Caught: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (His Domination Book 2) (10 page)

“Monica.” He stood, and Monica took a step back. “Long time no see.”

Yes. A long time, but not long enough. “Jackson.”

Her resolve was weak. For a woman who had felt like she was in heaven, she now stood like a statue, hoping that the stiller she stood the less likely Jackson would pay attention to her. Things didn’t work like that. Jackson approached, keeping a respectful distance but holding back what he really wanted to do and say.
Hit me, probably.
Monica refused to shudder in his presence.

“How are you doing?” He stuck the cigar back in his mouth like a pompous ass. To think that Monica once found his behavior attractive.
What did I know? I was younger and dumber.
“I’ve been hearing interesting stories about you. If I didn’t think it would make you uppity, I’d come visit that lovely business you started up with Cole’s money.”

Monica inhaled deeply. “I’m fine.” She didn’t ask how he was doing.

Now he approached, closer, his aftershave taking Monica back to those dark days in which she was a prisoner in his mansion. “What brings you here? Never thought I’d run into you in one of my… favorite places.”

He’s trying to get to you.
Monica finally had to look away to keep from giving in to the chills she felt. “I go where I please.”

Jackson tilted his head. “With whomever you please, it seems like.”

Monica turned. Henry stood two feet behind her, his brows furrowed and his jaw set. “Jackson Lyle.”

The man in question took a long drag of his cigar before blowing a longer trail of smoke into the air. “Who are you again? Harry Wilson?”

“Henry Warren.”

They didn’t shake hands, thank God. “Oh, right. I’ve heard of you. Well.” He winked. Monica wanted to vomit. “I must be going. Merely stopped by to say hello to some friends.” His wave to the table was a bit too enthusiastic. “Hope to see you around, Monica. Always good to see a familiar face.”

He slowly passed by them, staring at Monica through the corners of his eyes. She stood, stoic, wishing Henry would do something, anything.
What can he do?
Besides stand protectively near her as that man went by.

“Warren.”

Henry’s hand went to the small of Monica’s back. “Don’t satisfy him,” he muttered into her ear.

The moment Jackson disappeared around a corner, it was as if a fog lifted from the crowd. People went back to chatting and the music became louder. Monica pushed herself from Henry’s extending embrace and cleared her throat. “Can we go?”

“Of course.”

They said curt goodbyes to everyone at the table before going to the coat check and collecting their deposited belongings. On their way toward the door, however, Monica released Henry’s hand and made a detour toward the bathroom. “Sorry. I need to.”

He said nothing aside from, “I’ll see you by the door.” Monica left her coat with him and slipped into the ladies’ room, which was blissfully empty at that moment.

She had to clean up. As erotic as it had been a few minutes ago, seeing Jackson made her feel… dirty. It was an irrational thought. Jackson had nothing to do with Henry. Henry had nothing to do with Jackson.
I should feel comforted.
Yet the last thing Monica wanted right now was something sexual left on her.
That man makes me hate sex.

Not only did she clean herself up from head to toe, but she stood in front of the sink, staring at the makeup on her face and the way her hair curled across her skin. This was the face Jackson saw. The face he used to see every day. What had changed since their last meeting over a year ago?

Monica had changed her hairstyle. She also wore bolder makeup when she could be bothered. Otherwise? She looked exactly the same. No new wrinkles. No scars – aside from the ones residing inside her. With a sigh, Monica splashed some water on her face and sucked in some strength from the air. She would need it to walk out of that place with her head held high.

In front of all those people who knew what Jackson had done to her.

It was never public knowledge. As far as she knew, Jackson had only told people that they broke up, and that was that. Yet people talked. And she and Jackson had been together for about a decade. That kind of intense relationship couldn’t be swept beneath the rug.
People talked
. Monica heard them all the time in her Château.
“Did you hear that he was beating her? No, not in the fun way. The bad way.” “I always knew there was something off with that guy. Have to be if you’re going to bust balls like he does in the boardroom.”

Monica turned off the sink and used a paper towel to dab her face dry. After throwing the towel away she went back into The Dark Hour, where Henry patiently waited by the entrance.

She made it all the way to his car before breaking down. Henry opened the door for her and she crawled in, muttering a greeting to the driver while Henry got in on the other side. The partition went up the moment he told the driver to take them home. Henry kept to his side, but his eyes lingered on Monica as she grasped the door handle and stared at the back of the seat in front of her.

The first sob to claim her was like listening to an iceberg crack.

Monica covered her face with her hands and leaned forward, elbows digging into her legs as her scalp came dangerously close to scraping against the leather seat before her.
I’ll never be rid of him.
As long as Jackson lived – as long as
Monica
lived – he would be lurking in the shadows, reminding her of the hell he put her through. The more Monica thought of that toxic smile and that bone-breaking laugh, the more she howled into her hands.

And the more she thought of that prison she was taken back to earlier that day.

Something pressed against her back. When she sat up, she saw Henry caressing her, his other hand gesturing for her to come to him. Monica flung herself into his embrace, her tears wetting his shirt and the jacket on top of it. This wasn’t like the affection she received after lovemaking earlier that day. This was the comfort she craved after going for so long without it.

“It’s all right.” Henry held her close, his protective arms encircling her and giving Monica a tight squeeze. “I’m here.”

That only made Monica cry harder. As the car lurched through the streets and made its way toward the highway, Monica held herself to him as if he would abandon her if she let up. “I’m so tired of thinking about him.”

“When else have you thought about him? Today?”

