The Knight (Endgame #2)(6)

Charlotte hops off the desk. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have plenty to discuss.”

“Thank you, Ms. Thomas,” Gabriel says, an undercurrent of danger threading the words.

Wide brown eyes meet mine briefly—and I’m not sure what message she’s sending. Caution? Hope? It looks like she wasn’t supposed to bring me to his office. Part of me wants to thank her. The other part of me wonders if I haven’t just wandered between the jaws of a lion.

Then she’s gone, and it’s only the two of us in the dark cavernous space.

Gabriel stands in the shadows, a tall and looming presence. I can’t see his face clearly, but his presence wraps around me like a hard embrace. And his gaze—God, I feel it like lava pouring down my body. A heavy heartbeat starts up, a rhythm that he drove into me, thrust after thrust, a visceral memory I’m not sure I’ll ever quite shake.

“You stole my house,” I say, my voice echoing in the wide office.

He prowls closer, light stretching over his face. And I’m shocked anew at the metallic glint to his pale brown eyes, the way they seem to glow with some incipient earthly heat. “Miller Industries took possession of the house at the request of the court. Surely you don’t think I’m responsible for the entire judicial system.”

His dry tone makes me want to scream. Of course he orchestrated this. “I’m going to get that extension. I’ll hire a lawyer—”

“And how will you pay the retainer?” he asks, all solicitousness.

We both know I can’t touch the escrow account until after the auction. “You’re a horrible person.”

“I’m paying for your father’s medical care. I would have thought you’d be grateful.”

“Grateful? He only needs it because of you!”

The accusation isn’t entirely fair. Gabriel set into motion my father’s downfall, which resulted in a plea deal for information. The men my father ratted out retaliated by beating him almost to death. He’s been bedridden ever since.

Of course Gabriel only did that because my father cheated him.

He wanders closer, examining me from the side, forcing me to turn and face him. “I meant what I said before,” he says softly. “No judge would grant the motion.”

“Because they’re in your pocket.”

A small nod of acknowledgment. “Maybe so. Or maybe your family name doesn’t hold any weight in this city since he was indicted for fraud.”

I absorb the blow without any outward sign. My hopes and dreams may lie in ribbons on the ridiculously thick carpet, but he’ll never see me flinch. “Yes, my father did those things. I didn’t cheat you.”

“Didn’t you? I seem to recall paying for a full month of your services.”

My cheeks heat. “You sent me away.”

“And if I want you again?”

Too late. That’s what I want to tell him, but I can’t afford to lose the escrow. Not when there’s a chance I can buy back my mother’s house. “My mother never did anything to you.”

“What does Helen St. James have to do with this?”

I narrow my eyes at the sound of her name on his lips. “That was my mother’s house. She gave it to me. Not my father. Me. It was in my trust. And I don’t know how you stole it—”

He makes a tsk sound. “Steal is such a strong word. Especially when you don’t have any proof.”

“And even if I did have proof, no one would care. Because my family is the black sheep of this entire city now. We’re nothing and no one.”

He takes a step closer, only one foot away. Close enough to see the striations of deep bronze in his eyes, to see the short dusting of hair on his jaw. “Oh no, Avery. You’re someone. The toast of the whole fucking town. The girl who captivated Gabriel Miller with her pretty little hymen.”

And then I do flinch.

It should hurt the most that he ruined my father, that he took my mother’s house. But I can’t deny the searing shame inside that he sent me away only minutes after taking my virginity.

Bitterness spikes my voice. “I don’t have anything left to captivate you with now, do I? I have to beg at the secretary’s desk like some stranger off the street. And then have her turn me away.”

“And yet here you are.” Silk on top of steel.

“You can’t get mad at Charlotte for that.”

“Still giving orders, little virgin? Is that something you’re born with in the St. James family, or did they teach you that along with your ABCs?”

Rage tightens a knot in my stomach. “I’m not a virgin.”

“No?” he asks, lifting a hand to my face.

I stand very still as he captures my chin between his thumb and forefinger, torn between wanting to wrench away and wanting him to kiss me. How can he make me feel alive when I’ve been sleepwalking for months, years? What sick twist of fate let the hands of this man bring me pleasure?

“You made sure of that.” I mean the words to come out cold, unhurt. Instead I sound breathless and somehow inviting. The white carpet may as well be streaked with red. We’re both back in his bedroom, both flushed and sated and ripped to shreds from what he’s just done.

He lifts my face, almost tender. “I put my cock into your warm little hole. Pushed right through that thin hymen to do it. It felt like fucking heaven to break you open.”