His Property(2)

But the dickhead didn’t look embarrassed. Instead, he raised his glass as if in a toast. “Emery!” he said. “Baby, come here! I’m on an amazing run!” He patted the spot at the table next to him. “Come sit and play. I’ll bankroll you.”

Emery bit her lip so hard it flushed red through her lipstick. She took in a full breath, then turned and ran.





2





EMERY



I hated them both.

I’d been stupid to let my guard down with either of them, had been stupid to want to talk to my father, and even stupider to let myself think that this thing with Liam was anything other than what it was.

I think I’m falling in love with you, he’d said.

Someone falling in love with you didn’t hold you against your will.

Someone falling in love with you didn’t put a tracker on your wrist and insist it was for your own good.

Someone falling in love with you didn’t refuse to answer questions about his family.

And someone falling in love with you didn’t turn his private jet around and bring you to Vegas just so he could prove to you how much your own father didn’t give a fuck about you.

So I turned and ran out of that stupid room, with it’s stupid chips and it’s stupid cards and those stupid women in dresses so tight their fake boobs almost came spilling out. (If you were going to get fake boobs, why the hell would you wear something like that, something that made it even more obvious that they were fake? No one’s boobs were that high.)

Liam caught up to me before I was even halfway back to the elevator.

His hands circled my waist from behind, and he pulled me back toward him.

“Let me go!” I demanded, and I stomped on his foot as hard as I could. He let me go, but he looked at me with surprise, not from the pain, but the fact that I’d done something like that in first place.

“Emery.” His voice was low and melodic, as if he were trying to soothe me.

“No,” I said. “Don’t even. I want to go home. I want to go home now.” I meant home as in home home, as in back to my apartment, not back to Liam’s place.

The same man who’d greeted us when we’d gotten out of the elevator was still at the end of the hallway, and he began walking toward us.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Rutherford?” he asked. A walkie talkie rested on his hip, nestled between his belt and his pants, and his hand drifted down toward it, as if he were going to radio for back-up if this proved to be something he couldn’t handle himself.

“Yes, there’s a goddamn problem,” I announced, recklessness pounding through me. “The problem is that my father sold me off for a hundred thousand dollars and he should be arrested. This man should be arrested too, he’s holding me captive!” I pointed at Liam, feeling jubilant that I’d finally announced my secret, anticipating the satisfaction I would get when the security guard finally realized what was going on here and called the police.

“We’re fine, Tony,” Liam said, his tone measured. “Is there a place I can talk to her in private?” Her. He didn’t even use my name, as if I were some kind of commodity that could have been easily switched in and out. And perhaps I was. I remembered what the stylists had told me, about London Banks and the mysterious Vienna. I may have been the only one Liam had actually kidnapped, but it seemed as if he’d used all of us in his own way.

“Yes, of course, sir,” Tony said. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a shiny gold key card, which he handed it to Liam. On the front was a picture of a gold key embossed with a huge RT.

My mouth dropped as I realized this man – who was supposed to be security, what a freakin’ joke -- was no better than the cops who’d come to Liam’s apartment that night, the cops who should have realized something was wrong but didn’t care because Liam had made donations to the police department.

Liam took the card wordlessly, then grabbed my hand and pulled me into the elevator. He held my wrist tight the whole time, making sure I couldn’t get away as he slid the key card into a slot in the elevator, pushing the button for the RT level, which was locked and could only be opened with the card he’d been given.

RT.

Rooftop.

When the elevator opened, Liam hustled me down the hall to the suite at the end of it. He pulled me inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him.

“I don’t know why you’re locking the door,” I said. “It’s unnecessary, since apparently no one gives a shit that you’re a kidnapper.”

He turned around, his face impassive, and I felt my heart clench as I looked at him. God, even when I was mad at him I couldn’t help but notice how fucking sexy he was. His square jaw, his broad shoulders encased in that damn leather jacket, the t-shirt underneath that clung to his chiseled pecs. I flashed back on this morning, when he’d bent over to get some of our luggage, how tight his ass looked in his jeans.