Kidnapped by the Billionaire(51)

Yeah, probably a little too much amateur psychology, but at least that  was a better reason than because he'd hated having her mouth on him.

The only problem was that the whole thing had left her aching and  restless, need pulsing hot and heavy between her thighs. She could taste  him on her tongue and, God help her, that only made her hotter.

Slowly, she sat up, debating whether or not to follow him, maybe entice  him back to bed. And then he appeared in the doorway again, her clothes  in his hands.

The expression on his face was impenetrable as he came over to the bed  and tossed the clothes down on it. "Get dressed," he said shortly. "I'll  get us some breakfast and then we're going out."

Violet opened her mouth to suggest that maybe breakfast could wait for a  moment, but he was already going over to the dresser near the windows  and taking out some clothes for himself. His movements were short and  sharp, and he was radiating tension like a fire radiates heat.

She didn't understand what she'd done, but clearly more sex was out of the question.

Swallowing back the real questions she wanted to ask, she made do with, "Going out where?"

"I'll tell you over breakfast." He pulled on boxers, jeans, and a dark,  charcoal gray long-sleeved T-shirt. Then he took out a pair of socks and  once more walked from the room without another word.

Violet sat on the bed staring after him, trying to get her stupid  emotions back under control. Patience was clearly the key with Elijah,  so she'd have to try a little harder to cultivate that patience and not  push too hard.

Why are you the one having to do all the work? Why can't he be the one to come to you?

She pulled a face at the snide voice in her head and how it made it  sound as if this was a relationship she and Elijah were having, and not  just two people having sex. There was no relationship. And she was the  one doing the work because she was the one who wanted more. All he  wanted from her was the sex.

Slowly Violet got out of bed and grabbed her clothes, heading for the  shower. A bit pointless to wash herself clean when all she had to put on  were already-worn clothes, but she suddenly felt the need to have a bit  of space away from him.

She took her time in the shower, washing her hair and soaping herself  down, letting her hands linger on her own skin, unassuaged desire  echoing through her. It made her shiver, and briefly she toyed with the  idea of getting herself off just to ease it. She glanced toward the  door, a sudden fantasy of him throwing it open to find her with her  hands between her thighs, then storming over and getting into the shower  with her, pinning her to the walls, and taking control.

But the door remained stubbornly closed.

Violet sighed, her own touch abruptly unsatisfying. Shutting off the  water, she got out, dried herself, and dressed. Pausing in front of the  mirror, she pulled a face at her spiky hair, wishing for a hairdryer to  get at least some semblance of a proper hairstyle, but there was nothing  like that in Elijah's bathroom. Instead she made do with running her  hands through it a couple of times, before making her way down the  hallway and out into the main room of the apartment.

The smell of coffee drew her to the kitchen, where she found Elijah  briskly making toast and bacon and eggs. She stopped in the doorway,  staring at him. He looked so domestic standing there at the stove,  turning over the eggs with slick economy.

"Go sit at the table," he ordered without looking at her. "I'll bring it out to you."

The protest was there, ready on her tongue, but she pressed her lips hard against it. Patience and no pushing, right?

She turned and went out again, going over to sit at the dining table  like a good girl. It had a glass top, the surface absolutely spotless,  the dining chairs surrounding it works of minimalist art in white steel.

Was this another remnant of his life with Marie? And had she chosen it or had it been his decision?

She gave another look around the apartment, at the bits and pieces of  his earlier life, at the way they'd been arranged so carefully. The bed  had been one of those bits and pieces, she was sure of it, but she had  the feeling this apartment hadn't been theirs. This was all his, and yet  he'd furnished it like his old life. So careful, so deliberate. Why? A  reminder of what he'd lost?

Grief stuck in her chest like a sharp stone. After Theo had disappeared,  she used to go into his old room and just hang out there. Sit on his  bed and look around at his things as if they could somehow conjure up  his absent spirit. It had been a comfort and yet at the same time, it  had made things worse. Because Theo was gone and all those things of his  couldn't bring him back. They only served to make the pain sharper.         

