Page 212 of Merciless Desires

He sighed like a petulant child. “Fine. Go out the back doors, take a diagonal right across the gardens, round the upper edge of Lady’s Paddock, to the double gates. Beyond that are the stables.”

“Thank you,” I gushed, then ran a few steps before spinning round again. “Um–“

“The back doors are that way.” Harrod pointed in the opposite direction to which I was running.

“Thank you.”

His smile was more genuine and I took that as a total green light to pursue Master Dalziel Thorn.

I ran through the back doors, along the gardens, round the paddock. I leaped over the gates and sprinted for the stables. But apart from three impeccably bred Irish Greys and a lame Cob, the place was deserted.

I landed heavily on a bale of hay and sank my face into my hands. It was entirely possible I would never see Dax again. I was convinced I’d found the boy of my dreams after all these years and I’d blown it. I sobbed quietly into my palms, afraid to lift my head in case the cold harsh light illuminated all my pain and failings. I yearned for shadows. Shadows were warm, protective, nurturing. If I had the choice of sunshine or shadows, I would take shadows any day.

I felt so sad and so confused I didn’t register the sound of hooves softly entering the stable block, despite the fact they echoed around it. It was the sound of a soft whinny that made me look up.

Chapter Fourteen

Dax

“What are you still doing here?”

I couldn’t help the bite in my tone. I’d worked hard in the last couple of hours to dispel any hope that Rose Hemingway might genuinely feel something for me and want to stick around.

The sex we had and the climaxes we shared were like a dream. An unbelievable dream. I’d had sex many times before last night, but those two times with Rose felt like the first time I had ever connected, and that was almost more potent than the climaxes themselves.

I had to remind myself she was suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I had caused that. The output – her orgasm – wasn’t about me or the pleasure I gave her; it was about the fact she felt safe in an oppressive situation. She had learned – very quickly – to identify with her captor for the sake of her safety. It meant less than nothing.

She looked up, and something about her expression unnerved me. It was as though she was seeing the real me, not some persona I’d created to make me feel like I actually belonged in a charismatic billionaire family.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Her words froze me but her tired, accusatory tone cut through the ice.

“Knew what?”

“We met years ago. I was fourteen. How old were you?”

There was no point in denying it. “I wasn’t lusting after a child if that’s what you’re implying,” I said, with an edge in my tone. “I was nineteen. And to be frank, you were the brightest, most interesting girl I’d ever met. Your age only made you more impressive.”

“Did you know who you were bidding on?”

Her voice was so level I couldn’t be sure if she was accusing me or mocking me.

“Yes.”

“How?”

I sighed, defeated. “After your mother yanked you from me, I needed to know who you were, so… I had you followed.”

She arched a brow. “For how long?”

“Long enough to find out your name, where you lived, who with. As long as I knew who you were, I could track you down whenever I wanted. I had eyes on you at various points over the years,” I said. “You may have forgotten me but I never forgot you.”

Her eyes softened. “I never forgot you.”

That response made my temperature rise and my hope soar. We stared at each other, re-learning everything we thought we knew.

“In fact, I’ve thought about you a lot since we met in that bookshop. I went back there every day for a year, hoping to run into you again.”

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