‘Get out,’ I seethe. ‘Both of you get out!’
‘You’re smart, Eleanor,’ Brent rasps, a dash of victory in his tone. ‘Don’t let Becker Hunt make you stupid.’ The door to the shop opens and closes softly.
Brent’s gone, but I don’t relax because Becker remains slumped on the floor a few feet away, staring at me. ‘Go,’ I demand.
‘Eleanor, please, let me explain,’ he begs. ‘You weren’t supposed to be at your apartment.’
‘That doesn’t make it okay!’ I yell. ‘Why the hell would you break in?’ It doesn’t make any sense.
‘I needed to know who broke in the day we were at Countryscape. I was looking for clues. Anything to tell me who it was.’
‘I would have let you in. I would have given you my key.’
‘I didn’t want you to know.’
‘Know what?’
He looks at me, a million woes in his eyes. ‘That you’re in danger.’
I recoil, stunned. ‘What?’
‘Your employment at the Hunt Corporation caused a stir in the industry, princess. You know that. You know how corrupt this business is, and people will do anything to get information. I’ve pulled you into my world; I’ve put you in the middle of it all.’ Regret pours from every word. It’s hard to see. Hard to hear. ‘When we left Countryscape and found your apartment broken into, I knew I’d made a mistake by getting close to you.’ His jaw clenches as he stands, taking one measured step towards me. ‘But I didn’t want to let you go. And I still don’t.’
‘It’s too late.’ I look away. My father was right. The high-end world of antiques and art isn’t worth the hassle. It isn’t worth risking your life for.
‘Don’t push me away, Eleanor.’ He reaches for my arm, and I whip it out of his reach, trembling with fear. It’s definitely fear. Problem is, I don’t know if I’m frightened by what Becker has told me and the potential danger, or if I’m afraid of what he can do to me, how he can make me feel, how he blankets my wretchedness with a happiness that blinds me. ‘Don’t ever come near me again.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Becker retorts quietly, heightening my fear and confirming exactly what it is I’m frightened of. Him. I’m frightened by how easily he carries me into his fascinating world. How easily I accept him. I’m frightened by how easy it would be to crumble and give into him, to let him take me in his arms, to let him apologise for frightening me, to let him swallow me up in his smiles and cheek. To return to The Haven, the place I love most in the world, and bathe in the bliss and serenity it offers me. To fall under Becker’s spell again.
I look at him, the passionate, empowered treasure hunter, and all I can hear are Brent’s words. True words. Don’t let Becker Hunt make you stupid. I need to be smart. Stay smart.
It’s head over heart now. I raise my chin and force my eyes to remain on him. It’s freezing outside, but his only protection from the chilly winter air is a grey T-shirt and sweatpants. He looks bedraggled. Tired. Stressed. ‘You don’t have to worry any more, Mr Hunt, because now I have nothing to do with you, I should be safe, right?’ I don’t give him a chance to answer. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t ask for a reference.’ My words are calm, not backed by panic, but backed by a pure certainty that not even Becker can question. And when his lips part and his eyes glaze over, I know that he won’t. He spends a while staring at me, possibly waiting for me to stop him from leaving. He’ll be waiting a long time. ‘Go find your precious treasure, Becker. I’m out.’
I get a sick thrill from his flinch, but he quickly gathers himself and slowly nods his head yieldingly as he backs away, before slowly turning and taking the door handle. His acceptance stirs remorse inside me that I fight to ignore.
He pulls the door open and hovers on the threshold, his back to me. I can literally hear his mind race, probably thinking of anything to redeem himself, anything he can say to win me over. There’s nothing.
He opens the door. Pauses. Breathes in. And then he closes it again, his fists clenching by his sides.
I still, anticipating his next move, my mind not working nearly fast enough to tell me what that might be. He swings around fast, and I back away. ‘Actually, no.’ He points a finger at me. ‘No.’
He stalks forward, and I kick my feet into action, feeling my way through pieces of furniture, trying to keep the distance between us. There’s nowhere for me to go and my silly move now has me standing in the corner, trapped. A few paces has him right up close. ‘No,’ he shouts again, his angry breath hitting my face. ‘No.’ He slams a palm into the wall beside my head, making me jump. ‘No.’ Then the other hand on the other side of my head.
‘Yes.’ I fire the word mindlessly in a panic, with no faith that it’ll have any effect. I’m virtually a prisoner in his arms. I turn my face in a cowardly tactic to avoid his stare.
‘No, princess,’ he breathes softly.
‘Don’t call me princess,’ I snap, hating how the reminder brings back memories of our verbal tangles.
‘Princess,’ he whispers the word against my ear, dropping to an all-time low. My bloodstream ignites and fizzes.
‘Go.’ My voice is barely there.
But he hears it. ‘Make me.’
I shake my head. I know what he’s doing. He’s going to make me touch him.
‘Put your hands on me and push me out, Eleanor.’
‘Stop it.’
His hand leaves the wall next to my head and he grabs my jaw, forcing my face to his. I fight him with all my might, terrified of the consequences should he win. So I slam my eyes shut when my muscles refuse to man-up and sustain his force.
‘No,’ he breathes, stepping in, pushing his body to mine. Our chests meld, my heart rate rockets. ‘Open your eyes.’
I shake my head in his clench, stubbornly refusing to give him what he wants – what he knows will break me. What I know will break me. He’s clever. He’s also a ruthless bastard with no fucking morals. But I always knew that. Loved it to a certain extent.
His hold of my jaw slides around to my nape and massages firmly, his other hand joining it so my head is captive in his big palms. He tilts, getting my face at the angle he desires, then I feel the tell-tale signs of fire-filled air hitting my lips. He’s moving in. My mind is going into meltdown, shouting and screaming orders at me, rolling them out one after the other in the hopes that I’ll catch one and fulfil it. I can’t. My body is refusing to move and my heart is being reminded of the twisted joy it was filled with each time he infiltrated my defences. I’m fucked.