Thirty Nights with a Dirty Boy: Part 3: A Heroes and Heartbreakers Serial (9 page)

“You do enjoy the movie.”

“I enjoy Tom Hiddleston.”

Paul chuckled. “Well, he is part of the movie.”

He patted my shoulder as we neared the steps. I reached the door first and looked back at him as I opened it. “I used to think about moving here, you know. Leaving Nora’s house. It’s so big and…”

Music drifted to my ears.

Something haunting and beautiful, achingly so. It was enough to bring a knot to my throat, just in those few seconds I paused here, listening. Confused.

Peering into the house, I blinked, not quite certain what I was looking at.

The lights were dim.

Paul went to tug me back. “Miss Ella…”

I shook my head, trying to push inside.

He was persistent, though, and I ended up trailing in behind him.

We both stopped in the middle of the floor.

There was a bottle of champagne on the coffee table, and I stared at the realtors who were sitting on my couch, chatting as if they were at a cocktail party. They even had flutes of champagne in their hands.

“What’s this?” I asked.

Sheila gave me a slow smile. “Your appointment is waiting for you on the balcony.”

She gestured, and I looked over, saw a ribbon of rose petals streaming up the stairs in a carpet of red.

They weren’t like any roses I’d ever seen, though.

The petals were lushly, deeply red—so dark a red, the edges of the petals were black. Their perfume hung in the air. Slowly, I walked over to the stairs and knelt down, touching one.

“Ms. Heston, Ms. Franklin.” Sheila Heston and Amy Franklin, my realtor, both looked at Paul expectantly. He glanced over at me. I was aware of his look, yes, but I was still rubbing the velvety softness of the rose petal between my fingers. “Just what is going on?”

“Paul.” Sheila rose from the couch. “Why don’t you and I go get a cup of coffee? I understand you had a long drive today.”

“But—”

“Paul. It’s all right.” Amy smiled at him. Her mother had worked with Nora for years before Amy had taken over the realtor business her mother had established. Still, when I finally tore my gaze away from the roses to look at him, I saw the frown on his face.

“I’m fine, Paul.” Then I started up the stairs. I still held one rose petal in my hand. As I crushed others under my feet, their scent became stronger in the air.

The music was louder up here. Louder, but not overpowering.

At the top of the stairs, positioned precisely in the middle of the Queen Anne table there, sat a silver flute. It was full of bubbly champagne. Frowning at it, I almost walked past, but then I saw the note.

For you, Your Highness.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Sean.”

Nerves had me grabbing the champagne and tossing it back recklessly. My head started to spin almost immediately. I hadn’t had breakfast that morning—there was no way I could risk it when I was going to deal with Evelyn Lyle. But champagne and an empty stomach were a bad mix.

That didn’t keep me from sipping on the rest of it as I continued down the hall toward the large room that opened out onto the balcony.

I froze just inside the door.

All the furniture had been cleared away, and from somewhere he’d found a small, round table. On it, were two place settings. More of those lovely black-red rose petals dusted the table’s surface, so dark against the ivory tablecloth. The dishes were just a few shades darker than the linen, and the flatware gleamed the same shining silver as the champagne flute I clutched like a lifeline.

My eyes darted around the room, and I saw the serving cart with its covered dishes tucked off to the side. Hesitant, I lingered there.

Where was Sean?

A voice came from behind me.

“I told ya once, I think, that if ya put me in a kitchen, I could surprise the hell out of you.”

I spun around.

Champagne spilled from the glass, and I yelped in surprise as the icy cold splattered across my hand and down my front.

Sean reached up, steadying my hand.

His eyes, the gray irises as cool and remote as always, bore into mine.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice shaking.

A faint smile curled his lips. “It’s lunch,” he replied. “I never did have a chance to cook a real meal for ya, now did I?”

Something that might have been anger sputtered to life inside me.

His hand fell away. I jerked back from him and guzzled the rest of the champagne. Spying the bucket chilling on the sideboard, I stalked over and poured more. “I think the time for seduction and candlelit meals is over. You got the one million I promised for that last … shag.”

I said it with all the bitterness that had been building inside me. I had too many emotions when it came to him. I couldn’t contain them all, couldn’t define them all.

