“Bullshit. You took my mother back to her room. What happened then?”
“Nothing.”
I curl my fingers around her fragile jaw and guide her eyes to mine. “What happened?”
Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Nothing happened. We ran into Nell at the elevator, and both of us helped your mother to bed.”
“And where exactly was Nell when my mother entered the masquerade without any clothes?”
“She took a smoke break.”
“How convenient. And how is my mother now?”
Eyes hidden beneath the long dark lashes, she nibbles on her bottom lip that I want to take between my teeth while I hold her pinned to the floor. Something was exchanged between her and Nell, this much is obvious to me. Earlier in the night, she practically begged me to fuck her, and now, she can’t even look at me. “Why didn’t you ask me about her right away?”
“You think I’m cold, and that I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m just trying to understand, is all.”
“Understand this.” I tip my head to gain her attention, and when she meets my gaze with those puppy dog eyes, it takes an incredible amount of control not to act on my desires. “There are few that I trust as a general rule. But I knew she was in good hands with you.”
A flicker of a smile dances across her face, but I’m not sure I’ve broken down whatever shield she managed to construct in the last couple of hours. Still grasping her jaw, I lean forward and take those lips, setting my other hand to the crown of her head as I tilt her chin up. The taste of mint toothpaste greets my tongue as I prod past her teeth.
I slide my hands down her back to her ass, and squeeze just enough to make her squeak against my lips. Traveling further down to her thighs, I lift her up, never breaking the kiss, while I wrap her legs around me and carry her around my desk. The chair catches me as I lower the two of us onto it. Reaching up her shirt, I run my hands over her belly, and up toward her breasts, while I devour the flavor that lingers on her lips.
Straddled over my thighs, she pushes against my chest, pulling her lips from mine, and breathes hard between us. Quiet for a moment, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry for this, but I have to know. I have to ask. What really happened to your son?”
As soon as the question tumbles out, my suspicions about Nell are confirmed. It isn’t the first time the woman has attempted to scare off one of the staff here with her little conspiracy theories. We let her off with a warning the last time, on the grounds that it’s not easy hiring help with the Blackthorne reputation looming over this place. She’s not the first to try and piece together what happened to my son, and won’t be the last, it seems, as much as I hoped otherwise with Isa.
With a light nudge, I back her off my thighs, and she clambers to her feet, standing before me.
“You want to know if I killed my son.”
“If I offended you, I didn’t mean ... I’m just trying to--“
“I want to show you something.” I lean forward and open the largest of three drawers on my desk. The moment I slide it out, the familiar pangs of agony punch at my chest. Held within, are pictures and drawings, a few crayons, and Roark’s favorite toys. The last remnants of my son that I gathered and stored away, keeping them for myself. I’ve never shown anyone my collection. Never gave a shit what anyone thought about me.
Isa kneels down beside the drawer and reaches in for a picture that I can’t bear to look at right now. He was two and a half years old, and my mother had snapped a picture of us, as I’d just tossed him into the air and caught him. Roark’s face was bunched with laughter, his tiny hands plastered at my cheeks as I held him up for a kiss.
“I’ll admit, I didn’t start out the best father. I hate myself every day for that. But he’s the only thing in this world that I learned how to love.” As if I’ve torn open an old wound, my chest aches with the admission, and I frown to keep the familiar anger from rising to the surface. I don’t owe her