He lets out a puff of laughter. It’s a laughter of disbelief. And it’s as condescending as could be. The hollows of his cheeks start pulsing, his stare hard and unforgiving. I wonder what comes next, but before I can start hedging my bets, he seizes my hand and starts pulling me toward the opera house.
“What are you doing?” I ask, unable to pry my hand from his vise grip. “James!” He continues to ignore me, pulling me, my feet moving fast to keep up with him. “James, let go of me.”
He yanks the door open and pulls me through. The foyer is quieter now, only a few people milling around, everyone having taken their seats. I’m more than happy about that, but not so much about being manhandled into the building.
“Sir,” an usher says, approaching, his eyes flicking to me. “Can I help?” I can hear the sounds of a tenor in the distance.
James goes to his inside pocket and pulls out some papers, virtually slapping them in the man’s hand. “Which way?”
The usher looks down at the tickets. “A box?”
“Yes, a box. Which way?”
He points to the elevators on the other side of the foyer. “Top level. Farthest on the left.” His eyes fall onto me again, and then to my hand being squeezed by James’s. “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks, flicking a nervous look to my rattled companion.
“I’m fi—”
“She’s fine,” James grunts, snatching the tickets back and pulling me on. When we reach the elevator, we’re escorted to the top level, and then to the very end. “Thank you,” James says, sending the usher on his way as he opens the door to the box. “Inside, Beau,” he orders, releasing my hand. I flex my wrist, pushing back the emotion clogging my throat.
And I step inside.
35
JAMES
My phone vibrates, and the timing is fucking shit. I take a quick look. I don’t need to open the message. What I can see of the preview tells me everything.
I found a record from 2 yrs ago at the Mid Bank for a safety deposit box under the name Dolly Daydream.
I stuff my phone in my pocket; this news is a bombshell to be dealt with another time. There’s a safety deposit box. Does Beau know about it? And what the fuck is in it?
Fucking hell.
I don’t give her a chance to appreciate the unrivaled view of the stage. No chance to absorb the exquisite sound of the orchestra. I push her into a chair and fall to my knees in front of her. I need her back with me. In every sense. Especially after that fucking shock of a message.
My palms land on her knees, and I stare at her as I slide her dress up until its gathered around her thighs.
“What are you doing?” she whispers hoarsely, despite there being no chance of being heard over the overture—a dramatic instrumental of the theme from Phantom of the Opera. Her fingers claw into the plush velvet arms of the chair, her body pushing back. No escape. She doesn’t really want to escape. She stepped into this box of her own freewill.
She glares at me, and if I didn’t know better, I would say she hated me. She should. And I hate myself for not wanting her to. “James.”
“Shut up, Beau.” I take her knickers and start dragging them down her thighs. “We’ve done enough talking tonight.” Way too much talking, and it’s my fucking fault.
She reaches for my hands to push me off, and I instinctively flick her away with ease. She grits her teeth, anger rampant on her face. And she tries again to push me off. She’s just being stubborn. Trying to gain some control. I rise to my knees, pushing my front forward, bringing my face close to hers. The smell of her, the sweet, fruity gorgeous, uncontaminated smell of her hits me like a ton of bricks. “Stop it.”
“You stop it,” she breathes.
“Why?”
Her nostrils flare. She can’t claim our location is making her uneasy. It’s simply my earlier statement making her question everything now. But she was a total fool assuming she could maintain immunity. And I was a fool for ever thinking I could. I feel like I want her to know everything there is to know about me. Every dirty, disgusting, illegal, immoral detail.
I lift each of her feet in turn and slip her knickers off, holding them in the air before her. Then I flick my wrist, and her underwear disappears over the side of the balcony. Beau’s mouth falls open. I remain impassive.
Don’t underestimate me, Beau. Never do that.
I pull a pair of cuffs out of my pocket and get to my feet, wandering casually and slowly around the back of her chair.
I take her arms.
Pull them behind the chair.
Snap the cuffs over her wrists.