Dragon's Lair (8 page)

“The Beretta.”

How could he stand there and act as if he wasn't bothered in the least by what had just happened? She sat down and forced herself to fake a calm she didn't feel.

There was no point lying about it. As he'd warned her, if she didn't just tell him, he'd find out himself. “While Jack was in jail, he called a couple of times threatening to get even with me for testifying against him, so I learned how to use a gun just in case. The gun-club instructor said the Beretta was pretty accurate and it was small enough to fit my grip. I figured it'd be easy for me to handle.”

“Small isn't necessarily easy to handle.”

“I figured it'd be easier to handle than, say—a tank.”

Braeden crossed to the glass doors. “Jack is out of jail?”

“Yes, he called yesterday morning before I left for work, promising to show up at the museum.” She'd started the day out thinking her only worry would be Jack, so she'd slipped the gun into her jacket pocket.

“Did he?”

“Thankfully, no.”

Without turning around, Braeden asked, “Did you kill the man you shot?”

Kill him? Just the thought made Alexia feel ill. “No, I couldn't do that. I just winged his arm.”

“So he's still out there.”

It wasn't a question, so she didn't answer. But he was right. The men were still out there.

“Would you recognize him?”

“No. They all wore face masks.”

Braeden muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse before turning away from the view.

He pointed toward a hallway to his right—the opposite direction of his bedroom. “There's another bedroom with a master bath that way.”

Completely businesslike, he nodded toward what looked like a wet bar. She could see the kitchen beyond it from where she sat. “There's a dining room and laundry room at the rear of the kitchen.”

“The den is there.” He pointed at the French doors at the front left of the living room.

She'd come to him for help, for protection, not to play house. “There aren't any other rooms available?”

“Of course there are. There are 220, to be exact.”

“Then—”

He stepped in front of her. “No. You'll stay here.”

“In your suite?”

“Yes.”

The idea terrified her, turned the blood in her veins cold. “Why?”

Without any trace of emotion, he said, “Because I don't trust you.”

“Am I your—prisoner, then?”

“No. This time when you decide to run away, instead of coming to me, I will be there to stop you.”

He's gotten too good at second-guessing her. “I didn't run away. I just left.”

Braeden turned and walked to the entry door. With his hand on the knob, he asked, “Who do you think your lies hurt more? Me? Or you?”

Before she could respond, the door slammed closed behind him.

“M
y lies?”

Braeden heard Alexia's furious shout through the closed door.

The door handle jiggled and he stopped, turned around and waited for her to barge into the hallway. A shouting match in the middle of the family's private floor would be the final straw to this already wasted day.

When the handle didn't turn, meaning she was too irate even to notice that she had to push the button to turn it, he took a step in the opposite direction—toward the elevators.

With any luck he could get out of the hallway before she figured out how to open the door. He wasn't escaping. He had a business to run, a resort to open. Cam wanted his input on the candidates for the chief-of-security position. He'd already put his brother off twice today.

Behind him, Alexia pounded on the door, shouting, “Damn you, Drake, get back here!”

At the same moment, Sean sauntered around the corner at the other end of the hallway. He'd obviously heard Alexia, because he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with an arrogant smirk on his lips and an amused gleam in his eye.

Ten or so years ago, Braeden would have wiped both the smirk and the gleam from Sean's face. If Sean wasn't careful, he still might.

Braeden turned back to his suite and thumped the door, giving Alexia warning that he was coming in. Again, instead of retrieving his key card, he just waved the door open.

It slammed against the inside wall hard enough to leave a dent in the drywall. And slammed again when he stepped into the suite and waved the door closed behind him.

Alexia wasted no time. She rushed at him, stuck out her hand and poked her index finger against his chest.

“Don't you dare slam a door in my face again!”

He grabbed her arms and pushed her away. “You don't want to do this.”

“I don't?” Alexia's voice raised half an octave. Her breathing was heavy and hard. “How dare you tell me what I do or don't want to do!”

“Alexia, don't.”

His softly spoken warning would have made a sane person think twice. It was apparent Alexia currently had no illusions of being sane. “Or what?” She stood toe to toe with him, glaring up at him. “What will you do, Braeden?”

