Hush (Black Lotus #3) (9 page)

“You’re such a romantic asshole.”

MY FIRST MORNING
here at One Hyde Place was a busy one. No time for lounging in bed until the afternoon. Declan was up early yelling on the phone at a hacker he hired to find out more information on my dad. After that call ended, I sat in his office with him as he proceeded to make more calls about my father, growing more and more impatient as his stress amplified. He’s been putting himself under so much pressure to find him, but I didn’t want him to get any more worked up than he already was, so I convinced him to step away for a while and take a shower with me to calm him down.

After we were dressed, I met with the head of security downstairs to input all my information, along with my iris and fingerprint scans. Declan then introduced me to a few of the employees that I would be seeing on a daily basis before we returned to the apartment. It wasn’t but a few minutes later that the woman who works for the butler service arrived with groceries we requested earlier in the morning.

And now I sit in the living room, reading “A Tourist’s Guide to London” that I asked Lachlan to bring over from his hotel. He dropped it off earlier along with a new cell phone that Declan insisted on me having instead of the cheap disposable one I was using since I left
Nina’s
phone back in the States. Lachlan input his number along with all of Declan’s before heading back out to run a few errands for us. But it’s now inching closer to one o’clock, and I’m growing hungry.

I rifle through the fridge, looking for something easy, and decide on a simple grilled cheese. It’s practically all I know how to cook, but it’s comforting and reminds me of my brother.

“Is the fire extinguisher handy?” Declan jokes when he walks into the room.

I flip the sandwich with the spatula and then flip him the middle finger.

“What a lovely gesture. If we’re done with the pleasantries, I’d like to make a request.”

Turning the burner off, I slide my grilled cheese onto a plate and walk over to the island bar to sit next to Declan. He hands over an invitation engraved on heavy linen paper with an embossed gold seal at the top.

“What’s the Caledonian Club?” I ask, setting the invitation down on the cold soapstone countertop.

“A private Members’ Club I’ve been associated with my whole life. Both my father and grandfather were members.”

“Is this one of those male-only chauvinist clubs where you all stand around, smoke cigars, and compete with each other to prove who has the biggest dick?” I badger and then take a bite of my food.

“Something like that, but luckily for you, they started to allow women to accompany members at the social events a few years ago.”

“How progressive of them.”

“Yes, well, if you’re done being stabby, I’ve RSVP’d our
pleasured
acceptance,” he informs me with an appeasing smirk.

“When is it?”

“This evening.”

“Tonight?” I blurt in surprise. “Declan, I don’t have anything to wear. All my formal attire is back in Chicago.”

“Harrods is right across the street,” he tells me. “Lachlan can take you.”

I drop my sandwich onto the plate, huffing in mild irritation. “Lachlan? Really? So, I’m not allowed to walk across the street by myself, something a child is capable of doing?”

“I thought I made my concerns clear before we came.”

“You did, but I didn’t think he’d be at my side at all times.”

He cups my cheek as he stands, saying, “Must you fight me on everything?”

“Fine,” I exhaust. “I’ll see it your way this time, but you know he’s going to be pissed at you when he finds out you’re forcing him to do this particular errand.”

“That old man is always pissed at me. I can handle him.”

I laugh under my breath, enjoying the lightness of our exchange, and then ask, “What’s the attire?”

“Black tie.” He then gives me a kiss and starts heading back to his office when he calls out over his shoulder, “I’ll call for Lachlan.”

“Where is he taking me again?”

“Harrods,” he shouts from his office.

I grab my tourist book, flip to the shopping section, and read while I finish my lunch. I don’t have to wait long for Lachlan to arrive.

He’s slightly distracted—quiet—as the day moves forward, but I don’t push him to talk. Instead, I gather gowns to try on. I’m not sure what Declan’s preferences are the way I knew Bennett’s. I had more time to learn about Bennett, to study him. So I spend a good amount of time pulling gowns, second-guessing, and shoving them back on the rack.

Thank God for patient sales associates.

Lachlan sits outside the fitting room as I try on the various dresses. One by one, until I finally make my choice when I slip on the Givenchy in kombu green. I decide to take a step out and show Lachlan, but when I do, he’s not there. I walk past the empty chair and then hear his hushed voice.

Peeking around the corner, I spot him a few racks down on his cell and quickly retreat when I see him look my way. I strain to hear what he’s saying, hoping that it has something to do with my dad, but when I hear his harsh tone barking, “Calm down, Camilla,” under his breath, my mind begins to spin.

Camilla?

I step back into the fitting room and wonder why that name sounds so familiar. I trace back and it finally clicks.

Cal’s girlfriend.

I met her a few months ago when I accompanied Bennett on a trip to New York City. It was the night Declan showed up unexpectedly at his father’s house. But why the hell is Lachlan talking to her? Whatever the reason, he clearly doesn’t want me to know. Declan would have his ass if he knew Lachlan left me alone, so whatever he’s talking to her about must outweigh the risk.

After I make my purchases, he walks me back home and leaves after I’m safely inside the building.

“How’d it go?” Declan asks when I enter the apartment, and I hold up the garment bag, saying, “I found a dress.”

“Good,” he says, and my unease intensifies with the knowledge that Lachlan, a man that Declan highly trusts, is corresponding with his father’s girlfriend. “Everything okay? You look worried.”

I drape the gown over the back of the couch and approach Declan.

“I heard something strange today, and it has me feeling unnerved,” I tell him.

“What happened?” he questions with concern.

“It could be nothing, but did you know that Lachlan knows your father’s girlfriend?”

“Camilla?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I overheard him on the phone with her. He sounded mad or maybe annoyed.”

“What did you hear him say?”

