Kept by Him (14 page)

Until Monica had climbed into his car and calmly asked if he’d have sex with her …

Damn her!

So she could go seduce a senile grandfather? Not even Viagra would make the motherfucker
hard enough to give Monica what she needed.
Damn her!

He and Graves quietly slapped each other’s back and Daniel left, thanking him for
sharing Chloe for the evening, all the while seething inside. Angry at Monica, angry
at himself for opening himself to her again. For thinking he could get past that thick
head of hers.

He was brooding in the elevator, realizing he felt just as bound and tied as he had
when she had him on the bed. Tied up and helpless. He’d lose her if he went after
her. He’d lose her if he backed off.

She’d been fucking lost to him since he was twenty-three.

His scowl bit into his face. As he climbed into BUG1, he pulled out his cell phone
and called one of the contacts he’d e-mailed a couple of hours ago, asking about Roland
Gustafson. “Tell me you found something.”

The voice on the other end chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I did. I was just going
to drop the info by your office.”

“I’m on my way.”

Chapter Five

Friday morning, a day before the gala, Monica stared in growing surprise at the set
of photographs on her desk. They were pictures of her … with a winter wonderland in
the background. In some of them, she was alone. While in others, she was embracing …
Daniel.

Her fingers shook as she lifted one for her inspection, her own gaze looking back
at her, holding her transfixed. She had never, ever, seen herself this way before.
The eyes that stared back at her were the eyes of a woman deeply in love. Deeply.
In. Love.

Her throat ached with defeat, for she could deny it to Daniel all she wanted, but
there was no denying it to herself any longer. She loved him. She loved him so much
the feeling infused every particle of her being, every pore in her body.

She didn’t want to be so vulnerable, had never wanted to feel
this
. But now she stared at the familiar stranger on the photograph, feeling completely
surprised and awed by what she saw. The woman staring back at her didn’t look lost,
as she’d felt that day. In fact, there was a startling focus and clarity in her eyes.
This was not the Ice Maiden. No. This was Monica. And the camera had
never
captured her like this.

But Daniel had.

Her irises were darker, her pupils large, her fingers lightly biting into the powerful
flesh of his back. This woman would fight like a lioness for her man, and for the
cubs he gave her. If her lion ever strayed, this woman would fight to survive—and
she would win. Her stomach moved at the realization. She looked calm and happy. Strong.
In love.

Not scared, not of him, never of him. Perhaps of herself.

She expelled a breath, and looked at another image, and in all of them, she was there.
No Ice Maiden. Only Monica. Monica in his arms. Monica alone, open, in love, and strong.

When her parents died so tragically, she had learned the hard way that human beings
were extremely resilient, and could endure almost anything. In many ways, she had
begun to care for him so much during those times, that she had immediately stepped
back in a desperate need to pull herself to her feet without anyone holding her. For
what would happen when her pillars were kicked out from under her again?

She had taught herself, even though it had been painful, to live without Daniel even
before
she’d allowed herself to be with him. She’d shown herself that life was precious
to enjoy and value whether or not you were with the person you wanted to share it.

Now she wondered if she was strong enough to deny herself the man she loved, why could
she not be strong enough to be with him?

She’d wanted him. Had wanted to kiss him, to have sex with him. Because she’d needed
to get him out of her mind. His almost-kiss had haunted her for a decade, because
Daniel should’ve been her first kiss. He was her first, and only, love. And he should’ve
been her first lover. If he had, there would have never been anyone else for Monica.
But Monica had not allowed it.

It frightened her.

If she ever lost him, like her parents, would she want to die?

She hadn’t wanted to find out.

She had denied his kiss, denied the love she could feel he’d wanted to give her, and
she had denied the love she’d felt for him. Instead, she given herself to older men,
maybe even with more experience than Daniel back then, but she’d never felt even a
whisper of wanting with any of them. Not a whisper of the explosions she felt when
Daniel smiled at her, spoke to her. Not the calm completion she felt when Daniel had
held her all those years ago, in his powerful, gentle arms.