I loved him.

I wanted him.

I was grateful to him.

I was angry with him.

I was bitter …

Tossing back half the champagne I’d just poured, I stared at the wall in front of me.

“I’m retired, Your Highness. In case you hadn’t heard.”

“Retired?” Laughing, I looked back at him. “Was that other night your going-away performance?”

He reached up, dragging a thumb down his jaw as he studied me. “You’re in quite the temper today, Your Highness.”

“Oh, you have
no
idea.” Flinging a hand around, I demanded, “What is this? I thought I was coming here to see a potential buyer. I want to get this place sold and off my hands, so I can—”

“Leave.” He cut me off, walking toward me in a sinuous display of pure male beauty. He wore a shirt the same shade as his eyes, and the silvery material rippled and slid against his muscles in a way that drew my gaze to his chest and shoulders. Black leather pants outlined his legs, and I thought that if he got too close, I just might lunge for him. “You want to sell this place—
our
place—so you can
leave.
”

Our
place.

He thought of it the same way I did.

The idea grabbed me by the throat and threatened to shatter the walls that were currently holding me upright. “It’s not
our
—”

He reached up and cupped my chin. His thumb pressed to my lips as he lowered his mouth to my ear. “You want to sell our place. You want to leave … me.”

Pain sliced through me. If my heart had fallen out onto the floor, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. I shoved against him. The rest of the champagne I’d poured spilled onto us both. He didn’t move, other than to take the flute away and put it down.

“How can I
leave
you?” I demanded. “That would imply you ever
wanted
me to begin with.”

His lips slid down my neck, back up. As his teeth closed over my earlobe, a shudder racked my body. “Oh, Ella. I don’t think you quite understand just
what
I feel … but you will.”

He eased away from me, and I braced myself. Or I tried. It wasn’t possible to really be ready for the sheer, overwhelming sensuality that was Sean Lachlan, but I had to try, right?

Yet all he did was hold out his hand.

Confused, I looked down.

He continued to wait, patient.

Uncertain, I placed my hand in his.

He guided me over to the table and pulled out the chair. Did he really plan on having me eat
lunch?

Was he insane? It was a real possibility, I decided, one I had to consider as he turned away from the table and moved toward the cart.

“During the day, the strangest things make me think of you,” he said, his voice soft. “It’s been that way since the night I saw you sitting at the bar in Tilt Stop. You were so cool and aloft, like a stone angel perched in the rafters of an old church.”

“What an image,” I muttered.

“Ever seen one of those angels, Ella? Works of art. Beautiful and remote, serene, patient … sad.”

I flicked a look at him.

He placed a covered dish in front of me, then removed the silver lid.

Steam escaped, along with the rich, tantalizing aroma of herbs and the mouthwatering scent of pasta. I stared at a bubbling slice of lasagna, and my belly growled.

“Hungry, are you? Good.” He slanted a look at me, that frost-edged gaze. “I hear a woman laughing, and it’s your laugh I hear, Your Highness. I see a woman with lovely dark hair, and I think about seeing yours spread out on my pillow. You went and did terrible things to me, Ella. You can’t quite begin to imagine how awful.”

He lifted his eyes and stared at me, gaze penetrating, as though he was trying pierce the very bottom of my soul. “Do you know what you’ve done to me, Your Highness?”

Mute, I lowered my eyes back to the table.

Sean sighed and went back to the business of serving up lunch. It was quite a lunch, I had to admit. I was starving, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to eat. My stomach was twisted into knots, and my throat felt like it was half the size of normal. As he brought out a salad and hot, yeasty bread from somewhere, I looked longingly over at the champagne.

“Not going to happen, love. I want you clearheaded.”

I gave him a waspish look.

He just laughed.

“You don’t seem to want to talk to me now.” He took the seat across from me. There was a wet mark on his shirt from where the champagne had splattered. I focused on it instead of his face. “I guess I can’t blame you, now can I? You had things to say to me the last few times we talked, and that final time … well, I was something of an arse, wasn’t I?”

“Ya think?” Was that voice really mine? That cold, biting voice?

