Wishing Well Read online

  Rounding her lips, pulling her arms tighter together to force her cleavage higher, she answered, “Oh, yeah. In exquisite detail.”

  Tense seconds passed, his eyes sweeping down to accept the visual offer Meadow had made him. By the time he met her stare again, he was practically laughing. “Nice try, Meadow, but you’ll have to be far more convincing than that.”

  She straightened her posture. “Fine. It was worth a shot. And no, in answer to your question, Penny never did learn French while living at Wishing Well. Anything she recorded in her diary, she spelled out phonetically. I was able to interpret what the words meant after pouring over the pages in the past few months. It wasn’t easy.”

  “I’d assume not,” he agreed, his response uncommitted, his thoughts elsewhere. “It amuses me that Penelope fought so hard at first. No,” he said, reconsidering, “Perhaps fought is the wrong word. Penelope didn’t fight, she dodged. She hopped around, making so much racket that it disguised what she was feeling. In one second she’d accuse me of being a pervert - a word she used liberally, I might add - and within the next, she’d smile, almost to the point where I suspected she genuinely appreciated and believed the offer I’d made to her. By the time I’d picked her up from the hotel room, I’d assumed she’d forgotten about the catch , assumed that I could lead her down whatever path I chose without her being suspicious. Penelope was good at hiding her thoughts, at first at least. But she wasn’t a dumb girl, was she? From what you just told me, she knew what type of man I was from the beginning, the degree of danger she’d been in since the moment I’d approached her in the rain.”

  Surprised by his rare honesty, Meadow admitted, “No, Penny wasn’t dumb in the slightest. Naive maybe. Young and inexperienced. But not dumb.”

  Vincent grinned. “And yet, she still followed me home.”

  “A mistake that cost Penny her life,” Meadow reminded him.

  “I regret that. Beauty such as hers should never be so carelessly lost,” he mused, a hint of emotion playing across his softly spoken words. Of course, he ruined it with what he said next. “I guess it’s a good thing for this world that there is an exact duplicate...you.”

  Anger was a tidal wave crashing through her. “That doesn’t minimize my loss. I still lost my sister. I still feel the pain of her no longer being in this world.”

  He leaned toward her. “And you will carry that pain for a lifetime. My name, my face, etched within the memory of it, alive and well, even if I’m no longer breathing.” It was a stab straight to the heart, his words twisting the knife to force the full impact of agony.

  Meadow refused to release the tears that threatened her eyes. “Is that truly all she was to you? A game? A chess piece you tossed aside like garbage?”

  A negligent shrug was his answer, a wave of his hand as if that would brush away the memory of a human life. “Life has no meaning without death. And although Penelope lived a short one, she burned bright. Not many people can claim that. She was like fire, that one.”

  “And you were the water that doused her,” Meadow chided, “That’s nothing to be proud of. But then again, in a way, she was the water that doused you. In three days, you’ll take a needle in the arm for killing her. It’s a pity the person sticking you can’t wear a mask that looks just like her.”

  His eyes tipped up to capture hers. “But you are an exact copy. Perhaps they’ll allow you to prick me in the vein. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Clearing her throat of the ball of emotion she didn’t want to admit choked her, Meadow suggested, “We should move on Vincent. Already three hours have passed and we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  His face was an inscrutable mask, regal, godlike, wistful as he remembered back to the pawn he’d made of Meadow’s sister. “Shall I begin where you left off?”

  Weaving his fingers together over the surface of the table, he blinked slowly, the fan of his lashes dusting his skin, the curve of his mouth drawing Meadow’s attention. She knew he was fighting a smile, knew he enjoyed tormenting her with the slow crawl of his memory. He wasn’t just telling a story, he was reliving it, experiencing it again in order to claw at the superiority he’d gained while playing Penny.

  As much as that bothered Meadow, her curiosity was too much. There were still so many questions left unanswered, too many layers that needed to be peeled away so she fully understood what had been done.

  She refused to believe he felt nothing for the woman he’d so callously destroyed.

  “No,” Meadow answered, “from what I know, nothing more happened that night beyond you buying her buy some additional clothes, getting her personal information for the job and taking her to dinner. I’m not sure that’s important. We should move on to the next morning, when you introduced her to Barron for the first time.”

  Lifting her eyes to Vincent, Meadow noticed his smile stretch, saw the flicker of humor in a green gaze that missed nothing.

  “What?” she asked, knowing that when his mouth took that curve, there was something he’d buried coming to the surface, some secret, some joke that nobody but him had known. Everything about this man was recorded in the diary, almost as if Penny, by writing it, had attempted to decipher all the peculiarities, all the body language, expressions and rolling words of Vincent Mercier in order to pin him down and reveal that he wasn’t as elusive as everyone believed.

  For as many times as she’d read the pages of the diary, for as tattered as those pages had become, Meadow still couldn’t shake the mystery that hovered around this man like a cloud.

  Speaking slowly so that each syllable of his words could be caught and examined as they fell effortlessly from his lips, Vincent mused, “Perhaps the diary is not as complete as you believe.” Pausing, he toyed with the cuff that locked his wrist, ran the tip of his finger along the edge. “Something did happen that night, but you would need my perspective to discover it.”

  Her heart lurched with a painful, powerful beat, the click of the recorder stopping adding the perfectly timed sound to her physical reaction. Her eyes blinked once before she regained the ability to think, to act, to push up from her seat and turn to switch the tape.

