I always enjoyed Paris, but never as much as when I had Annabelle with me. I needed her to see how lovely it was here, to show her that there was more beyond the small, insulated town where she’d grown up. Here was an iconic place for her to enjoy, the most beautiful place that I felt was almost magical. Here, I’d make her mine.
“This is incredible,” she said, walking around the garden, looking at the flowers and stone benches with an awestruck expression.
“Mister Gryffin, your first meeting begins in an hour,” Worthington reminded me. I dismissed him with a wave of my hand.
“I know,” I said. “But I need to take care of Annabelle.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” she assured me, walking with wondrous eyes toward the entrance to my home. “I mean, surely something could occupy my time?” She looked at me, her eyes wide and expectant.
“Your headache is gone?” I asked with a quirked brow.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course. I’m fine now!”
I smiled. It would be my pleasure to take her out to dinner this evening, to treat her to the finest wines, to spoil her with pastries and fine food. Then I would take her back to my home…
“I know how you can occupy yourself,” I said, doing my best to get my head back in the game, to stop thinking about laying her down and fucking her senseless, of taking her mouth with mine, or having her suck my cock. I would not be the beast to her. I would what she needed — her lover, her caretaker, the one who met her every need.
Her daddy.
I put my arm out to her and crooked my elbow, welcoming her to take it. Shyly, she did, her hand feeling so incredibly soft and fragile. “You said you like to read, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Like?” she retorted with a laugh. “I spent my entire childhood reading, and have memorized every word of my favorite books.” She smiled. “There is no frigate like a book…”
“To take us lands away,” I supplied.
She beamed. “I didn’t know you could do that. Emily Dickinson?”
I merely shrugged. “There are many things you don’t know about me, sweetheart.” I opened the door, and held it ajar for her, beckoning her to enter.
Several servants stood in the shadows, awaiting my instructions but prepared to stay silent and out of my way. In the large, airy entryway the floors gleamed, polished wood reflecting the overhead lights, and in front of us lay the majestic, sweeping staircase that led to the second floor. To the right lay my office, where I’d take my meetings today, and to the left lay one of my favorite places in the mansion — the library.
Releasing her arm, I stepped forward and pushed open the doors. The silver handles clicked open, the bottom of the door swishing over plush navy-blue carpet. I stepped in, taking in a deep breath, like I always did. I found the scent of books, mingled with the aroma of the wood on the shelves, peppered with the faintest aroma of the Cubans I favored, one of the most relaxing smells. I enjoyed a good cigar as I sat on the balcony and watched over the twinkling lights of Paris proper. There was something magical and otherworldly about it, and I loved having my own little secluded spot and not having to account to anyone in the small town to where I was chained. I loved my trips to Paris, but hadn’t known how much more I would enjoy them with Annabelle by my side.
I stepped toward the humidor. I’d expected a fresh shipment of Cubans to arrive in time for my arrival, and as I was bent on seeing the newly-wrapped packages, I missed Annabelle’s response to the room. When I turned to face her, her hands were up to her mouth. She spun around slowly, taking in the massive bookshelves I’d had built into the walls, filled to the brim with classics, fiction, non-fiction, anything I’d wanted and more. I’d kept my mother’s small collection of paperbacks tucked away on one shelf. On another, I had every single work of Shakespeare and Chaucer, as well as some other famous British novelists I could not part with. I had a large collection of contemporary fiction but an even larger assortment of classics. She walked about the room on tiptoe, as if she were afraid of waking someone.
“You like it, Annabelle?” I asked.
Her eyes met mine in shock, as if she’d forgotten I was there. Spellbound, she walked over and pulled a hard copy of Paradise Lost from the shelf, allowing it to drop open in her hand, running her fingers along the smooth ivory interior as if she were smoothing away the wrinkles of a skirt.