She really didn't want an answer to that. Her eyes shimmered like sapphires against the flush of her face. Her chest heaved, and her lips parted with the force of her breathing.

What he wanted to do was kiss her until her breathing turned ragged with lust.

Braeden paused at the turn his thoughts had taken. Following that road would gain him nothing but trouble. And he had enough of that right now.

She poked him again. “Answer me.”

Oh, he had every intention of answering her—in his own time and in his own way. It was obvious she was going out of her way to make him angrier than he already was.

What sort of game was this? What benefit did she think to gain from making him totally lose his temper?

“Are you listening to me?” She raised her hand toward his arm.

Braeden stepped out of her reach. Since she wasn't going to let it go, he pulled out his cell phone and buzzed Cam. “We're going to have to put this off until morning.”

Cam laughed before saying, “I'm shocked.”

Braeden didn't bother to reply. He turned the phone off, tossed it onto the bar, then took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie while heading toward the bedroom.

“Don't you walk away from me.”

He stopped, but didn't turn. “Since you're so damn anxious to have a fight, I'm going to get out of these clothes first.”

“Oh, we have nothing to fight about. I'll just leave.”

At that he did turn around. But instead of going to Alexia, he made a show of snapping his fingers at the door. She started this. And this time she wasn't walking away. “Go ahead, try.”

She did, but after tugging at the door, yelled at him, “Why, you—”

Before slamming the bedroom door, he shouted back, “Hold that thought.”

Alexia stormed to the bar. She jerked open the small fridge beneath the counter. The selection included regular beer or light beer. She kicked the door closed.

What she wanted was a double shot of scotch. Anything that would help lessen the pure fury pounding in her head and chest.

But the scotch would only make her sick, and that wouldn't do much to improve her mood.

Why was she so livid? She poured a glass of water and stared at Braeden's bedroom door. Her rage only grew the longer it took him to reappear.

Three years ago she'd have backed down. But she was done backing down. This moment had been a long time coming. Years, to be precise.

She was tired of being called a liar. Whether he did so outright or in so many words, the accusation was there. And it stung more than she could say.

The sound of running water from his shower dragged a frustrated scream from her throat. If he thought taking his sweet time was going to calm her down, he was wrong.

It only fueled her desire for a good, old-fashioned argument. The kind they'd never had. She snorted and raised the glass of water toward his room in a mock salute before leaning her elbows on the countertop. This time neither one of them was walking away.

By the time she swallowed the last of the water, his door opened. Alexia set down her empty glass and turned to meet him head-on.

In his usual brusque manner, he stalked toward her wearing nothing but a pair of baggy sweatpants.

Expecting him to stop in front of her, Alexia planted her feet and lifted her chin.

But he didn't stop, he walked right up against her and
kept pushing her backward until she was pinned by the hard wall behind her and the solid wall of muscle in front.

“Get away from me.” She lifted her hands to push him away. But he easily grabbed her wrists and dragged them above her head.

“You were saying?”

She tried pulling her wrists free, but he held them pinned against the wall with one hand. “Let me go.”

Braeden shook his head. “No.”

At his cold, emotionless tone, icy dread seeped into her anger. The need to get away helped feed the now growing fear. She struggled against him, but he only pressed his chest harder against her.

Her heart pounding desperately, Alexia bent her leg, but before she could plant her knee in his groin, he kicked her legs apart and stood between them.

That attempt for freedom thwarted, she did her best to throw herself against his chest.

But when that move only drew a sigh from Braeden, she glared up at him and sucked in a heavy breath at the darkening of his narrowed gaze.

“Let me go. Please, let me go.” To her horror, her voice quavered and she bit her lower lip to keep from saying anything else. She wasn't going to cry in front of him. It didn't matter that the tears were those of rage. She wasn't about to give him that kind of satisfaction.

Braeden relaxed his hold slightly. “Finished?”

Nearly exhausted, she nodded. He released her wrists, but before she could move away, he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder and headed back to the bedroom.

“What the hell are you doing?” She kicked her legs, but he only wrapped an arm around them. “Braeden, put me down.”

He did, but not until he'd closed the bedroom door behind them and dropped her onto the mattress. She scrambled to the far side of the bed. But he grasped her ankle and pulled her back, ordering, “Stay there.”

