opened, casting yellow rays of light onto the wide, curved stoop. Her small figure took the few steps down the stairs, and she strode toward my car with purpose. I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her movements were enough. She had steeled herself for this, strengthened every fiber of her being. I would tear it down piece by piece until she was naked, shivering, and begging for more.
My driver, Luke, got out and opened the back passenger door for her. She slid in next to me, though she took care to come no nearer than absolutely necessary. She still wore the light blue blouse and black skirt from earlier. The coat was gone, and she’d put on some unbecoming flats. I frowned.
“I should’ve known you’d be waiting out here like a spider.”
I smiled at her. She would come to regret that statement. “What can I do for you, Stella?”