Wishing Well(15)
“I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t want to know,” she answered, struggling, fighting desperately to keep from sounding affected.
“Then I will tell you,” he paused, “but only if you retake your seat, only if I can watch your face as you hear the truth, the intimate details, the mastery of a game designed to transform a girl into a woman.”
Gritting her teeth, Meadow’s fingers clenched into fists, her posture straightening, her head turning just enough that she could see Vincent in her peripheral vision. “She wasn’t a girl. She was already an adult when you met her.”
“Oui , you are correct...but she was not a woman. In that one word lies the distinction.”
Icy fingers traced her spine, the chill spreading like that of a spider’s web wrapping her, capturing her, making her regret ever agreeing to this interview in the first place.
Meadow wondered if she was strong enough to continue forward, if she could handle the intricate details...if she could swallow the truth and not choke on the thickness of his lies.
Clenching her eyes shut, she fought the desire to run, to leave, to flee the room and board a plane to return to Germany and never look back. She had her career, her home, her life that didn’t include Vincent Mercier.
But then, the story would be incomplete, wouldn’t it? The reasons lost, the death without meaning.
Meadow couldn’t allow that. She needed to know. Turning, she refused to meet his gaze as she took her seat, refused to relinquish the small amount of control, of independence, she had. He’d told her to sit, and she would comply, but not because she was a woman following his demands. She was here to dissect him, to tear him apart, to make him feel the same pain she had felt since the day her sister died.
She would play his games, and she would walk away the victor.
“Tell me, Vincent,” her gaze finally locked to his. “Tell me what happened that night that you think I don’t already know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vincent
Every so often, fate has a hand in opportunity. With a flourish of delicate fingers, it swirls the air around your existence, creating temptations that are too great, challenges that appear to be insurmountable. But within those moments when you doubt how simple coincidence could have led you to clear waters when you are thirsty, to a banquet when you starve, to the heat of fire when your bones scream for warmth and your heart beats weakly beneath the ice that encases it, you understand that certain events were meant to be, were written in the stars, were deemed by the Gods to be worthy for your life even before you were a twinkle amongst mankind.
I was experiencing that moment as I watched Penny walk down the hall, her bare legs strong and shapely, her heart shaped ass bouncing with each step, teasing me and inviting me to touch. My fingers curled into my palm, the inside of my cheek caught between my teeth, my body tensing as she glanced back with anger in her gaze to ask me if I’d appreciated the view as she’d walked away.
And I’d answered her in a language I knew she couldn’t understand, because if she’d been able to interpret the words for what they were, she would have entered that elevator, left the building on rushed steps, and permanently stepped out of my life.
Desire is a slippery thing, easing inside a person’s skin to capture, to taunt, to strengthen and spread out until your mind becomes mud and your heart races in an effort to escape your chest. From one moment to the next, I was man and I was beast, this rude, inelegant girl that I’d pulled from the streets revealing to me her full potential.
How had I known from one simple glance out a cafe window that a lonely girl walking in the rain would be exactly the woman who would fulfill my every need? Her face had been covered, her hair had been disguised, her body had been hidden beneath clothes that gave no hint of what was to be discovered, yet now, in this moment, I understood that instinct, that fate, had led me to the woman I most desired.
Thrill whispered in to mix with the heat pouring through my veins.
Her head peeked out of the elevator. “Are we going or what?”
Smiling at her question, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my slacks and approached her, taking pleasure in the way she backed to the far left of the elevator while I stood to the right. It wasn’t just my instinct screaming at this moment, it was hers, but she was barely listening.
Reaching the first floor, I led her through the lobby, ignoring the pointed glances people made at her lack of shoes or much else. Their eyes had drifted to me as we passed, questions remaining silent as to why the owner of the hotel was with a woman who hadn’t bothered to put on shoes.
Knowing Penny felt insecure, exposed, naked to the eyes of the hotel’s guests as we walked toward the boutique, I slowed my pace to stretch out the seconds, took pleasure in the way she groaned to realize she wouldn’t hurry me along. Disgrace has its advantages, and humiliation can wear down even the most forceful of rebellions.
Penny must have believed I was simply tired or preferred a lazy stride, but in that assumption she was mistaken. The catch , as she had so hastily phrased it, began the second she agreed to follow me home, its name that of domination .
Every decision, every expression, every word, gesture and deliberate aberration were only tiny pieces of a skilled contraption, one action triggering the next, one result and reaction determining what would be the following step, the choice of direction. The catch had already begun, but Penny was none the wiser.