She didn’t want to say it. Yet when Henry stroked her hair, his comforting touch sending a ripple of relief through her, Monica sat up and told him what had happened to her earlier that day.

“I wish you had told me,” Henry said, both hands still gripping her arms. “I wouldn’t have done that if I had known.”

“You didn’t need to know. It’s my problem. There’s nothing wrong on your end.”

“Still, I need to know these things. I can’t go pushing boundaries I don’t even know exist.”

Monica sat up, wiping her cheeks. “You’re not. You’re not that man.”

The solemn look she received didn’t inspire her. “You don’t know that, do you Monica?”

She pursed her lips. “I…” Something choked in her throat. “I have to believe that.”

“And I have to keep proving that to you. Come here.”

When they embraced again, Monica couldn’t tell if she was holding him the tightest or if it was him holding her. It didn’t matter. Her soul was weary, but her heart was opening with love.

Chapter 7

What She Needs

It was the sweetest day of the year thus far. The sun was warm, but not scalding to those choosing to sit in it; the breeze brought with it a nice chill, but was not too strong to blow about the lunch Monica laid out.

She was dining on the main balcony with two of her friends. Well, if a man like Ethan Cole could be called her friend.
Ex-boyfriend. Business partner. Confidant.
When Monica made her great escape from Jackson’s prison, it was Ethan who was there for her. The same man who once shared her with his former best friend before he decided the ménage life wasn’t for him.
Too bad.
In truth, Monica and Ethan made better friends than lovers. There was a lot of mutual respect, but without the drama Jackson infused everywhere he went there was little romantic passion. Just as well. Monica had her life, and Ethan had his.

Part of that life was also dining with them that early afternoon at the Château.

“This place is a lot bigger than I expected.” Jasmine, Ethan’s girlfriend of over a year said as she looked around. Even though she came from a lower middle-class background, she hid it well with her boyfriend’s money adorning her body – in the form of a black and white dress and a wide-brimmed sunhat that covered most of her silky dark hair. Yet when she picked up a regular spoon to eat her soup, Monica saw the tell-tale sign of a woman new to the world of billionaires and their desires.
Took me two years to figure that out.
She hoped she wasn’t being obvious when she picked up the large soup spoon.

“For the amount we paid, it better be big,” Ethan looked at Monica across the table.

She picked up her iced tea before answering. “It’s adequate for the job. Still a few rooms leftover if I decide to hire more personnel.”

Ethan jerked his thumb to the woman sitting at the end of the small four-person table. “She needs a job. She’s unemployed now.”

“Ethan!”

“What?”

Jasmine stuck her tongue out and Ethan pretended to be offended.
Another one that was almost destroyed by Jackson.
She wouldn’t bring it up today, but Jasmine was the poor soul Jackson kidnapped and intended on “breaking in,” her consent be damned. Only because of Monica’s fortitude were they able to make their escape. Oh, and Ethan providing the getaway car, of course.

Monica didn’t get to see them often enough. They lived farther away, although Ethan made a concerted effort to keep in touch on a weekly basis – and not just because he was Monica’s #1 investor in this enterprise. He put up most of the start-up costs and gave Monica the money necessary to buy the Château. She had made sure it was a good investment for them both.

She wished she could see what few true friends she had a bit more often.

“Oh, excuse me.” Yvette appeared in the doorway, wearing her tanning bikini and a straw hat on her head. In her hand was a tablet, although Monica had no idea how she read it in this sunlight. “Thought the balcony was empty.”

Both Jasmine and Monica caught Ethan staring at Yvette’s backside as she walked away.

“Hate to break it to you, but she refuses all clients who aren’t her patron,” Monica said, blowing on her soup before eating it. “You’ll have to find someone else to play with tonight.”

Jasmine blushed, but Ethan smiled. “Afraid we have to leave before three. Unfortunately, since I know how much Jasmine has been looking forward to coming here.”

They both looked at the woman in question. She shifted in her seat, grabbing her drink and pretending to be so thirsty that she couldn’t answer.
She would like Grace.
And Grace would probably like her!

“Sweetheart,” Ethan said, pulling out his wallet and handing his girlfriend a slip of paper. “Do me a favor and go give this to the driver. I forgot earlier.”

Jasmine scoffed. “Can’t it wait?”

He cleared his throat. “No. Afraid not.”

She turned her head between the two of them. “I see. I’ll be back.” After putting on a plastic smile, Jasmine stood up, pushed in her chair, and disappeared into the Château, leaving Monica alone with Ethan.

“Subtle.”

Ethan sat back in his seat, crossing his legs while balancing his wineglass on his bent knee. The look he gave Monica made her feel like she was about to get the fifth degree from her older brother.

“Guess what I heard from a birdie named James Merange.”

Ethan drank his wine but did not take his eyes off Monica. She, in turn, shrugged as if to say,
“I have no idea. What in the world is James Merange saying?”

“Says he saw you at The Dark Hour acting really cozy with a date.
Really
cozy. Oh, what was his name…” Ethan looked right into the sun, his eyes narrowing as he sucked on the inside of his cheek. “Henry Warren.”

Monica’s façade faded with another shrug. “I was there.”

“Come off it, Monica. You’re seeing that Henry Warren fellow, huh?”

This time she looked him right in the eye. “And what if I am?”

“I’d say good for you. Was a bit worried.”

“About what?”

Ethan put his glass down and rested both hands on his chair. “That you wouldn’t date.”

How nice of you to be concerned for my love life.
She knew what he meant, however. Even Monica wasn’t sure if she would ever give a man a real chance again. That was before Henry… convinced her. “He’s a remarkable man. What do you know about him?”