Because We Belong (Because You Are Mine #3)(30)
Author: Beth Kery

“How long do you plan to stay?” she asked without looking at him and tried not to breathe too deeply, lest she inhale his scent.

“I haven’t decided.”

She dared to look into his face. His blue eyes drew her like a magnet. “Will you be going back to wherever you were before?”

“Eventually. I still have unfinished business there.”

His hand moved ever so slightly at her waist, skimming the bare skin of her back.

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he said.

“If you still have unfinished business,” she said crisply, ignoring his compliment—or trying to, “I’m surprised you came at all.”

“An emergency called me away.”

Her pulse began to throb at her throat as she stared blankly at his chest. Had he just pulled her closer, or had she moved toward him? His body brushed only lightly against her, but it was difficult to pull her mind off the sensation, especially when the tips of her breasts were tickled by his lapel. How did he do it, awaken every nerve in her body so effortlessly?

“You consider your grandparents’ anniversary an emergency?”

“I didn’t come for the anniversary, although I’m very glad to be here for it. The emergency was you.”

Her mouth trembled as she looked up at his steadfast reply, betraying her. She looked over his shoulder, seeing Gerard twirling an ecstatic-looking Clarisse just feet away but not really absorbing anything but the feeling of being in Ian’s arms.

“Your breaking off things between us wasn’t easy, Ian, but you need hardly consider me an emergency. I’ve been doing fine.”

“I know that. And I didn’t break things off between us.”

“You disappeared for half a year without so much as a text message,” she said with dripping sarcasm.

“I thought it’d be best. A clean break. While I tried to figure things out.”

“Well it worked,” she told him with fake airiness. “The clean break,” she clarified, rising anger making it possible to meet his stare again. It was a mistake. His gaze blazed down at her face, the emotion in his eyes palpable, but also completely indecipherable, like trying to read the meaning in a raging inferno.

“I didn’t want to hurt you. It wasn’t my intention,” he said.

“Intended or not, you did.”

His mouth went hard. His nostrils flared. Why didn’t he at least apologize? He owed her that, didn’t he? He was the most infuriating man she’d ever known. His hand shifted on her waist so that his entire palm was on bare skin. His heat poured into her. He pressed, as if he wanted to detail the sensation of her backbone. For a moment, she forgot what they’d been discussing as her belly brushed his pelvis. Her core contracted, the immediate sharp ache shocking her.

“Francesca, I think you might be in danger.”

She blinked, totally disoriented by what had just occurred. It was as if her body had a mind all its own, straining toward him, aching for him against her will.

“What?” she asked, sure she’d misunderstood him.

“Someone tried to kidnap you in Chicago.”

She made an incredulous sound. “Kidnap? What are you talking about? You mean that man who tried to rob Davie and me?”

“I read the police report,” he said coldly. “That wasn’t an attempted robbery. Why everybody else seems to be ignoring the obvious is beyond me.”

“You read . . .” She faded off, scolding herself for her initial surprise. Ian had stunned her many times with his ability to get almost any information he desired, even highly confidential information. This was yet another example of his power, not to mention something that bordered on paranoia.

“Have you been spying on me?” she accused.

“No. But I’ve been keeping tabs. Just to make sure you were all right.”

“Well your concern was misguided,” she said sharply. “Both in the case of that attempted robbery incident and in general.” She stepped back as the music came to an end. He dropped his arms slowly to his sides. “I’ve been doing just fine without you, Ian.”

“You’re lying,” she heard him say quietly.

“Why would you assume that?” she asked under her breath as chatting people started to move past them as they left the dance floor.

“You’re the other half of me. I feel like something has been ripped out of my chest not being with you. I think it’s the same for you.”

Her mouth dropped open at his quiet audacity. Her eyes burned at his stark declaration of pain.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been the one to rip it apart,” she hissed, knowing her naked heart was fully exposed in that moment, but not caring.

She turned and headed for the doors.

* * *

He sat alone in the sitting room, slouching on the velvet couch, his collar unbuttoned, his tie hanging loose around his neck. The fire was dying. It must be five in the morning. The huge house was utterly quiet around him following the clamor of the ball, making him feel like he was in the belly of a sleeping beast. He knew he wouldn’t rest, so he hadn’t even bothered going to bed.

Surely Francesca was safe here . . . in his grandparents’ home. He knew how secure his grandfather kept the house, with its ancient and priceless treasures. He was grateful she was there versus in Chicago, seeing as how she refused to stay at his penthouse, which was also extremely secure.

Then maybe you shouldn’t have been the one to rip it apart.

His eyelids closed at the memory of her saying that as she looked up at him, her expression utterly shattered. He’d done that; forced her into feeling as much pain as he experienced. What else could he do, though, but travel this alternative road, and pray that their paths met again? He couldn’t have stayed with her and pretended he didn’t doubt his place at her side.

He still couldn’t. But he couldn’t stay away, either. Not in these circumstances. Not until he at least understood the direction of the threat.

He thought of his first vision of her tonight, of a beauty that seemed to both warm him like a friendly fire and strike like lightning to the very heart of him. Desire stabbed through him, lancing and precise, a result of knowing Francesca lay within walking distance from him, soft and pliable in sleep. He winced and put his hand on his cock through his trousers, a purely instinctive gesture to stanch the ache. When that gave him no relief, he took a large swig of the brandy he held in his hand.

He’d always dreaded the idea of hurting her, guessing he probably would. Not intentionally. Never that. Just as a result of who he was.