“Is he alone?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. He told Henri that perhaps he’d written the wrong time for the appointment and he’d be happy to wait.”
“Appointment?” My gaze narrowed. “There was no fucking appointment.”
Ian nodded. “Yes, sir, Henri and I know that.”
Taking a deep breath, I turned and took one more look at the closed door before resuming eye contact with my trusted associate. “Emma is your responsibility, Ian. No one gets near her. I promised her a computer. Have one brought up, one without internet access. I’m also ready to have more clothes brought up.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to move her to the other—?”
With the pressing of my lips together and slight shake of my head, I stopped Ian’s question midsentence. Ian Knolls had been at my side since the night I took my father’s and Isaiah Boudreau’s lives. He’d been a significant member of my trusted circle before that night, helping me carry out the plan that landed New Orleans at my feet.
Over the years, Ian had been well compensated for his fealty. He has had responsibilities that from the outside appeared grander and more significant than watching a door to a third-floor suite. The thing was that at this moment, nothing was more important than Emma North. Ian had been the one to oversee her surveillance in Pittsburgh when I couldn’t. Keeping her safe here was less problematic and more imperative by the day.
I trusted Ian with my life; therefore, he was the man to trust with Emma’s.
I responded to Ian’s unfinished comment. “I’m not saying to bring up everything.” I had a vision of Emma’s magnificent blue eyes looking up at the sunlight. “She isn’t ready for that. Have Miss Guidry help with the selection. Let her choose a few items she believes Emma will need for...” —I thought about a time period— “say, the next week. Include dresses for dining.”
Ian’s eyebrows came together. “Sir, it’s your decision, but I have to ask. Do you plan to take her out of the house after what happened last night?”
Few people were given the luxury of questioning me. I was in charge. My decisions were mine for a reason. Ian was on the short list of people who I would answer. “No, I’m not talking about a stroll down Bourbon Street. I have a fucking mansion here that has sat mostly unused for too long.” While I’ve kept it maintained, it has stayed quiet and unused since my mother passed away. “Tonight, Emma and I will dine in the courtyard. Maybe tomorrow will be in the grand dining hall.” I kept my voice low. “The variety will give her something and someplace other than in that suite until the entire world is an option.”
“There is another option to leaving her in there.” Ian tilted his head toward the door. “The other...” This time he wisely didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he said, “Very well.”
“No one but you enters her suite.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Taking a deep breath, I turned toward the staircase. With each step, my focus made the effort to shift from the beautiful woman I’d left behind to the business downstairs. It would be nice to say it was an easy transition, a flip of a switch and Emma North was forgotten and Richard Michelson’s reason for a visit consumed my thoughts. However, as I set off on the most direct path to my front office, I wasn’t thinking about the prosecutor.
As I descended the stairs taking me from the third floor to the second, my thoughts were filled with the woman I’d left upstairs. One look at the golden sconces and I saw Emma’s golden hair. The light shining within reminded me of her smile as the sun beamed down on her cheeks. My footsteps down the hallway and the creaks of this old house disappeared as memories of her moans as I tasted her sweet essence came back.
In my lifetime, I’d had numerous successful endeavors. From a young age, I found the most pleasure came before the acquisition. I enjoyed strategizing every possible outcome and planning for the hunt. There was a rush of adrenaline as the chase pursued, similar to that during a well-played game of chess. Plotting the demise of enemies and working to restructure the hierarchy of New Orleans dominated my thoughts as sleep was left at bay. No matter where I set my mind, I became obsessed with the preparation and details of the hunt and seizure.
In most cases, once a target was obtained, its value decreased and my attention waned.
Less than twenty-four hours of having Emma North under my roof, I found my fascination with her had increased, not decreased. Physically, she was mine. I told her she wasn’t a captive, but technically, we both knew the truth.
While keeping her safe from outside forces, I’d facilitated the definition of captivity.
Emma North was mine.
Physically.
I would have her—all of her.
There wouldn’t be a centimeter of her soft skin that I didn’t touch. She would offer herself willingly to me as I pushed her to find pleasure in my desires. I had known that truth since I first learned of her existence.
Nothing about a physical relationship was up for debate. Even Emma knew that.
I had told her that there would be pain as well as pleasure. I can only imagine what she thought I meant. While I had no issue with providing corporal punishment, that wasn’t what I’d meant. The pain would come from within, her internal struggles and conflicts—battles Emma had before her.
That began today and it fascinated me. As I observed the moments when she battled with her own inner conflict, as her eyes swirled with uncertainty of whether she would comply with my one rule, I had the unusual realization that the hunt for Emma wasn’t over.
Having her physically present was supposed to be enough.
It wasn’t.