“Nothing really, he just snapped at her to calm down, and when I heard him use her name, I went back into the fitting room. Something about the tone he used with her and the fact that he’d been distant the whole time I was shopping made me apprehensive.”

I see the unpleasant look on his face and ask, “What is it?”

“When we were scrambling to find you, I answered his phone when he wasn’t in the room. It was her and she called him
baby
. When she realized it was me on the line, she quickly ended the call.”

“Did you ask Lachlan what was going on?”

“He dismissed it as them being old friends. Honestly my mind was completely fucked at the time.”

“Maybe it’s nothing,” I tell him.

“Maybe, but I’ll address it with him before I leave you alone with him again.”

“Declan . . .”

“Don’t contest me. I’m not willing to risk anything when it comes to you.”

“You can’t control the world.”

“No, but I control you and what happens to you,” he tells me as he takes my hand and places it on the side of his neck. “Do you feel that?”

I nod as his pulse beats hard into my palm. It’s an exorbitant sign of anxiety that he hides well, but it’s clearly at war with him on the inside.

“That’s you,” he says. “You’re my pulse. You’re the reason it beats and keeps me alive, so don’t defy me when it comes to protecting you, because I refuse to be reckless with my quintessence.”

He’s strident with his words. I know his desire for ultimate control; he’s been that way since the day I met him, and he’s explained why he is the way he is. Witnessing the murder of his mother has burdened him into adulthood and has shaped him into the man he is today. His demanding ways with me might be harsh for others, but they stem from a loving place.

“I’m sorry. Truth is, you’re the first person who’s ever gone to the lengths you do to make sure I’m taken care of. I know I give you a hard time, but the rule you have on me feels good.”

Before I know it, he has me in his arms, and I’m quick to wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me over to the couch. Tossing me onto my back, he orders me to take my top and bra off, and I do so in mere seconds at the same time he rips off his pants and shirt.

“Hands under your ass,” he commands, and when I have them securely beneath me, he straddles my body, pinning me under him. “Spit in my hand,” is his next directive, and again, I obey.

His cock is rock hard, and I watch as he beats himself off above me, using my saliva as lube. He’s mean and he knows it, teasing me like this. He gives into his desires while forcing me to withhold my own. He refuses to feed my hunger, leaving me without touch as he pumps the length of himself.

I want to touch him, but he’s testing my obedience, so I squeeze my thighs together in a lame attempt to create much needed friction for my throbbing clit. I can’t contain myself as I watch him stare down at me while he indulges his craving. His breaths begin to stagger unevenly as a sheen of sweat coats his hairline. Every groan that escapes his throat spurs me farther, and I press my thighs together even harder. The moment my body writhes in utter heat, he catches me.

“Open your legs,” he barks, and I do.

He then leans forward and locks his free hand around my neck to keep control of me. My pussy aches painfully for him to fill me up, but I know he has no intentions. When I see the muscles of his abs begin to contract, he’s getting close. He chokes on a breath of air, his grip around my neck tightening, and then explodes all over me, scenting me in his semen.

His hand leaves my neck, and he kisses me roughly before getting off the couch. I lie here and look up at him when he says, “Don’t clean that off, and don’t wear any perfume tonight.”

I sit up, and a few drops of his cum roll down between my breasts. “Lucky for me, my dress doesn’t have a plunging neckline,” I tease with a smile, knowing he gets off leaving his mark on me.

“I’m going to take a hot shower,” he says and then kisses my forehead.

I admire his firm ass as I watch him walk to the bedroom.

While he’s in the shower, I take my time doing my makeup and hair. The dress may not have a plunging front, but the back does, so I curl my hair and wear it in a ponytail at the base of my neck so that my scars will be covered. I keep my look simple and clean with no jewelry.

I smile when I look over to Declan who’s now fastening his kilt. The Caledonian Club is a private Scottish club here in London, which I was pleased to learn because Declan in a kilt is about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

This is the first event we are attending as a couple, and it feels good to be getting ready and sharing this moment together—a moment we had to work so hard to get to—a moment so many probably take for granted. I slip on my gown and smooth down the fabric that contours closely to my body. It boasts a high round neck, concealing the dried cum that’s all over my chest, and flows to the floor in a sweeping, fluted hem. The deep green flatters my red hair, and also complements the green in Declan’s plaids.

I stand in front of the mirror and look myself over with restless hands.

“Why are you fidgeting?” Declan asks when he steps behind me. “You seem nervous.”

“I am,” I admit as he runs his hands up and down the length of my arms.

“Why? You must’ve gone to hundreds of events like this in Chicago. You’re an old pro.”

“Yeah, but I was always pretending. I’m a good actress, but this is the first time mingling among the upper crust as
me
. I’m not hiding behind a façade anymore.”

He plants a kiss on my shoulder. “The real you is so much better than the lie.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do,” he says and then turns me around. He looks me over from head to toe. “You’re incredibly stunning.”

I take hold of Declan’s hand to quell my nerves when we arrive at the mansion that was built in the early 1900s. He smiles down at me as we walk to the entrance. When we step inside, my eyes take in the ornate ambiance. The walls are painted ivory with rich gold accents, and heavy ruby drapes fall from the ceiling to the floor. Oil paintings hang from the walls and glow beneath the opulent chandeliers.

The wood floors that lie beneath the carpet creak under my feet as Declan leads me through the club that has a wealth of history here in London. I take in the men dressed in their kilts and fly plaids and the women in their elegant gowns. And suddenly, without my mask, I feel like an imposter—garbage wrapped in silk—and my stomach turns. So, I quickly decide that even though I have no clue who I am, I’ll do my best to fake it. The last thing I want is to show Declan any more weakness.