Her eyes burned at the thought.

God, she’d really gotten herself into a tight place this time.

When she’d asked him to have sex with her, she’d thought the years had passed and
that physically, she could get involved with him, without being involved on the inside.
She’d thought she needed to get over the tantalizing memory of him holding her in
his arms, of his lips almost kissing her, his words telling her that she was beautiful
and he wanted her, and she’d thought that once she allowed herself to experience the
physical need she had tried to the depths of her being to deny all these years, she
would be ready to be with another man.

Oh, God.

How badly, how badly, she had planned this out.

She had thought to get the curiosity out of her system, to allow her body to indulge
in what she had long ago denied it. Yes, she’d regretted, for years, the way she’d
shockingly reacted to that kiss. Daniel Lexington would have been her first kiss,
and instead she’d gotten scared by the enormity of it, of losing your parents at nineteen
and falling in love in a way that brought all of that tragedy back.

She had reacted badly, and instead, months later, she had given her kiss to someone
else, her virginity to someone else, someone who didn’t pose any threat to her control,
someone who was older, tamer, and who didn’t make her burn. Even then, when all those
tame men touched her, she felt closed and locked, yearning for the one touch that
would make all the others seem like nothing.

Now she had been with him, thinking she would be free of that need. That hunger. That
feeling of wrongness she felt with other men. But being with the right one had merely
assured that she would never, in her life, be able to be with anyone else.

Was she going to live like this her whole life? Scared, and deliberately closing her
eyes to what was staring right back at her?

“Ms. Davenport?”

Throat tight with emotion, she glanced up to find her assistant staring at her, a
worried frown on her face. “There’s a detective here to see you,” she announced.

Monica’s heart stopped as she glanced behind Kristy, and at the man across her office,
hovering by the doors. Memories once more threatened to flood her, drown her.

At what time did you say you opened the door to find them dead in their bedroom, Miss
Davenport?

Frantically pushing the memory aside, she stood and nodded. Kristy let the man in,
then gave them some privacy and closed the door. Monica’s heart once again starting
to freeze over. It was unavoidable. When your survival instincts kick in, it’s instinctive.
You don’t ask them to be there, they’re just there. And already, Monica was starting
to feel numb. Hurting for the loss of Daniel. For herself. And now, whatever this
was, it made her feel cold as death.

“I don’t believe you had an appointment today, pardon, I didn’t catch your name?”
she asked.

“Detective Louis Kline, Ms. Davenport. I’m actually here on behalf of Mr. Daniel Lexington.”

Her chest seized with pain, and she didn’t know if she wanted this man to get out
of her office, or it if it were she, herself, who wanted to run. She wanted to ask
about Daniel, to know if he was all right, what he’d been doing, if he’d been thinking
about her, if he hated her, if he would even forgive her, if he loved her. Why hadn’t
he come himself?

Because he hates you for being a coward, Monica.

Because he’s angry, and wounded, and probably well on his way to forgetting you …

Instead, she signaled at one of the upholstered chairs across her mahogany desk. “Sit
down, please,” she said.

“He asked me to please deliver this to you. It has to do with your parents.” He handed
over a manila folder he’d been clutching to a discreet navy blue tie that perfectly
matched his suit.

Monica cautiously took it from his hand. “My parents committed suicide,” she said
out loud. She didn’t know why she blurted this out, but suddenly she needed to remind
herself of the verdict.

“They did. There’s no question. No one committed any murder here, Miss Davenport,
Mr. Lexington was merely calling in a favor from me. He had wanted me to search a
particular man by the name of Roland Gustafson … and we think you might be interested
in what we found.”

Monica opened the file to first see a handwritten note—and her chest seized when she
recognized Daniel’s handwriting. She’d seen it only few times. Mostly, in the boardroom.
He had a manly, somewhat smooth style, and the sight caused havoc to her insides.

