The Consequence He Must Claim (12 page)

“All five of us in one room with a single hot plate and no refrigerator or even a proper bath, just a toilet and a sink with a curtain. No one at school would talk to us. Mum had to ride the bus into the next village to work and even then it was only washing dishes and doing laundry for a hospital. Even waiting tables was impossible. People were horrid to the bunch of us for years.”

“Like that woman at the hotel,” he ventured. “Why didn’t you move?”

“To where?
With what money?
” She came to the heart of her story. “I tried to tell you in the hospital that I wasn’t in your class. I should have tried harder, obviously, but I really hate talking about it.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, stemming the pressure underscoring her eyes. “It’s so humiliating. But I should have been honest. Pretending I’ve risen above it makes me the trash they called me. Now it’s all going to come out downstairs, when Diega tells everyone Thomas Shelby is my half brother.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

C
ESAR
WASN
’
T
USED
to being angry. Not at this level. If he’d thrown tantrums as a toddler, they’d been reasoned out of him by the time he had made permanent memories of his earliest self. Yes, he had moments of frustration and irritation. He had a low tolerance for incompetence, disliked people who played politics and was never happy if his brother happened to win against him at anything.

The most incensed he’d been as an adult had been waking to the infuriating loss of a week and the long recovery his injuries demanded. Still, he’d kept that to merely a lousy mood that had clung stubbornly right up until, hell, he supposed it had finally started to dissipate sometime between holding his son for the first time and necking with Sorcha in the solarium.

But even as miserable as he’d been stuck in the hospital, staring down a marriage he didn’t want, he’d kept his cool.

Not tonight.

Sorcha worked hard. He knew few people who worked as hard as she did with as few complaints. Her work ethic was only surpassed by the quality of her work, which was why he’d always respected her.

He’d seen how modestly her family lived, too. He had known pretty much from the start that she sent money home and knew she was still squeezing funds for them from her savings. He had padded the account he’d set up for her to ensure she could keep helping out at home without denting anyone’s pride. He admired her even more since their marriage, now that he’d seen how far she’d come from her disadvantaged beginning to the position she’d held with him.

And she was
kind
. Warm and cheerful and never one to strike back at rudeness with equal harshness. He liked to keep the pressure on. Not everyone responded well to that. Aside from the occasional dark look, she’d always sucked up his demands with a smile.

Sorcha was that rare creature: a good, solid, hardworking person.

To see her devastated like that, eyes hollow, calling herself
trash
...

Cesar wound his way through the crowd until he spotted Diega, then reminded himself to keep his hands by his sides, rather than forcibly remove her from the home she so coveted.

She was holding court with his parents and Rico, her smile smug.

He leaned in from behind and spoke through his teeth next to her ear. “Leave. Now. You know why.”

Rico sent him a startled glance. “Mind your manners, big brother.”

Diega paled, turned her head and looked past him for Sorcha before her mouth tilted into a disdainful smile. “I don’t know what she told you—”

“Just as I will never know exactly what I said to you, when I saw you before I crashed. Was I really proposing, Diega? Was I?”

She held his gaze, but her eye twitched. It might have been the confrontation. He’d never come at anyone with this much animosity, but it might have been a tell. He scented a lie.

“Cesar.” Rico brought up the back of one firm hand to press it against Cesar’s chest, obviously reading his dangerous mood.

But he wouldn’t soil himself by touching that viper.

“Our family does not attack itself,” he told Diega. “You won’t be invited to join it. Leave. Quietly. Don’t make a scene. You will regret it.”

“Cesar!” his mother protested in a shocked whisper.

“She leaves or my wife and I do, Mother. Take your pick.”

His mother was speechless for about half a second. “An explanation would be nice!”

“Diega gave up ‘nice’ months ago, when she hired someone to follow Sorcha. Didn’t you? You weren’t surprised she was pregnant. You knew and didn’t tell me. I’ve often wondered how I went through that rail. Did you slip me something, trying to keep me at your house?”

Rico swore under his breath and his hand dropped from Cesar’s chest.

“No!” Diega gasped. “That’s a repulsive accusation!”

Cesar wanted to believe that was earnest horror, but bringing Tom here set a high bar on how ugly she played. “You just took advantage of the situation once I’d crashed?”

