Chapter Eight

Ruby refused to open her eyes. The sunlight stabbed at her closed eyelids, making its presence known no matter how desperately she tried to cling to the last echo of her dream—one that involved Lucas and his big cock. There hadn’t been even a hint of her brother going all battering ram on the door in the hazy non-reality of her subconscious. It had been a very good dream.

For at least a little bit longer she could deny the sun warming her cheeks, but there was no ignoring the sinewy arm curled around her waist or the hard, thick length of her dreams pressing against her ass. She was tucked firmly against Lucas, both of them on their sides. Judging by the cool morning air against her skin, the silk robe she’d tied toga style because of her chained arm had shifted up. The material had inched its way up to her hips, and the tie had loosened so the front hung open. Torn between adjusting the material and the lure of this peaceful moment, she inhaled a shallow breath to keep from waking up Lucas.

“I know you’re awake,” he said, his voice low and rough with sleep.

Keeping her eyes closed, she snuggled down deeper into her pillow. “No, I’m not.”

“Okay, then you go ahead and keep making that little moan sound you were doing a little while ago.” He tightened his hold, pulling her more firmly against him. “Good dream?”

Her cheeks burned with a prickly heat. She didn’t need a mirror to know how red she’d flushed. “Nightmare. All of the men in the world had teeny, tiny dicks.”

He chuckled, blowing a few strands of her hair forward so they landed across her cheek. “That must have been horrible.”

Blocking out the tickling of her hair, Ruby kept her eyes closed. Opening them would mean she’d have to acknowledge his closeness. She’d have to roll out from underneath his arm and relinquish that unnamable something keeping her warm that had nothing to do with the heat his strong body generated under the covers. Jasper was an ass, but he was right about Lucas. He wasn’t the man for her, no matter how good he felt curled around her. She was the crime boss’s daughter that he was blackmailing for access to Fare Island. He was the leader of the Silver Knights, devoted only to Elskov, who lied, cheated, manipulated, and killed to protect it. Growing up surrounded by thieves and murders, she’d had enough of that whatever-it-takes-to-win mindset to last a billion lifetimes. All she wanted was a little slice of truth, somewhere peaceful to lay her head, and the knowledge that the people she loved were safe from Rolf’s vindictive reach.

Of course, knowing that didn’t lessen her reluctance to crack open her lids and let reality come streaming through.

“Someone delivered the special hand-binding shirts half an hour ago,” he said.

Her heartbeat picked up. “Who?”

“The Sparrow.”

Of course. She should have known. “What did he say?”

“He didn’t.” Lucas drew the loose strands of her hair back and tucked them behind her ear, setting off an electric current of want that had her biting her bottom lip. “He just glared at me and dropped off the shirts.”

She could picture that. The Sparrow was short, thin, and ever vigilant. The only things he seemed to hate more than strangers was a dull knife or an enemy who died too soon.

“Don’t take it personally,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “He looks at everyone that way.”

“Except you.”

True. She’d always been the exception that proved the rule. Well, her and her mother. Jasper had always been up to too much trouble, talked too much, and played too many tricks for a man like the Sparrow to put up with.

“He was practically my governess growing up.”

“You had a governess?” Lucas asked, a teasing disbelief lingering in his words.

“I had something better. I had the Sparrow.” She’d learned early on that there was more to her father’s number one enforcer than appeared. He’d had a soft spot for kids, never met a stray animal he didn’t want to adopt, and was a fabulous teacher, even if the skills he was imparting weren’t exactly age appropriate. “I could pick a lock by four, hit a distance target with a throwing knife at eight, and by ten, I could get to every cave and hideout on the island undetected.”

“And you decided to be a jewelry designer instead of a ninja warrior?”

“The Sparrow is the one who gave me my first sketchbook.”

All those blank pages just waiting for her to make her mark. The memory of her first taste of creative freedom blocked her throat with a lump of bittersweet hope. Until then, she’d never imagined being able to make her own reality away from her stepfather’s watch. It was the best gift she’d ever gotten.

