And yet my heart is singing in my chest, breaking out in waves of elated song at the sight of the man taking up space at my counter. That’s when I do something I haven’t done in my entire life.
The plate tilts, spilling its golden, fried cargo, and drops, shattering in a sparkle of worn white porcelain as I feel my eyes roll backward, and I slump, approaching the floor.
I’m fainting, something so foreign to my ‘kiss my ass’ attitude that for that strange time while I’m heading for a nose slam, I feel a euphoric giggle bubble in my chest.
“Christ!”
That’s all I hear before everything goes dark, cutting off the exultant panic wending its way through me.
“Get…pulse…back away…”
Seconds, minutes later I’m swimming back to consciousness, my mind lighting up like a freaking Christmas tree despite all attempts to remain hidden in that murky place that is unconsciousness.
I don’t want to wake up and see those mint green eyes or that smug smile. I want this all to be the effects of Nic’s mother getting me tripped out on her night time rescue/liver killing tonic.
My eyes pop open against my will, and I gasp, once again held immobile when I see those bright eyes shining down at me even as his arms surround me, pulling me close as he rises, taking me with him.
“Lily, darlin', are you al lright?” I hear to my left, only half registering Nico’s voice and the murmurings of concern floating around me. “I told you to keep hydrated and to eat more, little one.”
I hardly track and can’t even tear my eyes away from the chiselled jaw—now clenched so tightly I see a muscle tic beneath his skin—as he starts barking orders at someone to his right, his voice filled with steely control and supressed anger.
“I’m taking her home. Get the door, Billings!”
That’s when my brain fires back to life and I struggle weakly, pushing at his chest and cursing softly when he, and everyone around me, ignores my annoyance, and I find myself deposited on the back seat of his chauffeur-driven car.
“Let me out!” I yell, going for the door release even as the driver starts pulling away. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you. I hate you!”
Vincent grabs my arm in a steely grip and pulls me back, his eyes flickering with some emotion I can’t decipher but definitely followed by the same arrogant sneer I know so well.
A tinted partition goes up between the seats, separating me from the driver and what I now know is my only respite before his arms shove me down and his big body comes crashing down over mine.
It’s no easy fit with him being so big and the seat being smaller than the position requires, and I’m left trapped beneath his weight as he pins my arms above my head and keeps me immobile.
“Shut up and fucking listen!” he yells, so fiercely I feel his breath enter my lungs.
The taste is just as I remember it, and I feel my traitorous body heat, wanting more of that mint-scented air, filling my lungs, my mouth, every inch of me.
I’ve lain awake nights remembering his flavor and the way I’d be infused with his breath as he thrust into me, sharing his very life force even as he took mine.
I’ve missed—
No! You will not do this to yourself, Cecilia. Get a grip.
“Fine,” I say, quitting my struggles to glare up at him. Handsome bastard. “What the hell do you want?”
I see him tense further, feel it in the way his fingers tighten infinitesimally around my bound wrists before he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
“Dove, I don’t know how to say this…”
That sends a foreboding chill down my spine. Vincent is never hesitant, never…afraid, as I see he is now, so whatever he has to tell me is either really bad or so fucked up I don’t even want to know.
Damned curiosity.
“Your father…” He swallows and levers himself up, pulling me along with him and into his chest.
I push back, needing some distance as the scent of his citrusy cologne starts firing up synapses I’d ruthlessly tried to kill these last three months.
But wait—
“Daddy? I mean, Beau? What…what’s wrong?”
He’s avoiding eye contact, his shoulders strung so tightly I feel the stirrings of panic hit me. I’m angry and hurt and not yet ready to call him my dad yet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love the big, controlling galloot.
“Vincent…what’s going on?” I ask, grabbing at the military perfect lapels of his jacket and turning him back to face me.
“Beau collapsed last week—”
“What! Oh God, is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay. I should never have bolted. This is all my fault. You’re such a brat, Sissy. If he’s de—”