Wishing Well(30)
His gaze shot up, locking to mine. “I would have if she would have spread her legs. It’s been a month.”
“Maurice-“
“You have many,” he said, interrupting. “Give me one. It’s not exactly like I can hunt them down when stuck in this cage.”
Sighing, I answered, “It’s not exactly like I can steal one away and keep her trapped down here with you. I’m sure your nurses will ask questions about the screaming.”
His eyes studied my face, his intelligence so clear while his chaos was pervasive. “One,” he barked, “Tonight. Or I’ll chase the nurses away.”
“We can always keep you chained,” I crooned.
“I’m chained already,” he retorted, his attention returning to the screen of his computer. Without looking at me again, he demanded, “One, Vincent. Tonight.”
Blowing out a breath, I relented. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do when I bring you out for your walk through the gardens, but you must promise to behave.”
He gave me a clipped nod of agreement and I knew it would be the end of the conversation. Maurice wasn’t the type for small talk.
Leaving his space, I made my way back to the elevator while deciding who I would toss to the wolf. By the time I’d reached the lobby floor, my decision was made, a pretty face flashing in my thoughts that I hoped would be amenable to my brother’s demands.
The day passed quickly thereafter, the monotonous task of seeing to a hotel that ran like a finely oiled machine within my world. As the sun set behind a glowing horizon, I greeted a group of women who had recently checked in, flirting with them and endearing them to my brand. It was as I turned to escort them to the elevator that would take them to their floor, my attention was drawn to a unique face, my head turning to see Penelope watching me from where she stood near the entrance doors. She was wearing the clothes she wore the night I’d discovered her on the streets, jealousy flashing behind her gold-flecked brown eyes.
Our time in the garden had been well spent, it seemed, the seed I’d planted growing strong. Winking at her, I forced myself to return my attention to the guests because it would be a few days at least before I tested the waters of Penelope’s mind to discover if my absence had made her heart beat harder.
I enjoyed dinner alone that night as the guests went about their routine, and after gorging myself on appértifs and fine cuisine, I skipped dessert to stroll to the lounge. As usual at that time of night, the lounge was filled with inebriated men, their eyes tracking the different cocktail waitresses in various costumes and states of dress.
émilie, however, was the woman who caught my eye. Upon seeing me sitting at a back table only lit by the candle that sat in its center, she smiled wickedly and added a sway to her hips as she approached to discover what I wanted. “Bonsoir , Vincent. Are you still tired?”
My eyes lifted to hers. “I’d like to see you tonight. In the gardens, but it will be rather late. I have engagements beforehand and was hoping you’d keep from going to bed early after the lounge closes.”
“What time?” she asked, her voice sultry, her lips shining within the candlelight from the liberal gloss she wore.
“Will you meet me at the well around three?”
Her smile stretched, sex written into the passionate curve. “Anything for you, Vincent.”
There have never been more unfortunate words spoken. I knew my brother’s tastes ran the same line as mine, but whereas I was able to restrain my instincts, Maurice hadn’t yet learned self-control.
When I bit down, a drop of blood would spill, but when Maurice did so, skin would rip, tears would run red, women would lose their lives. Unless, of course, the woman knew how to play the game, as long as she was perfectly ready and able. Following instructions to the letter was a necessity when it came to our shared games, but Maurice’s form of punishment could be far more permanent.
I hoped that émilie’s training by her whore of a mother would make it easier for my brother to rut with no harm done.
Leaving shortly after she’d agreed, I slipped up to my penthouse on the top floor, settling myself at the keys of a piano I enjoyed playing on nights that stress was a constant pressure in my head. And while the intricate notes floated on air like fireflies on a warm summer night, I allowed my thoughts to escape to a girl whose room was situated below mine.
émilie had been a distraction for a man like me, a pretty face, a healthy body, a bit of warmth to ease the chill of lonely nights, but Penelope, that dirty, rebellious, hard headed girl, had become a siren’s song, une idée fixe , an obsession.
The bet meant nothing, the money but a garnish on the meal I would make of her. I imagined my fingertips exploring her body, finding all the right notes, the flats and sharps, that would make her sing like the piano. My body was all tension and crudely cut stone when I remembered her reflection in the boutique’s mirror. The day would come when I could resist her no more, my teeth aching to sink into her modest flesh.
Would molding her into the lady I craved chase away the rebellion that drew me like a moth to flame? Could I fashion her to be both hellion and slave?
I hoped so as I became lost between one note and another, the hours ticking past as I planned how to win her heart while watching her grow. I would pluck her beauty from the life of her stem just so that I alone could know her fire.