“You sound like you care a lot about a man who would do this to you.” He pulled down one of her hands tucked under her chin, turned it palm up, and traced his thumb over the raised scar of the M and I carved into it.

Glad again for the protection of her closed eyes, she clenched her jaw tight and willed back the tears so quick to come. The sharp, slashing pain in her hand had been nothing compared to the agony on the Sparrow’s narrow face as he’d pulled out his favorite blade and drew first blood.

“My father wanted to do much worse. The Sparrow came to my defense. It was touch and go, but my father agreed. Forcing him to be the one to actually mete out the punishment served a dual-purpose. Rolf isn’t a man who forgives opinions other than his own.”

“Why did he defy your father?”

Were his questions a way to interrogate an asset? Probably. Still, the words came pouring out.

“The Sparrow has loved my mother for as long as I’ve known him. I think at least some of that transferred down to Jasper and me.”

For a man like Lucas who only saw in black and white, the stream of grays that made up life growing up on Fare Island must be an anathema.

“Does Rolf know?”

She nodded. “He doesn’t care. My mother isn’t well. She’s…” She paused, trying to think of a way to sum up her mother’s fragility. The days she’d spend in bed. The constant dark circles. The listlessness. The air of hopelessness she’d always tried to cover with false cheer. “A little bit broken. Rolf considers her as his owned property. She’d never dare to cheat or leave him. Anyway, I think he enjoys watching the Sparrow’s misery.”

Her stepfather had found so many opportunities to throw the Sparrow and her mother together. Special guard duties on her shopping trips to Paris. Keeping her company on the days when she couldn’t get out of bed. All of it with the unspoken threat hanging over both of their heads if they gave in to temptation. The man was a conniving tyrant, and he ruled Fare Island with an unbreakable fist. That was why she and Jasper had to break free for good. Her mother, she knew, would never go. Whatever bond held her tight to Rolf’s side was beyond severing, but she and Jasper could do it. His connections in the U.S. could help them disappear. Even as pissed as she was at him for lying to her, she wouldn’t walk away from her brother. Not now. Not ever.

For a while, she and Lucas lay quiet together. Maybe he was denying the reality outside this bed as much as she was. But, finally, he spoke.

“Why do you call him your father to his face if he’s not? Jasper calls him Rolf.”

Lucas’s question yanked her out of their protective, pretend cocoon. She opened her eyes, the sun temporarily blinding her to her surroundings. Then, she blinked and the world fell into place around her. Fare Island. An arms deal. Blackmail. Her best chance at freedom.

“For the same reason he always finds a reason to keep the Sparrow near my mother,” she said as she threw off Lucas’s arm and sat up. “To remind him of what he does not, and never will, have.”

…

Half an hour later, Lucas found himself struck dumb in the dining room.

Quick wits were his most prized skill. It was what had gotten him from being the neglected child of an addict to being at the point of the spear when it came to keeping Elskov safe. He’d always depended on them, used them, exploited them. Looking at the twenty-five pictures of floral arrangements spread out before him, his wits fled him like a rat jumping off a sinking ship. Lives on the line? He could come up with a workable plan in heartbeats. But this? He had nothing.

“What do you think? Which one speaks to you?” Ingrid asked from her position behind his and Ruby’s chairs at the dining room table.

Glancing back at her face, rapturous as she clapped her hands together and looked at him expectantly, his still half-empty stomach grumbled. He flashed her a quick smile that probably looked as fake as it felt before turning his attention back to the photos. The images lying above his plate of rye bread, cheese, and jam looked like those find-what’s-different pictures where you had to find the sixteen differences between two almost-identical photos. “They all look nice.”

Ingrid’s mouth firmed into a line and she let out a quiet, if distinct, exasperated huff. In her defense, it was the twelfth time he’d uttered those words since he and Ruby had walked into the dining room expecting breakfast and finding Operation Wedding’s HQ instead. Next to him, Ruby covered a quiet, better-you-than-me giggle with a bite of cheese.

