King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

“I have the right you granted me eleven years ago,” he said softly, evenly.

Every drop of blood drained from her face, and she felt light-headed, dizzy. And cold. The warm summer day vanished, and she shivered violently. “How dare you use that night to justify your actions now,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist to keep from shaking uncontrollably. “How dare you!”

“Juliana, I...” Suddenly she found herself in his embrace, his arms tight bands around her, her head pressed against his chest. And though everything in her rejected the idea of accepting anything from him, especially comfort, for a brief moment she stayed where she was. His heart was beating, beating, beating beneath her ear, and she remembered lying close beside him in that single bed in the cottage, her head pillowed on his shoulder, hearing his heartbeat exactly the same way.

“Tell me, Juliana,” he whispered, his strong hand stroking the nape of her neck with exquisite, insidious tenderness. “If not DeWinter, then who? Someone hurt you. Someone broke your heart. Tell me, little one,” he coaxed. “Tell me who it was.”

She jerked herself out of his arms, appalled at both herself and him. Appalled at herself that she could let him hold her even for a minute. And appalled at him that he had the gall to ask her that question. How could he not know? After what he’d done, how could he possibly think anyone but he had broken her heart? “You,” she said, wanting to hurt him as she was hurting. “It was you.”

His brows drew together in a frown, and his face was stern. “Do not lie to me, Juliana. Your heart was not broken when you chose to go to Hollywood instead of returning to Zakhar that summer.”

She gasped at how he was twisting the facts, and in defense she resorted to sarcasm. “And of course I would have known you wanted me to return to Zakhar because of your numerous phone calls, your impassioned pleas. Oh, that’s right,” she said, snapping her fingers. “You never asked me to return. Instead you—”

The flush on his cheekbones was the only sign her sarcasm had hit its target. “You should know why I never asked you to return. I expl—”

Juliana cut him off as he had done to her. “You’re right. I do know.” You didn’t love me. You didn’t want me. You sent your men to tell me to stop bothering you with my love letters and emails. And you sent me money. You had to know that would be the most hurtful thing you could do to me, giving me money for—

She couldn’t even finish the thought—the wound was still too painful, even after all these years. “So don’t pretend you don’t understand why I didn’t return to Zakhar,” she threw at him.

Now his anger rose to match hers. “And taking a lover? What was that? Experimentation? Comparison? Wanting to see how I measured up?” Her hand came up of its own volition to slap him, but he was too quick for her, and he caught her hand before it could make contact. “No,” he said implacably, forcing her arm down. “I may have deserved it at one time, but not for this.” His whole body tensed. “I was not...sane...when I heard what you had done.”

Denial rose to her lips, despite the fact that he had no right to know anything, no right to question her actions. No rights at all where she was concerned. “I didn’t—”

“Do not lie to me!”

Immeasurably wounded by his accusation that she was lying despite telling herself not to be, she shot back, “Believe what you want. I don’t have to justify myself to you. But believe this, too,” she said fiercely. “You may have been the first, but that doesn’t give you ownership of me. Whether I’ve had a hundred other lovers or none, it’s not your concern. It never was. Not then, and certainly not now.”

“That is where you are wrong, Juliana.” He’d quickly regained his control, but his face was steely with resolve when he said, “It was always my concern. You belonged to me then. You belong to me now. The same way I belong to you—forever and a day. And from this moment on you will have no other lover but me. That is not a threat. Just a fact.” He turned and strode toward the library door, scooping up the portfolio on his way out. He paused on the threshold and looked back, his eyes blazing. “Count on it.”

Chapter 7

Andre stormed into his secluded private office off his suite of rooms and slammed the portfolio of dispatches on his desk. “Out!” he ordered his bodyguard with unwonted harshness, unexpectedly irked by the lack of privacy he normally took for granted—at least until Juliana had reentered his life. As soon as he was alone he uttered an earthy, Zakharan curse, and it felt so good he repeated it, but the second time didn’t give him the same satisfaction.