Page 57 of Ensnared

“Lucien—”

“Y’allmight want to move your asses,Dom’spitching a fi—”Theswinging door crashes back againstBeau’soutstretched hand as he cuts off, taking in the scene.

Jasperturns, angling his body soI’mnot in full view.Instantly, all vulnerability flees from his face, leaving only cold, forbidding marble in its place.

That’swhat he is,Irealize.Unfeeling, untouchable, beautiful art.AndIcan stare at him all day but, really, he’s never going to look back.

Beaulooks up at the ceiling like he suddenly finds cornices fascinating. “I’ll—Ah.I’lltell him you’ll be a few more minutes.”

Fucking.Fantastic.

Whileneither of them are looking,Iswipe a hand over my eyes.

Somehow,Beaubeats a retreat even faster than he arrived.Andright now?Thatlooks like a damn fine idea.

Isidestep aroundJasperbefore he turns back to me and walk toward the door as quickly asIcan without being accused of running.

“We’renot done here,Lucien,”Jaspersays, but the hint of panic takes the usual weight from his implied order.

Istop. “Ithink we are, actually,”Itell him asIcrack in a thousand places. “Wearedone,Jasper.”

NowIjust need to get through one whole meeting without shattering completely.

Chapter15

Eden

Survivaltip #183

“Thelonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters.”

Lookingaround,Ifinally, reluctantly, have to admit there’s nothing moreIcan do to tidy my room.Inever made it down to breakfast, though someone—Lucky?—left a plate of delicious pancakes that dripped with melted chocolate by my door, which staved off my hunger at least.

Beforethe strikes,Ionly rarely had heavy carbs or sugar, thoughIhave a terrible sweet tooth.Mygrandmother never allowed it, making it clear she couldn’t spare the expense.AndHenry, well, he controlled everything so tightly.Atfirst, he’d delighted in having me sample every sweet and delicacyI’dnever been able to afford as a child.Butover time they became a treat, a reward only given whenIespecially pleased him—and that became a very rare thing.

Lucky’spancakes were delivered free of judgment or condition, andIsavored every morsel with carnal delight.

I’mnow glowing clean, the night’s sticky sin scrubbed off my skin.Mytight bun is back in its place, andI’vedonned the most conservative clothes thatBeauandDombrought me.Lookingdown at the tight pencil skirt and silk blouse,I’mreminded more of a caricature of a secretary than anything else, but at least it has the illusion of professionalism.

Myvery own version of body armor.

Though... the way the skirt presses my sore thighs together makes me uncomfortably aware of my body and what it’s been through in the last twenty-four hours.MemoriesofJaykob’stight grip biting into my hips makes heat snarl low in my stomach.

Shakingoff the scandalous urge to dip my fingers between my thighs and relieve the pressure,Ileave my room to explore the rest of the house.Crossingthe inner balcony,Iduck into the left side corridor.Oneroom, a mirror to my own, is open, and a grand piano rests on the raised platform.Cozysofas and beautiful artwork decorate the room, and the large window opens on a gorgeous view of the woods and mountains.

Deeperinto the corridor, creeping into the stone of the mountain, three doors are closed.Those,Iignore.Verypossibly they’re bedrooms, andIdon’t want to happen upon anyone ifIcan help it.Atthe end of the corridor, there’s another open door, and with a moment’s hesitation,Istep inside.

Mybreath leaves me in a pleased sigh.

Toweringbookshelves of rich, dark wood line the hexagonal room, and shorter bookcases divide the center.Booksof all colors, shapes, and sizes fill the space, and comfortably lived-in reading chairs are placed at clever intervals.I’mflooded by scents of dusty pages and leather covers and the uniquely nostalgic scent of the special glue that holds them all together.Warmlight slips under lampshades and soaks the room in a romantic golden haze.

I’vebeen wandering for twenty minutes and am fingering a leather-bound copy ofOntheGenealogyofMoralitybyFriedrichNietzsche—placed besideRoaldDahl’sTheWitches, of all things—when a hissing, mechanical sound behind me makes me shriek and spin around.

Jaspersteps out from a metal door, then a bookcase slowly swings back into place behind him.

Myjaw drops.

Justin that moment before he spots me, something about him seemsoff.There’sa cruel set to his mouth, an unhappy cast to his eyes, an unsteadiness in his slow steps.Hisusual poise is unbalanced, like he’s teetering on some unfathomable precipice.

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