Lucas struggled for something, anything, else to say about what looked like an explosion of feminine fluff around him. From the photos of the flowers to the different colored fabric samples to the fifteen options for wedding programs to the tasting slices of possible wedding cakes to the list of hairstylists, it was like Ruby’s mother had whacked open a wedding piñata that had dumped out everything over the dining room table. How she’d managed to pull it all together in less than twelve hours escaped him, but it was a logistical and supply line miracle impressive enough to make him wish he could recruit her into the Silver Knights.

“Mom, give him a break,” Ruby said, rescuing him once again from a total brain breakdown. “Number one, he doesn’t know a marguerite daisy from a red clover. Number two, we just came down for breakfast twenty minutes ago, we’re barely awake.”

It was the most she’d spoken since they’d left the bed, tossed on their special hand-binding accessible shirts, and hurried downstairs, hoping for breakfast before everyone else in the house had woken up. They’d been greeted by a full buffet of breads, cheeses, jams, and coffee as well as Ingrid in her wedding-planning glory.

“I suppose I’ll take that lack of sleep as good news.” A faint blush turned Ingrid’s cheeks pink, but she powered on. “But with only a few days until the wedding, we don’t have time for you to be sleepy. Your father is insisting on only the best for your big day. He’s already sent out the call for everyone to attend. I hate the lack of invitations, but there really just wasn’t time. You know Rolf, lots of activities, trips, and plans had to be moved around so he could be here for the wedding. He can delay, but some things can’t be postponed forever.”

Lucas forced himself not to react to that bit of intel. Their information was that the exchange with Gregers Henriksen would happen soon, within the week. Instead of checking out flowers, he should be searching the grounds, breaking into Rolf’s study, figuring out how to tap into the encrypted phone the crime boss never took a step without, but it looked like there was a possibility of gaining something out of breakfast after all. All he had to do was prod Ingrid a little.

“It can be crazy,” Lucas said, keeping his voice light as he picked up one picture, pretending to examine it while he was really watching Ingrid. “Did he have a trip planned for this weekend? I hate that we made him rearrange his schedule.”

“No, thank goodness,” Ingrid said, anxiety pulling her features taut as she placed a shaky hand on Ruby’s shoulder as if to steady herself. “He has a very important off-island meeting early next week, but Saturday’s festivities will be over before he has to go.”

Ruby’s head snapped up. “Who with?”

“Some man named Gregars, I think. Or was it Gandry? You know me, always forgetting these things.” She chuckled and shook her head. “This is why your father never tells me anything. I just forget.”

The photo crinkled in his tight grip but he schooled his face not to betray the frustration bubbling to the surface.

Ingrid peeked over Lucas’s shoulder at the picture he held. “Oh, I so agree. The rose and orchid bouquet is the perfect one.” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “And you thought he wouldn’t have an opinion.”

“Where is Rolf?” he asked, being sure to keep his tone casual as he laid the photo on the table, smoothing its bent corner flat. “I should apologize for upsetting his schedule.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Ingrid said, crossing to her chair and sitting down in front of her uneaten breakfast. “He loves the chance to throw around his weight a little and get people to jump to his command.” Her tone was joking, but the teasing didn’t reach her eyes which had lost a little of their spark. “Anyway, he’s locked up in his study with Joey for the day. The good news is Antoine Alstar should be here in a few hours to start your dress.”

“So soon?” Ruby asked, keeping her gaze locked on the bits of breakfast she’d pushed around her plate instead of eating.

“It’s Tuesday,” Ingrid said. “Saturday is only four days away.”

The clock was ticking for Elskov. If the Americans were right, and he had no reason to doubt them since their information in the past had always been spot-on, the exchange was supposed to have happened this week. The question was, had the wedding moved the timeline up or pushed it back? Either way, he didn’t have time to waste on flowers and ribbons.

“Mom, you know you’ve always been so much better at all of this planning than I am,” Ruby said. “I’d like to be able to show Luc a bit of the island, not to mention take a shower, before Antoine and everyone else shows up and things get crazy.”

Disappointment and hurt flashed across Ingrid’s face but disappeared almost so fast, he could convince himself he’d been mistaken if it hadn’t been for the way Ruby flinched next to him. The door opened, and a painfully thin man with sharp, glaring eyes and a murderous expression walked in. The Sparrow was back and he was pissed.

