Hush (Black Lotus #3)(4)
Wandering into the kitchen, I walk over to the security monitor on the wall and check the cameras out front. I flip through them and stop on the gate camera. I’m watching as Lachlan’s car drives out onto the main road when my cell rings.
“McKinnon,” I answer.
“Good afternoon, Mr. McKinnon. It’s Alexander Stanforth from Stanforth and Partners. How are you doing?”
“I’m well,” I respond to Alex, the architect that will be working on the London property I recently purchased.
“I hope you don’t mind my calling on your cell, but with your interest in expediting the initial meetings, I figured I would bypass your office manager.”
“It’s why I gave you this number, Alex.”
“Good. Well then, I’d like to set up a meeting to discuss the scope of the project, along with schedule and budget. Are you free next week?”
“I can be free. Set it up and call my office to get it on the books, and I’ll be there,” I tell him.
“Sounds good. I’ll get with the team and give your office a call later today.”
“Thanks, Alex.”
Hanging up the phone, I grab an ice pack from the freezer and make my way up to Elizabeth. She’s sound asleep when I enter the room and sit down next to her. The side of her face is swollen; black and blue mar her eye. Gently, I touch the ice to her skin and she flinches.
“Sorry,” I whisper when her eyes flutter open. “The swelling is really bad.”
Her eyes are dilated dopey black, but she doesn’t keep them open long. I watch her lie motionless, soft breaths filling the space around me.
“We used to dance,” her hoarse voice murmurs.
“Who?”
“Me and my dad.”
I don’t say anything when she curls her body over and lifts her head onto my lap.
“Dean Martin was his favorite,” she says sleepily, never opening her eyes. “‘Volare’ . . . that’s the song. He’d sing along, and I remember always giggling during the Italian parts.”
“He had a good voice?” I ask, keeping the ice on her.
“Mmm hmm,” she answers slowly in her listless state. “He’d set me on top of his feet and dance while I hung on to his legs.”
She pauses, letting time falter, and I think she’s fallen back asleep, but then she begins to blink. When her glassy eyes find me, she whimpers, “Why would he leave me?”
Never in my life have I seen so much heartache in anyone’s eyes, and I hate that it’s in hers that I see it. She wants answers, but I have none to give her, and it kills me.
“I thought I made him happy.”
Setting the ice pack on the bedside table, I turn back to her, and with her face cradled in my hands I assert, “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to give you answers. We will find him.”
“What if he doesn’t want me finding him?”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants. It’s not his choice to make.”
This isn’t the woman I know. She’s something else entirely. She may have been putting on an act to deceive me, but she always had a bold-spirited backbone that a person can’t fake. Beneath the lies, that part of her was real, but now it’s lost somewhere inside of her violated body.
She takes in a small pain-filled gasp as she shifts her body.
“Why don’t you soak in a hot bath?”
“What’s the point? Rot is rot.”
“That’s bullshit,” I lash back. “Rot has hurt you, but it hasn’t claimed you. And I suggested a bath to help with your pain, not to clean you.” My words are half truths; I do want to clean her. Clean all the filth from the sack of shit that did this to her. I want to erase him from her skin because the thought sickens me. I want her covered in me, in my scent, with my hands all over her body. I want her to taste like me, smell like me. It’s a feral need to mark her as mine. To own her, every single piece of her.
Pulling her up to me, I press my lips to hers, kissing her softly when I really want to devour her, but she’s much too fragile. Her breath on my tongue sparks a shudder through my veins, causing my pulse to race. It takes control not to throw her down, spread her thighs, and bury my cock deep inside her. I want to f*ck her so hard she feels me in her bones.
I force myself back, gripping her neck in my hands as I take in a deep breath that I release slowly.
“I’ve missed having your taste in my mouth,” she says, her words not doing much to help me calm myself.
“I want more than just my taste in your mouth, but I can’t let myself be that selfish with you right now. I won’t be able to control myself, and I’ll just hurt you.”
Getting out of bed, I go to start the bath before returning to her.
“Give me your hands,” I tell her and then help her onto her feet. “Lift your arms.”
Moving slowly, I undress her, careful not to hurt her. When I have her naked in front of me, I quickly remove my clothes and then walk her to the bathroom. I step into the tub first and then hold on to her as I help her into the water. She sits between my legs, leaning back against my chest with a grimace of pain.
Her body is hard to look at. The bruises are enough to get my blood boiling. It coils my gut in a retching of turbulent emotions. There’s a serrated bite mark on her left breast that I didn’t notice last night when I showered her.