She pressed her lips together, trying to stem the furious flow of hate and hurt. He continued smoothing his hands along the thin skin of her legs, waiting for an answer.
"Perhaps..." he mused, "being unable to free yourself from the corset?" Thomas paused long enough that his bride gave a stiff nod. "And then, finding you'd been replaced in the quartet?" That was pushing her too far, because the girl hissed like a cat and slapped him across the face with all of her strength, then gasped in shock, scrambling off the bed and racing for the door to the bathroom. With the unfair agility of those long legs, he was on her in a moment. Lauren was shuddering in terror and he caged her into the corner with his arms. "You will never. Hit. Me. Again." His voice was glacial, terrifying. It reminded her of that night in his office when he'd had Chuck shoot her father in the leg.
But his timid wife was no more. Between gritted teeth, she managed, "You could have killed me yesterday, just to get off on your Dom fantasies. I couldn't breathe. What I hyperventilated? I would have died, right there on your pristine bathroom floor."
Thomas's polar gaze was steady. He wasn't going to tell her he'd been watching her on his well-placed security cameras. That if he'd seen her going into distress he would have called her to tell her where the other key was. Or Straker of course, if she seemed too panicked to handle it herself. Though the vision of his employee seeing his bride in her corset and panties made his fists tighten. There was always another key. Only a fool would rely on one means of escape. That watching her force herself to dial down every time she started to scream and didn't have the breath made him proud of her. That he was very much looking forward to one day making her come whilst wearing a corset and actually enjoying the sight of her losing consciousness upon orgasm. But he wasn't foolish or cruel enough to bait her further. "I always have ways," she eyed his hesitation speculatively, "of making certain such a thing does not happen. And you underestimate yourself. Your magnificent breath control- you use it for playing your instruments, especially the most vigorous and robust pieces. And you never tire. I've watched you with some admiration. It made me think of how lovely you would look, forcing your fears away in that corset."
His soothing words didn't comfort her this time, Thomas could see that. His sweet bride's natural need to be loved couldn't overcompensate for her misery and betrayal. "I have practice this morning," Lauren finally said. "May I get ready?" Thomas watched her for an excruciatingly uncomfortable amount of time, then finally nodded, stepping aside to allow her into the bathroom.
If she thought back, Lauren would have seen much later that it started when the orchestra was served a surprise champagne brunch after rehearsal. The season tickets - wildly over-priced in her humble opinion - were already sold out and the new photo session in theDaily Mail("Fail," Lauren mumbled) had brought a flattering amount of attention on the LSO. Knowing she didn't have to drive since Chuck was parked calmly and illegally right outside the door, she accepted a second glass, then a third, and when no one seemed to be paying attention, she poured herself a fourth round of the really lovely beverage, so fizzy...
Concentrating, Lauren carried her cello out the door perfectly, knowing her grim-faced shadow would be there to take it from her with a muttered, "Allow me." And the terrifying sharp eyes of her captor/spouse were gone, along with the rest of him when she came home, so the girl helped herself to a big package of chocolate biscuits and a lovely Riesling, which she drank straight from the bottle. Why waste a glass? This led to a long nap, woken finally by the buzzing of a text on her phone from Thomas.
"We have a dinner meeting with some French clients. Be ready by 7 pm. I know you speak fluent French. Do not do so during this meeting."
His curt and mysterious instructions made her angry, but Lauren dragged herself out of bed and pushed her short blonde curls out of her face. Heartless bastard. She could be heartless, too.
Meanwhile, Thomas was in a meeting regarding a delicate negotiation of arms sales between two equally unlikeable parties. Really, why did he allow The Corporation to stay in such a distasteful side of the business? Too many sloppy and stupid clients. Too many needless deaths. But his mind kept returning to the blank misery of his new bride as she'd escaped into the bathroom that morning. No matter what she'd expected, Williams thought with some chagrin, this was an equal surprise to him. He'd planned on getting the girl settled as Mrs. Thomas Williams, fucking her a few times - she was beautiful, of course, he would - then ignoring his sweet virgin and heading back to the dark and murky pleasures he'd sunk into so long ago. He'd intended to keep Lauren happy by keeping her vile father alive and giving her space for her music and social interaction with the other wives as he moved her into a bedroom on the fourth floor by her beloved instruments. The cold-hearted Number Two never expected the odd pleasure of waking up beside her warm little body, running with her in the park, how good she felt writhing on his lap as he spanked her into a near-orgasm...