“Like it?” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”
Overcome with something I could not name, my heart constricting in my chest even as a dull sort of ache clenched in my belly, I swallowed hard against the emotions that threatened to overtake me. “I don’t like it,” she whispered. “Like is a paltry word that doesn’t do justice to the magnificence of this room. I can’t even…I don’t even…” Her voice trailed off. “I do not like it,” she repeated. “I am madly in love with this. I can imagine no other place in the entire world I’d rather be than right here, right now, surrounded by these books and…” Her breath hitched as she lowered her eyes shyly. “With you.”
My throat tightened, and my nose tingled. She’d touched me in ways I could not quite fathom. She’d moved me, and my reaction had to be just right. She’d confessed to being happiest here, not only surrounded by her beloved books, but with me. The big, bad beast.
“You’re welcome to come here any time you like,” I said, my voice husky as I sought to control my emotions. “I know it won’t be easy for you to travel to Paris, but you only have to say the word and I would make it happen. This room is yours, all of it, the books, everything in it. Well — everything except the cigars,” I finished dryly, fairly certain that she’d not be too worried about that.
She laughed out loud, and it was the prettiest thing I’d ever heard.
“That’s not very nice of you,” she said with a coy look, her head tipped to the side, teasing me. “What if I happen to like cigars? What if I’d like to smoke one out on the balcony?”
She sauntered closer to me, her eyes fixed on mine, heated and challenging. When she was close enough to touch, I reached for her, pulling her to me firmly. “That’s quite enough,” I said. “Don’t even joke about doing such a thing. I’d have to take you over my knee, you know.”
Her eyes flared wider and her chest rose as she inhaled. “I know,” she said. “Makes me want to light up right here and now.”
I fisted my hand in the hair at the back of her neck, drawing her closer to me, when a sharp knock sounded on the door.
“Mister Gryffin?” Stifling a groan, I turned to see Worthington standing in the doorway, his brows arched curiously.
“Yes?”
“Your first meeting is in five minutes, sir. Would you prefer to take it in the library instead of the conference room?”
I released her, and stepped back. She cast her eyes down shyly.
“I’ll take it in the conference room,” I said. “I’d like to give Annabelle time to explore in here while I work. But when I’m done, I’d like our lunch brought out to the balcony, please.”
Worthington nodded. “Certainly, sir.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, after he’d departed.
“I need to,” I told her reluctantly. “I have to take this call. I have a laptop set up with wifi in a little office on the balcony, and your phone should work here as well. Why don’t you check on things at home? See how everyone’s doing? We will return in the next few days, and it will be about that time that I am planning the interview about your being my wife. Sound good?”
She nodded. “Yes, Daddy,” she said. “I would like that very much.”
I pulled her to my chest, my cock tightening in my pants. God, would I ever get used to her calling me that? Would I ever feel that it was right? Would I ever get past the idea of scandalizing her, of taking advantage of her innocence and naivety?
She frowned, and her little hand came to rest on my cheek, her brows furrowed in concern as she looked at me.
“What is it?” she whispered. “Suddenly, that haunted look is back. The look you get when whatever eats you up inside has reared its ugly head again. Was it something I said?”
My hands clenched into fists at the very thought of her being at fault for what I’d done. I shook my head, one quick jerk. “Of course not.”
“Something you’re afraid of, then?” I wanted to ease that worry line between her brows, soothe it with the softest touch of my hand. I wanted to pull her up against my chest and hold her, and tell her there was nothing to fear.
But it would be a lie. There was plenty to fear, and the biggest of all was yours truly.
I could destroy her so easily. I could hurt her. I could break her. I did not want to. But I’d done it once before, and who was I to think that somehow I’d overcome who I once was? Who was I to think I was anything but the horrific beast the townspeople said I was? I had a whole room of letters and articles and evidence to prove it.
I let her go and turned away. “Make yourself at home,” I said. “And I will join you for lunch as soon as my first meeting is over.”
I felt her behind me. I could sense her hurt. I wanted to reach back and tell her I hadn’t meant to be an asshole. I didn’t mean to shut her off. We would make it right, the two of us, together.
But it would be a lie. I couldn’t promise what I could not give her.
I never should have brought her to Paris.
