She left the office, and seconds later she left the house. Ian’s limo was waiting outside the door, the driver opening the door for her with instructions that he was to take her to her hotel. It beat a cab.
She stepped into the luxurious vehicle and breathed out a trembling sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. Seconds later, she was heading to her hotel, alone.
As alone as she had ever been, and hating it more than she ever had.
6
“Ya know, you’re the dumbest bastard I think I’ve ever seen.” Chase stepped out from behind Cam, watching the limo, as it drove through the gates, leaving the Sinclair estate and taking beautiful Jaci Wright away.
Chase had heard their conversation. It was his job to tape it and to secure the disc the recording was on. He doubted either of them were aware of what the disc revealed, though. A male and female, each eating the other with their eyes, hunger and torment reflected in their gazes.
Their expressions had shown a variety of emotions. Cool hauteur, cold arrogance, irritation, mockery, and pure anger. It was amusing to watch, but the eyes hadn’t changed.
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Cam muttered, and Chase almost laughed at the irritation in his brother’s voice. There were few things that could piss Cam off anymore, but from the moment they had first begun Jaci’s file, Cam had seethed with possessive male fury.
“The worst thing we can do is leave her alone.” Chase rocked back on his heels and watched as the limo drove out of sight. “Since you’re determined to hold back as you always do, though, maybe I could just continue the seduction myself. You obviously have no clue.”
Cam felt his teeth grit at the thought. Jaci’s expression when she realized she had slammed into him had pierced his soul like an arrow. Her wide eyes as innocent, as filled with pain, as they had been seven years ago, had stared back at him for one, unguarded moment. Arousal and pain and the memory of the pleasure that had bound them the night before reflected from them.
“Let her go for tonight,” he ordered his brother, an unfamiliar spike of possessiveness resounding through him.
“Women like Jaci shouldn’t be given too much time to think,” Chase told him. “They get odd ideas, start thinking about protecting their hearts, and off they run. She’s ready to run.”
“She’s not going anywhere.” He would see to it.
“I don’t know, Cam . . .”
“I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t need Chase for this. Jaci was his fight and his alone.
“Like you did in Oklahoma? Like you did last night and this morning?” Chase questioned with amused condescension in his voice.
“I said I’ll take care of it.” Cam turned on him, barely restraining the anger burning inside him.
Chase smiled back at him. Cam could see his amusement, the fact that his anger didn’t faze him. Not a lot fazed Chase. He rolled with whatever life threw at him, and he did it with the flash of that knowing smile—the same one he was flashing Cam now.
“Maybe that’s what I’m scared of, baby brother, the way you take care of things.” Chase chuckled. “But I’ll let you f**k up first. Piss her off real good, okay? Maybe she’ll be receptive to me the next time I offer to take her home.”
That really shouldn’t have angered him, but it did. Cam turned quickly, his eyes narrowing on the driveway as Chase headed back into the mansion. His brother was perfectly serious, and Cam knew it. Seven years ago, he had wanted Jaci with the same hunger that Cam had. But Chase hadn’t known the same emotions, emotions Cam still tried to hide.
It was Cam she had wanted, though. And Cam had wanted her with a force that he hadn’t known before or since—a force that unleashed all the possessive and dominant traits he’d never had a problem holding back before.
“Matthew?”
“Yes, Mr. Falladay?” Matthew stepped from inside the house.
“Have one of the boys bring the Harley around. And please inform Mr. Sinclair I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Yes, Mr. Falladay.”
Long minutes later, one of the houseboys Ian employed to keep the grounds cleared and under control rode the Harley out of the back garage with a wide grin.
“Here you go, sir.” He pushed the kickstand down with reverence and swung off the cycle. “She’s all gassed up and everything. I took care of her this morning when you came in.”
The wicked, black, customized Harley was the pride and joy of every maintenance worker on the estate. Ian really needed to get his own for his employees to lust over.
“Thanks, Danny.” Cam straddled the seat, raised the kickstand, and engaged the powerful motor. Seconds later, he was speeding toward Alexandria and the woman that thought she had gotten away.
Jaci entered her suite with a sigh of relief, kicked off her pumps, and stared around the elegantly appointed hotel sitting room.
The ever-present vase of flowers were on the desk. Fresh, of course. The minibar was fully stocked, the refrigerator filled with a variety of goodies, all at Ian Sinclair’s expense—part of her fee for the interior design of the mansion that he would no longer be calling home, but would instead be turning over to his club.
Good Lord, she hadn’t heard even a breath of rumor attached to him. Well, perhaps a breath—several years ago, by a wife involved in a very nasty divorce—but it had been quickly silenced. Now she knew why. If it carried half the power Cam had warned her it did, then it was legion. Legendary. Probably dangerous.
She should call Ian Sinclair right now and say thanks but no thanks, return his deposit, and return to Oklahoma to lick her wounds and find another career.
She moved across the room to the bar. It was only a little after noon, but the glass of wine was much needed. Something to settle her nerves and give her a chance to think. She really needed a chance to consider this.
No wonder Cam and Chase were here. Considering their sexual tastes, there was probably no keeping them away. She sipped at the wine before curling into the corner of the fluffy, comfortable couch, where she tried to consider her options. But all she could see was Cam’s face. His eyes. The vicious scar that marred one side of his face.
What had happened to him? She knew they occasionally kept in touch with her parents, surely they would have told her if they had known Cam had been hurt.
Or would they have? Her father had been waiting up when Cam brought her home that night, seven years before. He had taken one look at her face and the man’s shirt she wore, and had known. He hadn’t said a word. He had wrapped his arms around her, patted her back, and then let her escape, as she had needed to.