Wishing Well(92)

And in that time, he’d become another person.

It made sense, finally, in how Vincent could have known for a fact that keeping Maurice away from the world had hindered his brother’s true potential. Vincent must have seen the changes in Maurice, must have known his brother had grown into a man as beautiful and strong as the one standing before me now.

So, instead of hiding behind false pretenses, instead of lying or exhibiting a strength I didn’t have, I abandoned the fake persona I’d kept for seven years and morphed back into the girl I’d been when I called myself Penny.

“I’ve missed you,” I confessed, exposing my heart, my soul, my weaknesses and injuries for him to do with as he pleased.

A bark of laughter shook his shoulders. “You lied to me. You ran from me. You never came back. And now you tell me you missed me?”

“How long have you known?”

“Two years,” he admitted, the shadow of anger rolling behind his eyes. “It wasn’t Vincent that figured it out. He only invited you to the interview because I asked him to. We didn’t know you had an identical twin, and even when we discovered it, we didn’t think it was your sister that died that night. But then you started your journalism career and I scoured the photos of you, watched the broadcasts, saw the subtle signs of who you were. Even twins don’t share all the same expressions, the same tells and body language. You might have been able to fool the rest of the world, but you couldn’t fool me. And I hated you for it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His lips crooked in challenge, his brow arching again. It was such a Vincent-esque expression that it should have been foreign on the face of Maurice. Pure masculine mischief was written into the glimmer of his eyes. “Make it up to me.”

“How?”

His lips crooked higher, his eyes darting suggestively toward the small, hidden alcove that was down the path from the well. Following his gaze, I shook my head in disbelief before returning my attention to the man who was now staring at me like I was his next conquest.

“You can’t be serious. Here? Now? Like this?”

He shrugged a disinterested shoulder. “Or not. Goodbye, Penelope.”

I watched helplessly as he turned to walk off, his stride powerful and assured. Panic tore at my heart with clawed fingers. “Wait!” I called out. Maurice turned to glance at me from over his shoulder.

Son of a bitch...He was just like his brother now.

“Fine,” I relented, trying to ignore how my heart swelled in my chest, how heat bloomed between my thighs.

Carnal satisfaction curled his lips. Following slowly behind me, Maurice stood at the opening to the alcove while I backed up against the stone wall. We were hidden from view by the flowering bushes, shielded from the bright sunlight by the tree branch that stretched lazily above our heads.

“Turn around,” he demanded, his voice a deep vibration against my senses.

Our eyes locked, and I would have accused him of challenging me to do something he had no intention to do if not for the dark heat behind his gaze. On shaky legs, I did as I was told, turning slowly to splay my palms against the wall and leave myself defenseless to whatever he desired.

He was on me before I could take another breath, his chest a wall of heat against my back, his hips so tight against my ass that there was no mistaken how serious he was about taking what had always been his.

Seven years later and I still belonged to him alone.

I trembled when the tip of his nose trailed the line of my neck, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in my scent.

There he is...the Maurice I remember.

His teeth locked on the lobe of my ear, one hand moving up to cover my mouth and mute my cry of surprise. And with the other hand, he fisted my skirt, lifting it to give him access to everything he wanted.

It was so easy to submit to him...so natural. The years, the pain, the lies and the tears had done nothing to dampen the love I had for him.

But, he did nothing, simply laughed and moved away.

Spinning, I narrowed my eyes on him, the first touch of anger edging my thoughts. “Where are you going?”

Sliding his hands in his pockets, he twisted around just enough to look at me. “Back to work. Where do you think? I’m a busy man now.”

Pulling my clothes into place, my forehead wrinkled with confusion. “But, you didn’t-“

“You didn’t deserve it,” he interrupted, amusement curling his lips. “But if you think that would fix everything, you have a lot to learn.”

“I thought you wanted me back? I thought-“

“You can come back. You’re always welcome here. But that doesn’t mean you won’t have to work to regain what we once had.”

“You can’t be serious, Maurice? How can I come back here? I have no home, no job. My entire life is in Germany.”

I was beginning to hate the way he so easily shrugged his shoulder as if to dismiss what I had to say. “There’s a room available on the fifth floor, and we have a position open in housekeeping, if I’m not mistaken. You’re welcome to both.”

My jaw fell open as he turned to walk away again, his stride satisfied and in no hurry as he wound his way up the path. My eyes flared open with anger, my teeth set in frustration with this impossible man. Chasing after him on shaky legs, I called out, “You can’t be serious! Are you seriously offering me a job in housekeeping? After everything that’s happened?”