Page 19 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
“Give me that.”
He slaps the diary shut, examining the well-worn cover. “No, I don’t believe I will.”
“It’s mine.”
“Actually I believe it belongs to your mother, but that’s neither here nor there. The holding company couldn’t possibly let go of something materially valuable to the property.”
“The diary isn’t going to affect the auction!”
“Won’t it? I think you’ll bid higher if the diary is included.” He slips the diary into his inside coat pocket.
“I’m already willing to bid everything I have.”
“Did you consider that I might be protecting you? You might not like what you find inside.”
“No,” I say, taking a step closer. We’re chest to chest, face-to-face. Or we would be if I wasn’t a full foot shorter than him. “Because you don’t know what’s in that journal, so how could you know whether I’ll like it? And besides, you don’t want to protect me. You want to hurt me.”
He draws a finger down my cheek, almost tender. “You might be right about that. I get hard just thinking about your blood on my sheets.”
My hand is up before I can consider the consequences, slapping him across the face. In the aftermath, my hand hurts more than I would have expected. And his head is turned away. From the side I can see the corner of his lips turn up.
When he faces me, there’s no warmth in his golden-brown eyes. The fire has frozen, crystallized like the frosted glass that lights his face. “God, you really did forget. You thought I was your knight in fucking armor, riding in to defend your castle.”
“No,” I whisper, but I’m terrified he’s right. That the limo driver and Charlotte Thomas and even Harper’s drunken declarations of Gabriel’s regret convinced me that he’s a good man. I thought I had kept my guard up, but now I see how utterly defenseless I am. He’s not going to save my castle. He’s going to burn it down.
Amusement would be easier to bear. The genuine sympathy lighting his eyes makes my stomach turn over. “My sweet little virgin,” he murmurs. “Always thinking the best of people. Even when they don’t deserve it.”
A single tear escapes my lashes, rolling down my cheek. “I don’t.”
“Oh, but you do. Did you think I bought you out of kindness? That I couldn’t bear to see you touched by any of those other men?”
“No,” I whisper, broken.
“Or maybe you believed I started to care for you, that I couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore.”
I shake my head in wordless denial. He sees too deep into my heart, into dreams I never dared to speak. Hoping for the impossible. A lion could never fall in love with a mouse.
He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I fell madly in love with your beautiful little cunt. I loved the way it felt around my cock. I dream about it, darling.”
“Go to hell.”
“Maybe I should ask for your father’s permission to marry your sweet pussy.”
“Stop it.” I’m infuriated, almost out of breath with the force of my anger.
“Mr. St. James, I know that you and I have many differences, but I hope we can come together over our mutual enjoyment of a good fuck.”
“Don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t know anything about him.”
“I think you’re the one in the dark where your father is concerned.”
A scoffing sound escapes me. “And I should believe anything you say? You already gave fake evidence to the prosecutor so that you could get your revenge. You ruined him.”
“He cheated me.”
“That excuse is getting old. So what? He cheated you. You have more than enough money, and he has nothing. Don’t you care that he’s suffering? Don’t you see that he’s lost everything?”
“Not his loyal daughter. You rushed to his side as soon as you left me.”
“He had a heart attack!”
“And what if I’m sick,” he says, mocking. “Will you rush to my bedside?”
“Yes,” I say, words sharp with venom. “I’ll be there to watch your pain. And I’ll enjoy it.”
A chuckle. “Something to look forward to.”
I stalk away, trying to clear my head. Mind games. He’s only doing this to mess with me. He doesn’t care about the diary—and he doesn’t care about me, either. It’s about winning for him.
Turning to face him, I force myself to lower my eyes, to speak in deference. “Please, Gabriel. There must be some way I can convince you to give me the diary.”
His surprise ripples through the air, almost tangible. “What are you doing?”
“I thought you would like this,” I say, keeping my chin lowered, my voice soft.
If he wants me to beg, I’ll do it. If he needs this to feel like he won, I’ll give that to him. The diary is worth everything to me. More than the house. It has the answers to my mother.