…

Ruby should have expected it. The Sparrow wasn’t one to pussyfoot around anyone, not even her father. That made him not only rare but a one-of-a-kind commodity on Fare Island. Add to that the fact that he was the closest thing she’d ever had to a protector, and she couldn’t do anything but sit there with her mouth sealed shut as he stalked into the dining room.

The Sparrow took one look at all of the wedding paraphernalia and let out a snort of disgust. “I don’t like it.”

Her mother sighed. “Now, Hamish.”

Hamish? She’d grown up with the man and had never known his first or last name. Everyone simply called him the Sparrow—except, it seemed, for her mother.

“I know it’s not my place to say, but somebody has to.” Like always, his gaze pinned her to her spot. “I thought you were getting out. Marrying this one just pulls you in even deeper.”

Not telling him this was her escape from this life seemed like a betrayal, but she couldn’t, not yet, maybe not ever. The guilt stole the words from her mouth.

“You say that as if you don’t appreciate the kind of life we live,” Lucas said as he toyed with one of the emerald fabric swatches with his unchained hand, letting the silky material slide through his large fingers.

Everything about him seemed calm, from the placid look on his face to the nonchalant slouch of his shoulders, but it was a lie, a con. The orgasm last night and all the talk of the wedding must have twisted together inside her because despite the visual proof to the contrary, she couldn’t help but feel the conflict pulling at Lucas. He may not think he was a good man, but he was an honorable one, and the lies he had to tell were starting to take their toll. It must be difficult to only see in black and white in a gray word like theirs.

“It’s good enough for me and you,” The Sparrow snarled. “But not her.”

“I know that,” Lucas said.

The quiet, simple response made the Sparrow ratchet up his volume. “Do you? I know all about you and the things you’ve done to get where you are. You use people and leave them struggling to survive wherever they happen to land. You’re a cold-blooded bastard without a heart.”

The material Lucas had been toying with slipped from his hands, and he straightened in his chair, fury coiling his body tight. The Sparrow dropped a hand to the knife sheathed on his thigh.

It was as if the world stopped rotating. The only sound in the room was the blood rushing in her ears. “That’s enough,” she said, her voice a stone weight, slicing through the air in the tension-filled room. “You know his reputation, but you don’t know him.”

The Sparrow’s tone softened. “And you do?”

Did she? Her brain said no, but some underlying, more primal instinct said she did, that they were more alike than either of them cared to admit. “I do.”

The Sparrow opened his mouth to respond but the dining room door burst open before he could. Antoine, dressed in head-to-toe orange strolled in with a three-person entourage, oblivious to the tension sparking in the air.

“Madame and Mademoiselle Macintosh,” he called out in his truly horrible fake French accent. “I cannot express how excited I was to receive the call. You know how I adore weddings, even the last minute kind.”

“I’m so sorry about that.” Ingrid quickly got out of her seat and hustled around the table to the designer. “But you know what a hurry young love is always in.”

“That it is.” Antoine delivered a pair of air kisses to Ingrid and then turned to face Ruby and Lucas. “Now stand up, my dear, and let me get a good look at what we have to work with.”

Surrendering to the fact that her life was becoming one awkward moment after another, she sighed and stood up. Because of the hand-binding chain, Lucas stood up with her, taking her hand in his like a good fraudulent fiancé should. What wasn’t fake was the sizzle of desire that rushed across her skin from even that simple act of intertwining her fingers with his.

Antoine’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, and his face light up with joy and he clapped. “I love that you are following the old traditions. Oh the stories I’ve heard about what happens during the hand-binding.”

“It was supposed to stay on until dinner, but obviously we’ll cut that short so you can get what you need from Ruby for her dress,” Ingrid said, her words spilling out in a rush as the two talked as if Ruby and Lucas weren’t even in the room.

“We can’t have that,” Antoine exclaimed. “We will work around the hand-binding, and after I get the measurements, we can send the happy couple on their way to do whatever it is they want to do while I sketch a design.”