Wishing Well(54)

This was not what I was expecting. Maurice appeared...normal.

The relief was like a deflating balloon inside me.

I wanted to laugh at how stupid I’d been to think Vincent would actually toss me to a rabid dog. That extra salary he’d promised me looked much better now that I understood the lie he’d told.

“Lunch is here,” I announced with a smile. Where would you like me to leave it?”

Maurice blinked, his lips pulling into an unsure grin. There was something off about him, but it wasn’t scary, not like I’d imagined it would be after meeting him in the garden. It was like he wanted to express emotion, but couldn’t. “Table,” he said with a voice as deep as Vincent’s. “To your left.”

Glancing over, I spotted the small round table I hadn’t seen when first walking into the room. Maurice didn’t say another word as I made my way across the room to set the domed plate down. A scream tore from my lips when I spun again to find Maurice standing behind me. His hand flew up to cover my mouth as mine flew to my chest to keep my heart from busting out. The visceral terror had returned in a split second to see how silently Maurice had moved, to understand that, perhaps, Vincent hadn’t been lying.

My body shook as Maurice pushed me back, his fingertips digging into my cheeks as he locked his eyes to mine with lethal curiosity. It felt like being stared down by a predator deciding whether to eat you quickly or take their time. My butt scooted across the table and I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes.

Vincent’s words were a whisper in my head.

Don’t make any sudden moves around him. Don’t scream or say anything. Don’t resist if he scares you. And if you want to walk out of the basement unscathed, just do whatever he wants.

Remembering his instructions, I froze in place. Maurice leaned forward, his nose to my hair as he dragged in a breath to smell me. I trembled beneath his hand, my eyes wide, my muscles so rigid that pain blistered over my bones. Barely able to drag in a breath, I fought to keep from screaming.

Maurice’s eyes met mine, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t until he spoke again that I realized how he fought to control himself. “Thank you,” he said, as if the words were foreign on his tongue. “For the food.”

It was like watching a wild creature attempt to wear the skin of civility. He wasn’t used to behaving so cautiously.

I occurred to me just then that for as frightening as this man was, he was also beautiful. He had the same green eyes and tan skin as his brother, the same broad shoulders and dark, unruly hair, but there was also a vulnerability in him that I’d never seen in Vincent. It didn’t help ease the racing of my heart, the tightness of my body or the fear that drowned me, but it was there.

“You’re welcome,” I mumbled beneath his hand, thinking that, maybe, he would release me.

Our eyes remained locked for what felt like hours, my pulse fluttering beneath my skin, his gaze finally tracing down my face to watch the beat of it on the soft spot of my neck.

“You’re scared.”

Slowly, I nodded my head, trapping the inside of my cheek between my teeth to keep from screaming.

“Je suis désolé .”

My mouth still trapped by his hand, I mumbled. “I don’t know what you said.”

“I’m sorry,” he answered, English not as fluid on his lips as French had been. This man was struggling to behave and communicate.

I jumped when the fingers of his other hand clamped down on my knee, when his arm flexed to force my legs apart slowly.

The tears in my eyes fell down my cheeks. He watched them, his head tilting to the side in confusion. “I don’t want to force you.”

“But you will?” I mumbled from beneath his hand.

The nod of his head was jerky, as barely controlled as him. Remorse flashed in his eyes, a sorrow so deep that I felt it in my chest.

“J’aime quand tu me regardes comme ?a.” He shook his head as if banishing the language. “I can’t help it. I’m not-“ his voice trailed off, ashamed.

Taking a risk I knew could potentially endanger my life, I reached up to touch the hand he had pressed over my mouth. Curling my fingers over it, I attempted to pull it away. His brows tugged together in question, but he let me.

I’d gone from frightened, to feeling foolish for that fear, to bargaining for my life. The sequence of emotions had made me dizzy.

My voice quivering, the volume barely a whisper, I asked, “Will it be less violent if I cooperate?”

No wonder his last caretaker had fled, the man was devastating and terrifying at the same time. The shame alone was a cloak he wore, as obvious to the eye as his fight to remain civilized. I feared for my life to be alone with him, yet I had this compulsive need to reach out and tell him it would be okay. And while enduring the clash of those emotions, I cursed the odd heat between my legs. Something about him was so familiar, but I didn’t understand why.

“Oui .”

In my time with Vincent, I’d learned the meaning of that simple word. Swallowing down the knot that clogged my throat, I said, “Promise not to hurt me too badly, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Surprise. Frustration. Elation. Sorrow and shame. They all could be seen clearly in the shadows behind his gorgeous eyes. My heart hurt for him, despite only meeting him for the second time.