“I'm not your lapdog.”

“No, you're my lying, back-stabbing wife.”

Alexia flinched. “I am not.”

“Not what? My wife? Or not a lying back-stabber?”

She slid to the far side of the bed. “Neither.” He was going to make this as hard as he could.

“I told you to stay put.” He reached out to grasp her arm.

She slapped at his hand. “Leave me alone.”

Braeden caught her hand midair. “You don't want to make this physical.”

Alexia eyes widened at his warning. She raised her other hand.

In the blink of an eye, he had her pinned flat on her back. He straddled her, his feet hooked over her ankles and his hands holding her wrists to the bed alongside her head. Looming over her, he said, “I warned you. I'm stronger and quicker than you. You can't win a physical battle with me.”

“So, instead, you'll bully me.”

“If that's what it takes to keep you from getting hurt, yes.”

“As if you care.”

“Is that what this is all about? Why should I care? You left me.”

“You quit caring long before I left.”

“I did? When?”

Her throat closed. She couldn't do this. Not staring up at him. Not calmly, not rationally. Not without sobbing.

“Let me go, Braeden. Just let me go.”

“No. I told you not to do this. But you started it and this time we're going to finish it.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and felt a tear slip down the side of her face.

“Cry all you want, Alexia.” He bounced her wrists on the bed. “But, damn it, tell me when I quit caring.”

“A lifetime ago.”

“Melodrama will get you nowhere. Answer me.”

“Before the accident.” Her chest constricted. Everything was measured by that twist of fate.

“What gave you that impression?”

“You were never around.”

“I was working all hours trying to open the ski resort in Switzerland.”

She knew that and she also knew it had been petty to have been so hurt by his absence, but…“Even when you were home all we did was argue.”

“Even when I tried to ignore you, who started those arguments?”

She had, but that was beside the point. “It was the only way I could get your attention.”

“You could have come with me. You knew that. But you insisted on staying in Boston.”

“I was pregnant.”

“You were hormonal.”

She opened her eyes and glared up at him. “That's low. I couldn't help it.”

“Low? I'd say running away was farther down the scale.”

“What did you want me to do?” Alexia's voice echoed in her ears. She was nearly screaming. “You blamed me for the accident.”

Braeden released her wrists and sat up. “I never blamed you.”

“Yes, you did. You accused me of killing your child.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I never said that. I never thought that.”

The tears she had been fighting to keep inside slid down her cheeks. “Yes, you did. In the hospital. I heard you tell Danielle that I'd killed your baby.”

He moved off her and got up from the bed. “The only time Danielle was at the hospital was when you were still in the emergency room. Alexia, you were too out of it to even know your own name.”

“What's that got to do with anything? My hearing was fine. I know what I heard.”

“No. What you heard was me telling Danielle that you were nearly killed. When you heard the words ‘my baby,' it was Danielle asking me about the baby. At the time the doctors weren't yet certain if he could be saved or not.”

Was he telling her the truth? Alexia tried to focus on that night. But everything was jumbled.

Before she could figure it out, he asked, “When you were released from the hospital, you shut me out completely. Is that why?”

“Partly. Yes. But—”

He walked toward the bedroom door, holding out his hand. “Enough. No more.”

Alexia stayed on the bed while he left the room. She didn't know what to say or do. From the brief glimpse she'd had of his face before he turned away, she got the impression he was as upset as he was angry.

About what? Maybe if she gave him time alone, he'd be able to figure it out. She tossed the covers aside. No. Over and over again they'd let time alone come between them. He said they were going to finish this, and while he
may have changed his mind, he was right. At the very least, they should try.

She quietly walked out to the living room and came to a dead stop when he walked out of his office with a sword.

Braeden caught the look of pure terror in Alexia's wide-eyed gaze and lowered the sword to his side. “It's not for you.”

She shook her head. “I didn't think it was.”

Like hell she didn't. “Go to bed.”

Without taking her eyes off him, she walked into the kitchen, putting the bar between them. “I thought you said we were going to finish this.”

He had no desire to continue the conversation. If he had any hope of getting the manual translated, he needed to maintain some level of distance from Alexia.