Page 28 of Sinful
I notice she’s trembling and wet. So she did fall into the lake. I still can’t get over how she made it so far. If I’d not found her, she’d either die of pneumonia or she’d figure out a way to get away. Our thirty million dollars is going to sift through our fingers if we aren’t careful.
“I’m going to hold your hand and help you out of the boat,” I repeat. I expect her to reach out to me, but she only pulls back farther. With nothing left to do, I step into the boat and do the unthinkable. I haul her over my shoulders as though I’m a firefighter saving her, not her kidnapper. She doesn’t struggle against me, but her entire body is trembling with the cold.
Once we are out of the boat, I drop her carefully to the ground, keeping a strong grip on her in case she gets it into her head to run off again. I’m not prepared for her putting her arms around my neck and clinging to me, soggy and wet and tear stained.
This is not the Lucinda Waldgrave I’d imagined when I looked at those magazine covers, but then again, that Lucinda Waldgrave wasn’t yet blind and hadn’t spent half the night dripping wet and freezing cold in Central Park. I pull off my sweater and pull it over her head. It’s clear she’s too weak to walk, so I pick her up again, this time cradling her. She weighs nothing in my arms. I’ve never been more grateful for the shitty weather as I walk, carrying her through the park. I keep away from the pathways, not wanting to be spotted. I don’t have time to be dealing with strangers’ nosy questioning. Getting her back in the building is going to be another problem. There’s no way I’m going to make it past the concierge without scrutiny. Not with a drenched, blind girl in my arms. If I want to fly under the radar, I’m going to have to go back in the way I came, and that means climbing up the fire escape. Like most other New York fire escapes, it’s usually a one way route. The ladder comes down then retracts back up, leaving a fifteen foot gap before the first landing. I haul Lucinda’s weight to one arm and heave the pair of us onto a closed dumpster, before reaching up and pulling the ladder down. If it wasn’t for the security systems, most of the apartments in this block have in place, this would be an easy route for a burglar to take. And I shut ours off, which is why she was able to escape unnoticed in the first place. Once again, I have to haul her over my shoulder to be able to climb. She’s barely conscious as I begin the ascent. By the time I get us up to the penthouse, her skin is turning blue and her lips are chattering. Her pajama bottoms are clinging to her skin. She’s shaking so hard, I can barely keep my grip on her. Inside it’s warm, but it’s clear that the heating won’t be enough. She’s going to die of hypothermia. I take her to the bathroom and lower her into the tub. Her eyes remain closed as I turn on the hot water. Her breathing deepens as though she’s not getting enough oxygen to her lungs.
“Lucinda. Wake up.” I slosh the warm water over her, willing her to wake up. I’ve known fear before. I’ve been living it since we brought her into my parents’ apartment, but nothing has come close to the visceral terror I feel when she doesn’t respond. I turn the water hotter, dousing her with it. My wool sweater is as soaked as the rest of her as it soaks up the bathwater. I angle her body forward and drag the sweater over her head. Her pajama top comes with it, leaving her naked from the waist up. I throw the lot to the floor where it lays in a soggy mess. It doesn’t escape my notice that I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the world in my bath and at my mercy, but I don’t notice anything except the color of her skin, and the way her chest is rising and falling too rapidly.
“Lucinda. Wake the fuck up.” Anger rolls off me in waves at what she’s done. Having the most beautiful woman in the world in my bath is only desirable until the point that she dies in it. At that point, it’s a fucking liability. Thoughts of trying to find somewhere to bury a body in Manhattan, has me jumping in the bath with her. I rub her body down vigorously with my hands, trying to get the blood circulating.
She murmurs slightly. I latch onto it, urging her to wake up. She cannot die in my parents’ bathtub. Her eyelids flutter open. “Dacre.” Her voice is weak and breathless, but at least she’s able to speak. What little color she had is coming back to her skin and her lips are no longer chattering. I pull off my dripping wet clothes and add them to the soggy pile that’s building up.
“What happened?”
“You thought it would be a good idea to run away in the middle of the night in your pajamas,” I say, gritting my teeth as I step out of the bath. The tiled floor has a slick sheen of water from the bath coating it. I throw a towel down and mop it up using my feet. She tries to stand, but it’s clear that she’s still wobbly from the ordeal.
“It wasn’t raining when I left,” she murmurs as I pull her up into a standing position. She can’t hold her weight, so I’m forced to lift her out of the bath. Her tits press against my chest as she clings to me. My cock twitches against her. I’m not planning on fucking her, but it takes the constitution of a saint to resist. I don’t need the complication, but having her soft skin sticking to mine with water rolling down the pair of us makes it almost impossible not to start something with her. Something I know I won’t be able to put a stop to. I’m not immune to her beauty, but I need thirty million dollars more than I need a quick fuck with a half conscious socialite model. Not that she’s like any model I’ve ever met.
