“I see. You were going purchase a woman from an auction and keep her for your own. That was your version of saving her.” Elie raised an eyebrow. “What about the other women? Weren’t some of them really young?”
Izan shrugged. “I couldn’t save them all. They weren’t my concern.”
Mariko slid out of the shadow directly behind Izan.
“That’s too bad, Izan,” Elie said. “I think all of those women should have been your concern. At the very least, you could have tried turning the Tosellis in to the cops in a different city. You knew enough to save at least one shipment of girls.”
Mariko caught the man’s head between her hands and wrenched. “Justice is served,” she whispered and then gently guided the body down to the lounge chair.
“These gloves are not the best,” Ricco complained. “We need to tell our cousin to go back to the originals. Either of you having a problem with them?”
Mariko inclined her head. “They make my hands itch.”
“Mine, too,” Elie said. “I was just thinking I couldn’t wait to get back to the plane so I could take them off.” He stepped into a shadow and streaked through the city toward the airport.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Brielle couldn’t help staring at her husband, admiring the way he looked as he padded so silently around the room, muscles rippling smoothly beneath his thin gray shirt with the darker pinstripes barely seen. He’d removed his suit jacket and tie and left them neatly hanging on the end of the staircase. It took her breath away just looking at him—just knowing he belonged to her.
Never, in a million years, had she believed Elie Archambault would fall in love with her. She never thought he would look at her with his dark eyes filled with passion, with lust, with such complete and utter love. Sometimes, she woke up in the middle of the night and just stared at him in absolute wonder, afraid if she blinked, he would disappear.
Elie must have felt her eyes on him because he glanced up from where he was leaning over the bar. His gaze drifted over her very possessively. That look he got always made a thousand butterflies take flight in the pit of her stomach. She found herself swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. Tears burned behind her eyes. Emotion welled up unexpectedly, threatening to overwhelm her just looking at him.
Elie insisted they celebrate their six-month anniversary. They’d gone to dinner at the most amazing restaurant and danced half the night away until he whispered that they needed to go home because he wanted to be alone with her. Six months. That time seemed to have rushed by with the same speed as traveling in shadows.
She loved her job working for Valentino and Dario, but she didn’t like that Elie had to work so much away from home. She knew riders were busy, working away from their own city, making it necessary for him to fly to New York or San Francisco or Los Angeles. One of the times, he had flown in the Ferraro jet back to Spain and brought back a thirteen-year-old boy. Dario and Val had gone with him. So had the Saldi lawyer. Brielle had done the necessary investigation on the boy and knew everything that could be found on him.
He’d been abandoned by his mother, or she’d been taken by traffickers, leaving him on the streets as early as four. That was the earliest Brielle could find of him. He’d been taken by the Toselli family to use as fodder in their street-fighting rings, forcing young boys to fight to the death. Large crowds bet on favorites. He’d surprised everyone by surviving. He’d been “rented” out occasionally, but the Tosellis liked him for their fight ring and kept him in it until he was twelve. Angel Toselli insisted he wanted him for himself and he took him at that point to his private residence. Most boys who went with Angel simply disappeared. The boy had been given different names over the years, but nobody knew his true name.
Dario and Valentino asked him his preference before they legally brought him into the country. The boy claimed he wanted his fight name. They called him Isandro, meaning liberator. He’d liberated others many times by giving them death. Elie had found her crying her eyes out after she’d finished her investigation of the boy. She cried even more when Valentino and Dario had gone to Elie after reading her report, closed themselves into a room with him for well over an hour and he came out looking as grim as they had, having agreed to allow them to share custody of the boy if the child decided to come to the States under their terms, which included counseling. She had a horrible feeling she knew why Elie was willing to entrust Isandro into the two men’s keeping. She couldn’t bear to think about that. As always, Elie had comforted her.
Brielle was certain she would never take having Elie for granted. Never. The fact that he saw to her care, and paid attention to how she was feeling at any given time, and wanted to hear her opinion, never failed to move her. She couldn’t see him any way but through the eyes of love—or like right now—mixing that with lust. Who wouldn’t lust after a man like Elie Archambault? Or be proud and happy that he was her husband?
Elie turned fully around, leaning back against the bar. The lights from the overhead chandelier sparkled down over the center of the expansive great room, catching the way his eyes devoured her. Her heart accelerated. Blood rushed through her veins, so hot. So needy. Her breathing turned ragged. Her lungs burned for air. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t touched her yet. He’d barely looked at her.
Outside, darkness enveloped the house, enclosing it like a soft blanket. Brielle could hear the relentless slap of the water at the shore. She stood just inside the front door, where he asked her to wait while he lit candles. She knew he liked candles. He had surprises waiting for her. She liked his surprises.
Elie turned back to the bar and pulled one of his many jewelry boxes out from behind it and set it on the top of the bar. Immediately, her heart accelerated even more. His jewelry was never like anyone else’s. From his phone, he turned off all lights so that only the candles glowed and flickered. He’d lit so many, she feared he might set the house on fire, until she realized half of them weren’t real.
He came to her the way he did, stalking her like a panther, which only added to the growing hunger and excitement in her. Elie never seemed to run out of romantic ideas or playful ones. She didn’t yet know which this was. The fact that he kept her off-balance only added to the excitement.
Elie came right to her, framed her face with both hands and kissed her. At once she found herself drowning in him. The moment she opened her mouth to his, her brain seemed to switch off and she floated in her wonderful Elie fog, giving herself to him. She wore a long gown and he slipped his hands to the back of the neck where it hooked and then slowly peeled down the zipper, all the while kissing her. She wasn’t wearing a bra; the dress had one built in and her full breasts jutted toward him, her nipples already standing out.
“Step out, bébé,” he whispered against her lips.
She obeyed him, the way she always did when he was kissing her. He kissed like a dream. His hands moved over her back, down the curve of her bottom. Rubbing. Kneading. He made her feel sexy when he pressed her tight against his front and she felt his hard cock, full, already in need of her.
“Did you wear your anniversary panties? The ones I laid out for you?” He kissed his way down her chin, then nipped at her.
Her heart seemed to contract. “Yes, of course.” It was the only thing he’d asked her to wear. The panties were crotchless. Her stockings and garter made her feel sexy and she knew he loved them, so she’d chosen them along with her long dress and high heels.
He took her hand and led her across the room toward her favorite spot, the cozy circle of extremely comfortable chairs, four of them. The conversation area was in the corner between two banks of windows to catch sun or moonlight. The chairs, as a rule, were normally grouped around a single drum-shaped coffee table, but the coffee table was missing. The coffee table, like the chairs, was usually on the hardwood floor. Instead, there was a mat down and on the mat was a machine.
Brielle moistened her lips. She’d never seen one like it before and it looked dangerous and wicked at the same time.
“I bought you a six-month anniversary gift, mon petit jouet très sale.”
His dirty little sex toy. She loved when she could be his dirty little sex toy. She waited while he opened the jeweler’s box and took out a very thick, extremely wide collar made of heavy-duty saddle leather. She could see it was padded, but it still looked wicked. There were two buckles in the back and several 3-D ring loops to enable restraint.