"-the second shipment arrives via- Thomas, which port would that be?"
His suddenly alert cobalt gaze found everyone else at the long table looking at him inquiringly, though the pitch-black gaze of Number One showed a mix of amusement and warning.
"The Port of Marseille-Fos, of course," he answered crisply. "Two weeks exactly upon receipt of your final payment." The rest of the men at the table nodded and continued negotiations, but Thomas was quite aware of the insectile gaze of Kingston, lingering on him for several uncomfortable moments before returning back to the conversation.
Even he'd been surprised by the words flowing from him last night, trying to convince this puzzling and arousing girl that even an arranged marriage -theirmarriage - could be something deeply satisfying to both of them. It had been a long time since Thomas had needed to woo a woman- court her. Women in his circles... they already knew what he wanted and were quite happy to give it to him. But Lauren was different. In every possible way different, and he would need to adjust his course of persuasion accordingly.
This was never clearer than when Chuck delivered Lauren to him that evening. The dinner party was held in an old, beautiful estate home, cooked by a magnificent chef, and served gracefully by waiters from some surely five-star restaurant. Lauren never caught which one, exactly, but it didn't matter. She was still a bit tipsy from her permissive afternoon and spending most of her time behaving as the demure bride of The Corporation's scary second in command.
"And you, Mrs. Williams, have you ever been to Florence?"
Lifting her head with an automatic smile, Lauren found the inquiring gaze of the grey-haired man across the table. He was pleasantly rotund with a kind, wrinkled face.He looked like someone's grandpa,she thought distantly,if someone's grandpa killed people. A lot."I have, Monsieur Boucher," she paused for a second. Boucher. Butcher. Her stomach twisted alarmingly and the girl took a hasty gulp of her Caymus Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, which made her feel vaguely guilty. Really, it was too lovely a vintage to treat so harshly, but she continued. "We stayed at the Suoro Oblate Della Spirito Santo-"
"I know it," the man answered slowly, "why would you pick a humble room in a convent?"
Lauren shrugged, the first real smile of the evening crossing her face. "It was simple, but it was beautiful monsieur. We heard the evening prayers as the sun set, and the nuns baked bread every morning to go with the honey from the convent beehives. It's one of my best memories of Florence." After a short, polite silence from the table, the conversation continued to eddy around them, but Thomas watched his bride and the man who was about to buy six million pounds worth of surface to air missiles continue to talk about something as innocuous as the nun's beekeeping.
"You did beautifully tonight, darling."
Closing her eyes in a misguided attempt to block out her husband's beautiful, potent voice, Lauren nodded in a noncommittal fashion. "Thank you," she answered politely. He could hear the dull tone in her voice, but Thomas chose to ignore it.
It was impossible to ignore the painfully stiff posture of his pretty bride when they were finally safely behind the doors of their home, however. Looking longingly at the stairs, Lauren managed, "I'm really tired, I'm going to take a bath and just... you know." Leaning deliberately against the doorway leading to the stairs, Williams crossed his arms over his beautifully fitted suit,
"Are you." His resonant, sculpted voice was cool, but Lauren hardened her heart against it.
"Yes," she gritted out. "So, if you'll excuse me-"
His hand caught her arm as Lauren's foot rose for the first step. "We've been doing so well, little girl." Her frightening husband's voice was composed, even as a chill was sweeping across each crisply enunciated word. "Are you going to take a step back from all our progress? Something you have, darling, enjoyed quite a bit."
Her back was to him, but his wife paused obediently. "You told me it was my choice," she answered flatly. The girl closed her eyes, doing everything she could not to cringe.
"I did," Thomas answered thoughtfully. Another pause and she knew he was looking her over. "Very well. Goodnight." He moved behind her as she walked up the stairs and for a panicked moment, Lauren was still frightened he'd push her into the bedroom, make her give in... But he didn't, stepping off onto the second floor, punching a complicated code into his office security system, and shutting the door behind him.
Lauren was relieved enough to take a hot bath, wrapping her arms around her drawn-up legs and sobbing in relief. And frustration. And some hurt. And Thomas watched it on his in-home surveillance system, index finger thoughtfully moving across his upper lip.
Chapter 13 – A Mexican Standoff in Suburban London
In which Thomas and Lauren hate each other's guts. Until they don't.