Sean grinned at me, clearly unfazed. “I always knew you had teeth, Your Highness. Go ahead. Bite me. I deserve it.”

His words didn’t bring to mind the image he probably intended. I looked away from him, focusing on the table. There was a glass of ice water and I grabbed it, downing half of it in just seconds.

“Did you ever wonder, love? Why I did it?”

When he didn’t elaborate, I glanced up at him. He used his fork to slice into the lasagna. He took a bite and continued to watch me. He could outwait me. I had no doubt about that. Irritated, I cut off a slice of bread and bit into it. It was yeasty and perfect, and I almost groaned. My mouth watered for more.

Then I made the mistake of looking up. I think I meant to tell him the bread was excellent.

And he was still watching me.

Still waiting.

“Do what?” I snapped.

“Be a whore, of course,” he said, his voice so matter-of-fact, it was like the question should have been obvious.

“What is all of this?” I stared at him. “You trick me into coming here, you make lunch … for what?”

“Now, now … Ella, this is that favor I told you I wanted. I need you to sit … just … sit, and listen.” He winced. “I know it’s not fair, see, because I didn’t listen to you very well, but I don’t trust people. You, beautiful Ella, for all that’s been done to you, I think you trust people—look for the good in them. I just look for the bad. But I need you to listen to me.”

I should have gotten up and walked away.

Sean leaned back in his chair, clearly waiting for me to do just that.

But …

Damn it. I’d agreed to the damn favor. Whether I’d planned to or not.

“Fine.” Sourly, I shot him a look. “Yeah, I’ve wondered. It’s not like it mattered. I figured it had … well, Darla. But yeah, I wondered.”

“Naw, it wasn’t Darla. I didn’t even know about her the first time I took money from a woman. I left home because of my mum.” He cocked a brow at me. “I don’t think she was quite in the same league as your mum, but trust me, she wasn’t about to win a prize for mother of the year, either.”

He shrugged and lifted his glass of water to his lips, took a sip. “She hadn’t had Darla. Never would have left if there was a little girl, not after what she’d tried to do w’ me.”

Horror started to dawn in the back of my mind, and it hit me.

He’d never seemed surprised by what my parents had done. Not really. Disgusted and outraged, yes. But surprised? No. It takes a special sort of mindset not to be surprised. The mindset of a person who has experienced something just as awful.

“What did she try to do?” I asked, my voice hollow.

“My mother was a whore herself.” He said the words flatly, with absolutely no emotion. “I was twelve when I first heard her talking to one of the men she ran with—might have been one of her johns or just somebody she knew. I don’t know, don’t even care.”

Sean shrugged like it was just an accepted fact of life. I realized that for him, it was. He’d come to grips with what had happened, whatever
it
was.

“I was always a pretty boy—people told me that plenty. There was this one miserable sod…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “He told me he’d give me some quid if I helped him get some work done ’round his house. Mum had already taught me to steal, and I was good at beggin’, too, but I didn’t mind actually workin’, see. So I said yes. I was ten. I get to his house, and everything’s dark and quiet. He offers me a drink, and I take it to be polite—fuck knows where I learned any manners. Not like Mum taught me any. But it tasted bad, and as soon as he turned away, I dumped it into this hideous houseplant and just pretended to drink the rest over the next minute. Asked for some water, too, claiming I was thirsty from the long walk.”

“He drugged you.”

“No.” Sean’s smile was grim. “He
tried.
If I’d drank the whole bloody thing? Aye, he would have drugged me, and when he decided to grab my penis, I might not have thought much of it.” His eyes narrowed. “But I wasn’t drugged, and he wasn’t the first man I’d had looking at me. I practically lived in a pub, thanks to Mum, and when I wasn’t in a pub, I was on the streets. I knew what he was after. There was a knife on the table—it was teatime, and he had fresh bread. I grabbed it and stabbed him in the hand.”

He glanced at my plate. “I guess I shouldn’t have started this conversation over lunch.”

My throat, already tight, tried to close up entirely with all the emotion in me.

“I made the fool mistake of tellin’ my mother,” Sean said. “She asked me why there was blood on me, and instead of lying and sayin’ I cut meself, I told her what happened. D’ya think she was mad?”