“You need to get out of those wet pants, I say, pulling her arms from around my neck. I need to get out of here before I succumb to her. Mercier didn’t heed Nix’s warning, but I did. She’s a manipulator. A user. I try to keep that in mind as she gazes up at me, droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes and her perfect tits on show. She has no modesty at all. It doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest that her body is on show. Years of getting her tits out for anyone and everyone must have made her immune. Mercier is insane to think she’s a virgin. No virgin holds herself so confidently. I want to turn away, but like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to her as she reaches down and lowers her wet pajama bottoms before kicking them off. I salivate at the sight of her. I’ve seen her naked before. Hell, half the western world has seen her naked in one magazine or other, and I’ve seen her naked in the flesh before Nix hauled her away, but this is different. It’s just her and me in the apartment. She’s practically inviting me to touch her. My mouth waters with the desire to kiss those nipples of hers. My cock is hard as nails, but there’s no point in me trying to hide it. She can’t see it. It’s almost liberating having someone so close without being able to see. With every ounce of will power I possess, I grab a dry towel and wrap it around her. I will not let myself fall for her, not with how much money she is worth to me.
I have to focus on the big picture as she stumbles away, her ass cheeks just visible beneath the towel.
“Go get some clothes on,” I snap, before slamming the door, leaving me in the bathroom alone. I close my eyes, not letting go of the picture of her in my mind and fist my cock, emptying my load into the bathwater she just vacated.
24
LUCINDA
I’m trapped here with them, at their mercy, I know that now. I knew it before, but I had to see how strong I was. I needed to know if I could make it on my own. I should have known that I couldn’t. I’ve been looked after all my life, not living in the real world. What made me think I could make it was sheer bloody-mindedness and fear. I could have ended up dead. I would have if Dacre hadn’t come looking for me. I suppose I should be appreciative, but in the few hours we’ve been back, he’s barely said a word to me. The few words he has spoken have been dismissive. I’m a burden to him. He’s made it crystal clear that he doesn’t want me here, which is fine because I don’t want to be here, except neither of us are getting their own way and won’t until my father decides to come back to the US. It could be in a week. It could be in two. Knowing my father, he might never come back. He certainly wouldn’t come back for me. I switch the TV from my soap opera to the news channel. I’ve been listening to it more frequently, hoping for good news. Hoping for a miracle. I don’t even know what good news sounds like. My father dying of a massive heart attack, perhaps. The news that they’ve called off the search.
My heart leaps slightly when the anchor mentions Lucinda Waldgrave. I’ve learned in the last few days not to become too hopeful, but my ears perk up, anyway.
“The search continues for socialite Lucinda Waldgrave. With no leads, the police say they are now casting the net wider and are appealing for any information anyone may have. It’s also come to the network’s attention that police have been seen combing the forest near Waldgrave House with specially trained police dogs. Are they searching for a body? We will bring more information to you when we have it. Now on to...”
I switch the channel back to the comfort of my soaps. My heart is pounding, but I can’t let Dacre know how much the news has affected me. If they are searching the forest, it won’t be long before they come upon my mother’s old cabin. I left my bag there with all my clothes. I left everything I cared about in the world in that cabin.
My stomach growls and I realize I’ve not eaten since yesterday. Dacre’s care of me only extended to keeping me alive, not keeping me comfortable. He wouldn’t want to see his thirty million die away. I know there’s no point asking him for food, so I head to the kitchen, determined to do one thing for myself.
“Hey!” Dacre’s voice calls out from the bedroom. He’s beside me in half a second. “Where do you think you are going?
“I’m hungry. I was going to make myself some lunch... breakfast?” I have no idea what time it is, only that it’s way past time I should have eaten.
“I’ve locked the door to the terrace and don’t even think about trying to climb out of your bedroom window again.”
“To end up with hypothermia like last time,” I say, irritated. I know I’m a prisoner here. There’s no need for him to remind me of it. He could leave the front door open and sprinkle the way out with rose petals, and I still wouldn’t venture out alone. Not after last night. I tested my limits and found that I was useless. I don’t need the reminder of how inept I am. How utterly pathetic and dependent I am on these men.
“Don’t try anything.”
“I was going to get myself some cereal,” I snap. “You think you’ll let me do that without supervision?”
It’s a small triumph, but I manage to find a bowl and the cereal box without his help.
A phone rings and the oppressive tension dissipates as Dacre walks away.
“What?” he snaps down the phone. I let out a breath when I hear how far away he is. He’s on the other side of the apartment. I feel for the top of the cereal box, and with my other hand on one of the bowls, I pour the cereal in, feeling for the bowl filling up.
“Awfully Sorry, Mr. Letterman, I was shouting at my dog.”
