Wishing Well(8)
“Let’s start with what you did to her in that alleyway,” she argued, “when you grabbed her ankle. When you hurt her, and laughed about it.”
Slowly, he blinked, his bedroom eyes heavy, his stare unwavering. “Did she write that? Did she remember the first time I took pleasure in her pain? It was just a small test, so tiny that I wasn’t sure she’d noticed it at all. In fact,” he proposed, his fingers flaring out in a dramatic sweep, “I would have assumed she didn’t notice.”
Leaning closer, he lowered his voice impossibly deeper, “What kind of woman would be hurt by a stranger and still follow him to his home?”
When Meadow didn’t answer, when her anger was so thick that she couldn’t formulate one word in defense, he leaned away, making himself comfortable before guessing, “A woman who enjoys torment. That’s who. Penelope had a secret she kept hidden. I would say not even you knew of her need for pain, but then you’ve already admitted your twin and yourself are one in the same.”
The teasing hint of wicked pleasure laced his words. “Tell me, Meadow, would you have followed me as well?”
“No,” she answered succinctly, “but Penny was desperate wasn’t she? She was homeless, starving, stuck outside in the cold rain with no clothes but those she wore, and no hope of escape from the life she’d fallen into. She was the perfect target for a viper like you, a girl who couldn’t say no.”
His lips curled. “They can always say no, Chérie . The difference in this case is that she didn’t want to.”
Matching his grin, Meadow said, “My name is Meadow. You can refer to me as such.”
“Is it?” He retorted, the question rolling from his lips with affection. “You’ll have to excuse me, sometimes terms of endearment tend to slip. You remind me so much of Penelope - like a mirror, really, only without the pain I remember in her eyes.”
Her gaze traced the line of his lips, her hands clenching into fists over the surface of the table. Pulling them into her lap so as to keep Vincent from easily spotting the visible signs of what she was feeling, she relaxed in her seat, made it appear as if she were unaffected, even while her heart hammered and her pulse fluttered just beneath her skin. “Let’s talk about the second lie you’ve told. Specifically, émilie.”
Vincent’s brows arched just enough for her to know she’d regained his attention.
“You claimed that she merely approached you in the hall when you first walked Penny into the building, but Penny wrote that it occurred differently. What she saw in the greeting between the two of you led her to believe you were involved romantically, that she had nothing to worry about because your sights were set on somebody else. At the time, I’m sure Penny believed the encounter meant nothing, but knowing what I now know, having dissected this story every day of my life since I received her diary, I believe that encounter was calculated, that your behavior with émilie was intentional. From the beginning, you were attempting to delude my sister into believing you were safe, that you were merely a benevolent employer who wished to help a stray girl off the streets.”
He was regal, this man, truly intoxicating, regardless of whether he made the effort. Even at that moment, Meadow found herself looking away as if to break some secretive spell he’d weaved around her, needed to distance herself in order not to feel like she was a moon orbiting his space. She knew women flocked to him, knew that even some men had been unable to deny the lure Vincent cast. Memories like film reels played in her head, the words of the diary whispering across her thoughts.
Taking his time, Vincent ran his eyes along the line of her jaw, dropped them lower to follow the length of her neck, to sweep them over the curve of her shoulder. Tender and provocative, just his gaze was a lover’s touch, fingertips teasing the skin, a warm breath drawing goosebumps from her body.
“émilie was too easy, you see? I’d hired her straight from the Parisian streets, had taken pity on her desire to travel despite her mother’s illicit choice of profession and dreary lack of funds. She told me her mother had died and left her nothing except the knowledge of how to seduce a man. I believed she’d be a perfect asset in the lounge, a touch of home that would appeal to the patrons who adored Wishing Well for its flavor.”
“As I recall reading, émilie didn’t fair too well either. At least, not for long. What happened to her, Vincent? What became of the buxom blonde that could pull all the money from a man’s pocket and have him thank her for the theft?”
His gaze never faltered. “How should I know? As far as I’m aware, she took off once I had a new interest. Jealousy is such an ugly affair. It makes people crazy, does it not?”
“Weren’t you convicted of émilie’s murder?”
Vincent grinned, “We’ll get to that. You’re skipping ahead.”
Crooking a brow, Meadow grinned. “So you hire this woman, bring her all the way to your hotel, and what? Sample her before tossing her to the wolves?”
Seconds passed silently between them. “I believe I need to remind you of what little time we have together. While you discuss women of little importance, the clock ticks. We should return to my story with Penelope. I’m curious as to what she wrote of our first encounter. Will you tell me?”
Confused, Meadow scrunched her brow, hated that she’d made the error of dropping her mask of superiority, of having lost being the person with a foot one step farther ahead. Now he knew that he’d surprised her, that he’d caught her off guard. “You didn’t read the diary?”