“You?” she echoes, leaning back against the edge of my desk.
An unknowing temptation. I’d love to push her onto the glossy dark wood and shove myself between her thighs, my hand over her mouth.
“I am the curse my mother put on Thaxted.”
“I don’t get it.” She tilts her head to the side, reminding me of an adorably confused puppy.
“One of the things Thaxted and Richmond had, or maybe have, in common was a belief in the importance of legacy.” As I say the words, there’s a slam of realisation.
Her.
Taggie is supposed to be part of Richmond. She’s the one who should have my children and means that Richmond has a new generation of raucous family.
I push the revelation aside. It can’t be.
“Thaxted also believes intensely in tradition and family. But his method is different. Instead of a loving, connected group with children growing up with their parents, he’s of the ‘introduce me to my sons when they’re twenty-one’ philosophy.”
I don’t mention daughters. I don’t want her to make this connection. But her brow is furrowed with lack of understanding about where this is going, so I think I’m fine.
“He has dozens of children, and unlike Richmond, which my parents made a tight family unit, he only cares about them when they’re old enough to be useful to him.”
Her lip wrinkles.
“Exactly,” I agree with her implicit assessment. “He killed my family, so I carry out my mother’s curse and take from him what he cares about most: his family tradition.
“Since he murdered my family, he has become exceptionally unlucky. His eldest son died in a car accident. His next eldest died because of faulty electrical wiring in his house. The others had a house fire, drug overdose caused by a bad batch, blood poisoning during a routine operation, severe allergic reaction causing hospitalisation and subsequently dying of a secondary infection, an accident when cleaning a gun that was loaded, and a fall down the stairs. Every common, unfortunate cause of death has been visited on Thaxted’s family since he killed the Richmond mafia.”
The corners of her mouth tug upwards. “You’re the curse.”
“But you can call me Dom.” I keep my face blank.
She giggles and we’re gazing at each other, and the connection is as intense as it is undeniable.
It takes a long moment, then her expression freezes.
“And that’s why you were there that night.”
Or alternatively, I was following her because I need her close by so I can breathe. I’ve fallen in passionate and tragic love with a girl half my age who was supposed to be part of my vengeance.
“Mm.” I make a sound that could be agreement. “The thing is, I moved on them earlier than I planned.”
“Oh.” Her face falls. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“Being shot in the head isn’t really part of the ‘cursed’ plan,” she says with a snort.
I shrug. “This is London, and those bullies were asking for trouble. It could have been anyone who killed them.”
But it wasn’t, and I suspect Thaxted will realise that. It’s too much of a coincidence that they were in London to retrieve Taggie and were all murdered together. Even if they were fucked-up little shits who were going against Essex rules to keep their sister a virgin.
“I should go,” she says suddenly, and I’m not prepared.
“No.” The word is harsh and out before I can stop it. “You’re staying here.”
Instead of being alarmed, as she ought to be, Taggie merely looks at me with a touch of confusion. “I can’t do that.”
“I think he might target you.” Look, that sounds rational. Protective. Considerate, even. Not at all like I will hold her hostage and spoil her until she can’t imagine leaving.
Her eyes fill with panic.
“I’d like you to remain here, for your own safety. Since his three sons are dead, I suspect he’ll be looking for revenge, and you…” I leave it dangling, and she makes the connection.
“He’ll think I killed them?!” Taggie’s mouth falls open, and she’s so genuinely horrified by the idea, I nearly laugh.
“No, but he’s not known for proportional reactions,” I say dryly, and neglect to mention that I’m not either.
“Oh. Right.” She pinches her eyebrows together in sympathy. “Sorry.”
“I couldn’t protect my family, but I can protect you, Taggie,” I tell her, low and earnestly, and in some ways honestly. I’m not above using every advantage I have. “But I need you close to ensure your safety.”
That’s a plausible reason that isn’t that I’m hoping she might fall in love with me from mere proximity. Which is absurd, of course. My love for her won’t transmit by osmosis.
More’s the pity.
But maybe… Just maybe if she had to show me affection, a gentle bambola like Taggie would find it easier to think of a scarred, tattooed, morally repugnant man who is twice her age as more than what he is? If I planted the seed of the idea that we would be good together, perhaps it could grow?
She blinks. “Why would you help me? I don’t understand.”
“He’ll discover soon enough that I murdered them, and he’ll wonder why.”
The baffled expression on her face is truly cute. “Because you found them intending to…”
Rape her. She can’t say it.
“And if Thaxted can’t get at me—which he can’t—he’ll come after the next best thing. The person he might hold responsible for his sons’ deaths.”
“Me,” she whispers.
“And if it were just that I was rescuing a damsel in distress, he would think he can take out his anger without repercussion.”
Taggie covers her mouth with her hands, horror in every angle of her slight body.
“It would be better if he thought you’re important to me. Then he wouldn’t dare touch you.”
This is all the surface of a lie with the kernel of truth. Thaxted will come after her, but because she’s his daughter. She’ll be safer with me, because I’ll protect her with not only my life, but the lives of every person I can get hold of. I’d build a house of human bones if that was the best way to defend Taggie.
“But I’m not.” Her expression is a bit sad. “We only just met.” She rakes her eyes—fuck they are her father’s eyes—over my body from head to toes, as though I’m a half-forgotten dream. And even as I wonder if she saw me stalking her, I feel her regard like it’s her hands. Sensation ripples down my spine then spreads through to my cock, which thickens.