“I will leave,” she said with a lift of her chin. “I won’t stand here to be insulted.” She scanned the crowd.

“See her into her car,” he said to his brother, barely staying inside his skin, he was so livid. “I’ll find Tom.”

* * *

They arrived at his penthouse late. It hadn’t been a long drive from his parents’, but Sorcha had fallen asleep in the car, sliding on the leather seat so she wound up slumped into Cesar’s shoulder.

Disconcerted by his stiff, silent air of threadbare tolerance, she settled Enrique for the night, then moved to the bedroom to begin undressing.

She really didn’t know how to take his mood. He was sipping a whiskey, standing at the door to the small terrace off the master bedroom.

“Mother expected Diega to help her organize a fund-raiser for May. She mentioned as we were leaving that it might be better if we host it at the new house, take the focus off the fact that Rico and Diega won’t be marrying after all.”

“Um, okay.” She removed her earrings. He’d given her the pretty yellow sapphires before they left the house. She picked at the catch on the matching bracelet, trying to open the clasp. “I’ll call her tomorrow to ask the details?”

“Give it a few days. She’ll need to regroup after tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice wispy. It wasn’t just the lateness of the hour. She was worn thin from hours of tension.

“Here.” He came across to remove the bracelet, poured it into her hand, then indicated she should turn so he could open her necklace.

His touch was gentle, but the vibes radiating off him were dangerous.

She’d never seen him like this and didn’t know how to interpret it. After saying, “I’ll be right back,” he’d disappeared from the bedroom at his parents’ then returned thirty minutes later.

“Tom was shocked,” he’d stated. “He said his grandfather on his mother’s side held the purse strings and had a solicitor who was equally ruthless. He’ll review how everything was handled. I said my lawyers will be in touch for a full examination of the will and probate, too. He and Diega are gone now. Will you fix your makeup and come downstairs? Mother would appreciate if we pretend nothing has happened.”

It had taken her several heartbeats to comprehend what he’d said. Then she’d numbly done what he asked. With a fresh mask of makeup in place, she’d circulated on her husband’s arm. He’d been quiet, not unlike the contained businessman she’d worked for. The only difference was that he was in physical contact with her the entire time. Whether it was holding her hand, setting a heavy hand against her back, or drawing her arm through his, he kept her very close to his side.

But it hadn’t been the sort of solicitous affection she craved. It had been protective, but intimidating. Possessive.

Catching her necklace before it slid into her cleavage, feeling her dress loosen as he lowered the zip, she kept her eyes on the floor and said huskily, “I thought it was enough that you knew we were poor and my mother wasn’t married. I should have told you the rest. I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed. It’s only because your respect means so much to me that I...”

She had cried enough earlier. She wouldn’t let another sob release now.

“I didn’t want to lose your good opinion,” she continued in a strained voice. “And I know I have. What do you want me to do? I can’t leave without Enrique. I can’t.”

Her heart twisted inside her chest. She started to move away, but a warm hand closed over her upper arm, strong and firm, keeping her from stepping away. His fingers began searching her hair to release the pins that held it up.

“You are not trash. Do not ever let me hear you call yourself that again.”

His voice was so at odds with his light touch in her hair, she froze. She told herself it was the pull of pins tugging tiny strands of hair as he gently dragged them free that made her eyes sting. She tried to be indignant that he did this so proficiently because he’d removed pins and jewelry and evening gowns from countless women.

But when her hair fell, soft and tickling around her bare shoulders, he hooked his forearm across her collarbone and drew her back against his front, big chest expanding, breath hissing as he settled his jaw against her temple.

It was a quiet, tender moment that she couldn’t help but savor.

“I’m furious,” he admitted in a low growl. “Furious that it happened and furious that Diega, someone our family trusted, deliberately tried to humiliate you. I want you so much I can hardly breathe and I’m afraid to touch you because I’m in a mood I don’t know how to control.” His thumb stroked her skin below her shoulder while his forearm sat heavy across her front, pinning her before him.

He was hard. Not just aroused against her bottom, but tense all over.

She touched the sleeve of his jacket and felt his rigidity through the layers.

“I’ve never had anyone defend me,” she said, turning her face into the fabric of his jacket, letting herself sink against him in gratitude. “Thank you.”