Monica,

Make the right choice.

Daniel

Behind the note was a picture of a young Roland kneeling at her mother’s gravesite,
a dozen red roses in his hand. Puzzled, she spread out the rest of the contents to
realize that wasn’t the only image. There were actually more. More images of Roland.
Roland and her mother coming out of the hotel. Roland and her mother kissing outside
a coffee shop.

An emotion filtered through Monica’s numbness, and it was disbelief.

Roland was the man her mother had had an affair with?

Bile rose up her throat, and she stirred uneasily in her chair, suddenly unable to
keep looking at the photographs. She closed the folder with uneasy hands and met the
detective’s gaze with a face that was quickly burning hot. “How did you get these?”

“The private detective your father had hired to follow her had been blackmailing your
mother, and apparently she’d been paying the blackmail. We believe she paid the blackmail
for your sake, as it is obvious she had wanted your father to know of her romantic
entanglements. Anyway, the detective died of natural causes and his cases were taken
over by the son. He didn’t even know he had these until years after the trial.”

Monica swallowed hard, trying not to reveal her anger, her embarrassment, her confusion,
her total shock. Worse. Daniel knew about this, too.

“Thank you, Detective. You have no idea how enlightening this is.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Mr. Lexington,” he said with a small grin, and then with a
nod, he was gone, leaving Monica staring down at that old, crumpled, smelly manila
folder, feeling nauseated.

Had Daniel known this all along?

Or had he just found out?

A wave of humiliation crashed over her as she imagined him knowing she was in a relationship
with a man who’d been with her
mother.

Feeling completely bereft and desolate over not having him nearby to talk about this,
she slipped the folder into her Birkin bag and retrieved Daniel’s note, impulsively
raising it to her nose. His scent washed over her, and she closed her eyes and almost
moaned.
ImissyouIwantyouIneedyou!

Groaning at herself, she tucked the note into her jacket pocket and went back to the
photographs for the ad campaign, her chest coming alive once more. Just the sight
of Daniel’s broad shoulders and her fingers digging into his muscular back made her
almost
feel him
close. But her heart ached heavily, because that wasn’t so.

“Let’s use this one,” she whispered as Kristy came back inside, lifting the photograph
in the air for her assistant to see.

The one where her eyes were on fire with heat.

Where Daniel was in her arms.

And she did not want to let go.

Where she was holding the man she loved and letting him hold her, and for that one
minute in her life, nothing else had mattered but the need to be with him, to connect,
to be allowed to love and be loved by him.

“It’s my favorite,” Kristy said.

“Mine, too,” Monica said. And when she was left alone in her office, with the stunning
view of Chicago and it seemed that the world was at her feet, she covered her face
in her hands and let herself cry for him.

*   *   *

On Saturday, she did what she always did before a gala. She had a long relaxing bath,
then her staff come over to do her hair and makeup until she looked as perfect as
a centerfold. Except tonight, she was wearing her hair down for Daniel Lexington.

Nervous at the thought of facing him, she finished getting ready, and then waited
for Roland. He was supposed to arrive earlier, at seven, so they could discuss their
relationship at length. Now that she thought about it, Monica realized there was really
very little to discuss.

Soon, Roland Gustafson was exiting the elevators, distinguished in his tuxedo, with
his deep thoughtful brow and that shock of gray in his temples. His gray eyes warmed
at the sight of her, and he paused to take her in her elegant Christian Dior sapphire
gown.

He lifted his arms high above. “My rose, my rose, you look stunning.”

Monica smiled coldly. He called her his rose because she had thorns, and was he ever
going to feel the prick tonight.

“Come in, Roland. Sit.” She sat down in the living room and passed him the pictures,
not offering him either a hug, a handshake, a kiss, or a drop of wine. She didn’t
want to waste a moment more. She had been wasting too many years of her life already.
“Why?” she asked him.