Fuck it. There are only two options here: she knows she’s my captive, or she accepts my offer.
“I could protect you properly if he thought you were my wife.”
Her shock is almost a physical thing. I’ve never seen someone so still. It’s like she thinks if she moves or draws breath that will change what I’ve just said.
“What if I had come to pick you up from that club because I was your husband?”
I can practically see her mind whirring. “I left with those boys, I couldn’t have anyone thinking—”
“They wouldn’t,” I cut her off abruptly. “You went to the club to meet your friends from university, left a little early, and were grabbed while you waited for me to pick you up.”
“I guess…” She’s a bit breathless, and frankly so am I.
She hasn’t said no yet. I can hardly believe my luck.
“So, what, we’re engaged?”
“Married.” I don’t like the idea of an engagement. That could be broken off. “Have been for a year.”
She huffs with laughter. “This is ridiculous, no one would ever believe you married me. And how would they even know?”
“We’ll go to some events, and tell everyone we kept our marriage a secret because your grandmother disapproved, and you didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.”
The sounds of doubt that come from her mouth would be endearing if I weren’t wracked with nerves that I’ll have to lock her in this house to keep her.
But she still doesn’t say no.
“Just until the threat from Thaxted is over?” she checks. “And then, what? We’ll pretend to divorce?”
No. Absolutely not.
I nod vaguely.
“We’ll figure something out.” Specifically, something that involves her staying with me forever. “For now, let’s ensure you look the part. Come on.” I hold out my hand and then swear internally as her gaze drops to it.
I keep forgetting she doesn’t feel this connection that I do.
It’s only a fraction of a second, and I’m already withdrawing my arm, pretending I didn’t desperately want to hold her hand, when she dives forward and her little, soft fingertips brush my big scarred knuckles.
I lead her upstairs to her bedroom, and to the dressing table—one of the only pieces of my mother’s furniture that remained in here during last week’s redesign. She gasps as I open the box, revealing jewellery passed down through the Richmond family for generations.
“Choose any ring you like.”
“I couldn’t.” She looks up at me, then down at the array of priceless heirloom jewels.
“Try.”
“But they’re all so beautiful and expensive.”
I attempt to see it through her eyes. To me, there are hundreds of tiny memories of my mother and my grandmother and my sisters wearing the necklaces and brooches and rings. There’s every type of combination of stones in shades of blue and green and purple—the colours of Richmond. Emeralds, amethysts, sapphires, and aquamarines. Big, showy rings and simple rows of princess-cut diamonds.
I guess it could seem intimidating.
“Taggie, my wife should have—”
“But I’m not your wife.” She takes a step back, shying away, and I grit my teeth.
I really should have opted for a different strategy. Somehow, I imagined that if we pretended we’d been in love for a year already, the outward situation would match the way I feel inside: like I’ve been in love with Taggie forever.
My heart, of course, but also my lungs.
“Why are you doing this for me? I’m nobody.”
She’s everything to me. Now she’s here in the same room, I can’t imagine how I survived without her. It’s as though she’s an essential organ.
“You could think that I’m doing this to make up for what I couldn’t do in the past,” I suggest. That would be wrong, but you could.
It’s the right thing to say. She relaxes, and when I gesture to the rings again, she steps forwards, and we pore over the tray together, me suggesting, pointing out larger diamonds and emeralds until she laughs and accepts the sparkliest one in white gold with sapphires and diamonds.
Sliding the ring onto her finger, and seeing her pleased smile, is magic.
“Call your grandmother and tell her I’m sending a car,” I say to cover the fact I just want to kiss her.
“Oh, she’ll never leave her house,” Taggie replies, looking up from her ring. “No chance.”
I scowl. I’d rather have everything under my control.
“Ask her anyway. Impress on her how important this is.”
“I will, but…” Taggie shakes her head. “She’s stubborn.”
“I’ll send some of my men to look after her. And we start immediately to show everyone you’re mine, and under my protection. You’ll need a dress for an event tonight.”
I pull out my wallet and offer her the matte black credit card. The limit on it is enough to buy most houses three times over.
“Whatever you’d like, put on that. I’ll arrange a car and security.” For a second I consider dropping everything to go shopping with her. But that won’t make sense if we’ve been married for a year. “Gavino and my core team will accompany you.”
She’s shaking her head.
“Yes.” I lower my tone to one of uncompromising command. “A dress for tonight, and anything else you need. If you’re going to be my wife—”
“Your fake wife,” she reminds me, and that is unwelcome.
“You must ensure no one suspects. My wife knows she’s valued above all. She can buy everything she wants, and I’ll smile as I pay the bill.”
A shadow passes over her eyes. “Yeah, but your fake wife—”
She stops mid-sentence when I reach out and place my fingers on her lips. “We won’t repeat that again.” My heart can’t take it. “From now on, there’s no fake. You’re my wife, so that I can protect you. And we won’t give anyone a chance to suspect anything.”
She’s warm and soft and unexpectedly yielding beneath my blunt fingers.
“Do you understand?”
The whites of her eyes show large as she looks up at me and nods.
“And you’ll spend using my credit card as though it would be a personal affront to me if you didn’t?”
Another nod, and a small part of me relaxes.
If the price of Taggie being my fake wife can be paid with that credit card, it’ll be insanely cheap. I’d pay my entire soul.