She tried to turn, but he resisted, easily keeping her facing forward, then released a ragged curse and pivoted her into him. Her arms went around him as though he was the one in need of comfort when she felt so exposed and fragile she could hardly bear it.

He wrapped strong arms around her, one hand dragging through her hair to pull her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat.

“Stop me now if you’re having second thoughts,” he said against her skin, tongue painting a line to her nape.

“I’m not,” she gasped, transfixed by a kind of paralysis as he conquered her with the simple act of opening his mouth against her neck.

It was basic animal dominance and submission. Her nape was sensitive and his strength disciplined. She folded as any living creature would, succumbing to that strength, trust blooming when he could harm her yet didn’t. She was rewarded by tiny exquisite shivers of pleasure that raised goose bumps down her arms.

He drew back and the look in his eyes belonged to a marauder claiming spoils. His gaze didn’t waver as he pushed down her loosened dress.

She gasped, started to catch at the bodice, but he stopped her, holding her hands in the air as the dress slithered into a puddle around her feet. He kept her hands up as he slowly and thoroughly studied what he’d revealed. Pale skin, heavy breasts that had been supported by the bodice and were bare now. Hips plump enough to give definition to a waistline she’d only begun to start finding again. Thighs that—

All thought stopped as he put her wrists together in one of his hands and dropped his free hand to slide a finger beneath the top of her underwear, slowly working them down. The back of his knuckle grazed her folds.

She jerked, catching her breath.

His gaze came up, holding hers as he deliberately brushed against her again while easing the stripe of green lace so it was a tight line across the tops of her thighs.

“Cesar,” she protested. Hot pressure flooded into her loins, making her ache.

“How close are you?” he asked in gruff Valencian, turning his hand so the pad of his fingertip lightly traced her seam, gently parting and sliding easily in the evidence of exactly how aroused she was.

She flinched with sensitivity, biting her lip and closing her eyes against how intimate this was.

“Look at me,” he said in a rasp. “Open your eyes or I’ll stop.”

She opened her eyes to slits, begging him with her gaze to give her some privacy as she dealt with what he was doing to her. She tried to pull her hands free, but he didn’t let her.

“I have wanted and wanted and wanted,” he said, tracing low then covering her with his hand in a warm blanket of heat so she throbbed with reaction, breath stuttering.

He held her in his hot palm and it was too flagrant, yet not nearly enough. Not after those first teasing caresses.

“Do you want me? This?”

She nodded shakily.

“Show me.”

She didn’t know what he meant, but pressed into his hand, lost in the passion that turned his eyes a vivid green. He held his hand steady for her undulations. Flutters of excitement rose through her belly and trembled in her thighs.

He praised her in Valencian, telling her she was beautiful, that what she was doing was nice. Exciting. “You’re so wet. I always knew you would respond to a firm hand in the bedroom,” he said, looking at where she was rocking against his palm.

She sobbed, thinking that he’d said something like that the first time, but he pressed a finger inside her and her mind blanked.

“Keep moving,” he coaxed. “Do you like that?” His thumb swept and a lightning bolt of intense pleasure contracted in her abdomen, making her shudder. “You do.”

“I can’t stand,” she gasped.

“I won’t let you fall. I’m trying to be gentle. Is this too rough?”

“No. It’s not...”

“Not enough? Move with me. Show me how you want it.”

She did. She stood there and let him watch her and pleasure her until her thighs were shaking and her muscles contracted and cries of release broke from her parted lips.

He gathered her in as her knees weakened, damp hand slipping free to catch behind her thighs as he picked her up. She quivered in his arms, clinging, stunned as he carried her to the bed.

He peeled her underwear away as he left her on the mattress, then stood looking at her.

She threw her arm over her eyes, mortified at how uninhibited she’d just been.

“Oh,
corazón
, if you’re feeling shy after that, you are in for some shocks. I have a lot of fantasies to fulfill.”

“You’re not supposed to have dirty thoughts about your employees.” She peeked from beneath her arm in time to see a wolfish grin flash.

He stood at the side of the bed to drop away his cummerbund, then tore his shirt open before he yanked it from his pants and off his golden shoulders. Muscled arms wrenched out of sleeves and one cuff link hit something across the room with a
ping
.

“I don’t have dirty thoughts about all of them. Just you. I mentally bent you across my desk daily,” he confessed casually.