     



 

Violet looked down at the cool surface of the table, unshed tears  clogging her throat. Jesus Christ, she was a mess. Pretty much the story  of her goddamn life.

The sound of plates on the glass of the table jolted her and she looked  up to see Elijah pushing a load of eggs and bacon and toast in front of  her, following it up with a mug of coffee.

"Thanks," she muttered, grabbing the cutlery he'd also put down beside  the plate and hoping he hadn't seen her blinking back tears. "You'd make  someone a lovely wife."

He ignored that, sitting down opposite her and digging into his own breakfast.

Typical Elijah. His refusal to engage was so fucking annoying.

There was a brief silence as they ate, and then he asked shortly, "Where's your brother's storage facility?"

Violet stared at him, the question so unexpected she wasn't sure what he was talking about. "Storage facility?"

"The one you told me about. The place you said was accessed recently. Where is it?"

Carefully, she put down her knife. "Why do you want to know that?"

"Because that's where we're going."

She blinked. "What do you mean that's ‘where we're going'?"

Elijah's black brows drew down. "Are you having problems with  comprehension this morning, Violet? We are going to go take a look in  your brother's storage locker. It's a relatively simple concept to  grasp."

Her heartbeat had stilled, and there was a strange clog of emotion in  her throat. "Why?" she asked bluntly. "What's Theo to you?"

"Theo is nothing to me. You, on the other hand, are." His black eyes  didn't waver from hers. "Your brother is a loose end you need to tie up.  And once you have, we can concentrate on Jericho."

What was he saying? For a second she forgot completely about Theo, too  busy thinking about what Elijah meant. Did he mean that she was  something to him? Or only in relation to Jericho?

Wow, desperate much?

She swallowed, trying to get rid of the emotion sitting there. Okay, she  could drive herself mad trying to guess his motives. Hell, he was a  straight-up guy, maybe she should just ask him.

Violet reached out for her coffee mug and wrapped her fingers around it,  letting its warmth heat her chilled hands. "What do you mean I'm  something to you?"

Something in his eyes flickered, but he didn't look away. "You're my  means to an end." His voice was cold. "And I can't have you distracted  thinking about other things, not when we need Jericho thinking this  meeting is entirely legit."

He was lying. She was't sure how she knew or what had given it away, but  something deep inside told her that not only was he lying to convince  her, he was lying to convince himself.

Perhaps he knew that too, because he went on quickly, without waiting  for her to respond. "Jericho has to believe you're going to go with him,  and that what I want are the business links he promised your father.  That I'm going to take over your father's empire."

She sipped her coffee, studying him, the emotion making its way down her throat to sit in her chest. "And what happens to me?"

"I'll make sure you're safe." No hesitation this time and no flicker  either. He totally believed it. "You won't be going anywhere with him."

She wanted to ask what was with the sudden urge to protect her,  especially when he'd never been concerned about what happened to her  after he'd given her to Jericho before. But she stayed quiet. God knew,  she shouldn't be thinking about this anyway, not when he'd offered to  help her follow up on her lead on Theo.

Haven't you given up on that?

Well, yeah, she had yesterday. It had seemed selfish and wrong to keep  looking for a dead man when compared to putting right the crimes her  father had committed.

She took another sip of her coffee. "Theo doesn't matter. I told you yesterday that-"

"I know what you told me. But it'll cost us nothing to go have a look."

Another complex mix of emotions shifted in her chest. Hope and fear.  Hope that she'd at last find out the truth about her brother. Fear that  what had happened to him was the only truth.

"It might cost me," she murmured under her breath.

Elijah's midnight gaze held hers, uncompromising, ruthless. "You're  strong enough," he said, and this time there was not even a hint of a  lie in his voice. "Believe me, Violet. If there is a cost, you're strong  enough to pay it."