“You people are all the same.” His tone was deadly calm. Quiet. The hand holding the photo started to shake. His fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles whitened. The shaking spread outward; his shoulders visibly vibrated with his rage.
Sophie sucked in a breath. He wasn’t withdrawing…He was going to lash out. The oppressive wave of guilt that cut off her air warred with a new, unexpected apprehension. This looked bad, she knew it. The sneaky reporter trying to get the scoop on a story that defined this man’s worst moment in his life. God, she’d been an idiot to think she could waltz in here and start chatting about his kidnapping.
Goosebumps rippled along her bare arms and her muscles tensed. Despite the anger she could feel rolling off him in waves, he seemed to rein in that silken thread of self-control and loosened his fingers. The photo stayed crinkled in a tight ball, completely destroyed. When she swallowed, it felt like knives sliced her throat.
Emery spoke again, much to Sophie’s dread. “Invade my life, my privacy. You know nothing of what I’ve endured or what happened to me and my…” the words faded but Sophie sensed he nearly said “brother.”
Her eyes burned with a sudden rush of tears. His pain was so clear on his face, and it made her think of herself, of the way she felt when she thought of Rachel.
“Mr. Lockwood—” She had to explain, to show him she only wanted to help.
He threw the crumpled photo at her feet. He might as well have slapped her. Would he be more willing to listen if he knew she was here to save him? But how could she get him to listen long enough to explain everything?
Summoning her strength, she stepped toward him. “But you survived. I think people want to know the truth, know how strong you are.” Why couldn’t he see what a miracle his escape was? He’d survived a horrific experience and was stronger, stronger than she was. Losing Rachel had destroyed her innocence and shattered her world.
A ruthless laugh broke from his lips. “Strong? Strong?” He shook his head from side to side, a wild smile splitting his face suddenly. “I’m strong now. Iwasn’tstrong then. If I had been strong, Fenn would be here.” When his eyes grew hollow Sophie realized how much that admission must have cost him. He blamed himself for whatever had happened to his brother, thought Fenn Lockwood’s death was his fault. And she’d played right into reinforcing his delusion that an eight-year-old boy should have been able to stop kidnappers. That was ludicrous.
“At least you’re here. You’re alive and you have a good life.” The words were hollow; Sophie didn’t know what else to say so she repeated what her therapist had told her years ago, after Rachel was taken.
“It’s a half-life, nothing more.” Emery’s soft utterance cut open her soul. He understood, felt the same way she did, if not more.
She’d poured her heart into what little life she felt she had left, but it wasn’t enough to fill the empty space where Rachel should have been. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Emery to have lost his twin. A sibling, a person he’d shared a womb with, had been raised alongside for eight years. Whatever had been between them had been destroyed, one life ended, the other haunted.
“I’m not going to agree to an interview. Your homework should’ve told you that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had enough of the club tonight.”
Sophie’s heart cracked down the middle. She’d failed. But there was more to it—the loss of something else, something deeper and infinitely more important: his trust. She’d never met this man before today, didn’t fully trust her, yet she hated that she’d let him down, abused what little trust he’d started to give her. It was like losing him, even though she sensed he’d never belong to anyone. He seemed so distant, buried beneath the past and that made him dangerous. A wildness emanated from him that made him seem like the sort of a man a woman couldn’t own, couldn’t claim, not matter how hard she wanted to or tried to. Her grandmother used to say you could never harness the wind.
Foolish woman that she was, Sophie just had to try. She waited a breathless moment that seemed to hang on the edge of forever. He needed her to submit to him; he needed the control between them. She could give it to him, right now, even if it was only temporary.
“Mr. Lockwood, please.” Guided by some instinct, she grabbed his hand and fell to her knees at his feet, head bowed. “Please…” She knew the second his gaze shifted to her. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, her skin prickled, and arousal flooded through her, making her damp, and her breathing shallow. Even though he was upset with her, his focus heated her blood.
There was a long pause before he spoke. “Please, what?” Emery’s voice was dom-like—cool, calm, commanding, not hard or biting like moments before. He shifted his feet, angling his body toward her—a few inches only, but it was enough to show she was getting through to him again. There might still be a chance.
She swallowed thickly. “Please, Sir.”
“And what do you request of me?” He pulled the hand that she clutched free of her grasp, but moved it to the crown of her hair, stroking. His palm moved down to her neck, fingers threading and pulling tightly enough to make her arch her back to ease the pressure. It forced her face upward, and she had to look into his eyes. He stood over her now, his towering posture not threatening but completely dominating. She didn’t cower but kept herself submissive, giving him what he needed.
No one understood. No one knew the agonizing grip of pain at losing someone you loved. But Emery did. And she wanted him to talk to her, to tell her how he’d survived with a broken heart. But when he turned to look at her, eyes so full of echoing pain, she came to a realization. He wasn’t stronger, at least not in this. He was just as wounded as she. They were both lost. He without his brother, she without Rachel. Lives taken from them that could never come back. Memories tarnished by other men’s evil, leaving them with nothing more than a child’s fear of loss and death.
She didn’t think he could give her the answers she needed. But he could give her the story, provide the details which might give her enough information to solve who was behind his kidnapping. She was so close to figuring it out. She could catch whoever was responsible and prevent them from harming Emery or anyone else ever again. It would have to be enough.
“I want your help to make the monster who did this to you pay. He’s still out there. You know that.” She paused, licking her lips. “And he could come after you again. It’s why you’ve kept bodyguards and security high for the last twenty-five years,” she guessed. Her reports always showed the same man shadowing Emery the few times he’d been photographed outside his home.
Emery’s lips pursed into a thin line and his brows drew down over his eyes, which were more the color of chocolate-kissed honey now.
“You think you can catch a man who’s eluded police and the FBI?”
Her heart jolted. He’d just admitted his captor had been a man. The reports said three masked men, but he made it sound like only one man was involved. What had happened to the other two? More puzzle pieces shifted.
“I’m a skilled reporter. I’ve focused on criminal stories for years, Sir. If you let me, I can use whatever you tell me to solve the case. IknowI can.” She prayed he’d hear the sincerity and resolve in her tone. She meant every word. She’d protect him and catch the bastard who’d hurt him. As penance for Rachel. As penance for every child she couldn’t save.
He seemed to consider her request.
“What would you do for me in return?” His eyes promised he meant something sexual. Something that might shatter her lonely world into pieces and leave her craving him for the rest of her life.
“D-do for you?” Sophie stuttered. That was becoming an irritating habit she needed to fix. The man had the ability to tie her in knots when he got her thinking of other things besides her job.
“I’m a dom, darling. Your needs should involve me, and your thoughts should be about what I need and want. If I am nice and give you what you need, you must give me something in return. And no…I’m not talking about money or anything as trivial as that. My story, as you call it, is worth something beyond money. I will need something just as important from you in return.”