  Pressing record, she wondered why Vincent was so silent behind her. Balancing herself with her palms against the surface of the table, she took a moment where he couldn’t see her face to get her emotions under control. What had he done that hadn’t been recorded in the diary? What detail had been lost?

  “Fine,” she breathed, feeling his gaze trace the contours of her bottom, knowing he stared at every asset he could find in a woman that was the same as the one he’d destroyed. “Tell me what happened that night.”

  Seconds passed silently, the clock ticking, time moving forward toward the ultimate of endings, and then, “Are you sure you want to know? We’ve barely begun and already you can’t look at me, ma belle .”

  The gritty quality of his voice didn’t help, the loss of fluidity of language, the ease of the endearments that would normally roll from his hot tongue gone as he asked his question.

  “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t want to know,” she answered, struggling, fighting desperately to keep from sounding affected.

  “Then I will tell you,” he paused, “but only if you retake your seat, only if I can watch your face as you hear the truth, the intimate details, the mastery of a game designed to transform a girl into a woman.”

  Gritting her teeth, Meadow’s fingers clenched into fists, her posture straightening, her head turning just enough that she could see Vincent in her peripheral vision. “She wasn’t a girl. She was already an adult when you met her.”

  “Oui , you are correct...but she was not a woman. In that one word lies the distinction.”

  Icy fingers traced her spine, the chill spreading like that of a spider’s web wrapping her, capturing her, making her regret ever agreeing to this interview in the first place.

  Meadow wondered if she was strong enough to continue forward, if
she could handle the intricate details...if she could swallow the truth and not choke on the thickness of his lies.

  Clenching her eyes shut, she fought the desire to run, to leave, to flee the room and board a plane to return to Germany and never look back. She had her career, her home, her life that didn’t include Vincent Mercier.

  But then, the story would be incomplete, wouldn’t it? The reasons lost, the death without meaning.

  Meadow couldn’t allow that. She needed to know. Turning, she refused to meet his gaze as she took her seat, refused to relinquish the small amount of control, of independence, she had. He’d told her to sit, and she would comply, but not because she was a woman following his demands. She was here to dissect him, to tear him apart, to make him feel the same pain she had felt since the day her sister died.

  She would play his games, and she would walk away the victor.

  “Tell me, Vincent,” her gaze finally locked to his. “Tell me what happened that night that you think I don’t already know.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Vincent

  Every so often, fate has a hand in opportunity. With a flourish of delicate fingers, it swirls the air around your existence, creating temptations that are too great, challenges that appear to be insurmountable. But within those moments when you doubt how simple coincidence could have led you to clear waters when you are thirsty, to a banquet when you starve, to the heat of fire when your bones scream for warmth and your heart beats weakly beneath the ice that encases it, you understand that certain events were meant to be, were written in the stars, were deemed by the Gods to be worthy for your life even before you were a twinkle amongst mankind.

  I was experiencing that moment as I watched Penny walk down the hall, her bare legs strong and shapely, her heart shaped ass bouncing with each step, teasing me and inviting me to touch. My fingers curled into my palm, the inside of my cheek caught between my teeth, my body tensing as she glanced back with anger in her gaze to ask me if I’d appreciated the view as she’d walked away.

  And I’d answered her in a language I knew she couldn’t understand, because if she’d been able to interpret the words for what they were, she would have entered that elevator, left the building on rushed steps, and permanently stepped out of my life.

  Desire is a slippery thing, easing inside a person’s skin to capture, to taunt, to strengthen and spread out until your mind becomes mud and your heart races in an effort to escape your chest. From one moment to the next, I was man and I was beast, this rude, inelegant girl that I’d pulled from the streets revealing to me her full potential.

  How had I known from one simple glance out a cafe window that a lonely girl walking in the rain would be exactly the woman who would fulfill my every need? Her face had been covered, her hair had been disguised, her body had been hidden beneath clothes that gave no hint of what was to be discovered, yet now, in this moment, I understood that instinct, that fate, had led me to the woman I most desired.

  Thrill whispered in to mix with the heat pouring through my veins.

  Her head peeked out of the elevator. “Are we going or what?”

  Smiling at her question, I tucked my hands into the pockets of my slacks and approached her, taking pleasure in the way she backed to the far left of the elevator while I stood to the right. It wasn’t just my instinct screaming at this moment, it was hers, but she was barely listening.

  Reaching the first floor, I led her through the lobby, ignoring the pointed glances people made at her lack of shoes or much else. Their eyes had drifted to me as we passed, questions remaining silent as to why the owner of the hotel was with a woman who hadn’t bothered to put on shoes.

  Knowing Penny felt insecure, exposed, naked to the eyes of the hotel’s guests as we walked toward the boutique, I slowed my pace to stretch out the seconds, took pleasure in the way she groaned to realize she wouldn’t hurry me along. Disgrace has its advantages, and humiliation can wear down even the most forceful of rebellions.

  Penny must have believed I was simply tired or preferred a lazy stride, but in that assumption she was mistaken. The catch , as she had so hastily phrased it, began the second she agreed to follow me home, its name that of domination .

  Every decision, every expression, every word, gesture and deliberate aberration were only tiny pieces of a skilled contraption, one action triggering the next, one result and reaction determining what would be the following step, the choice of direction. The catch had already begun, but Penny was none the wiser.

  While she tried to hurry me along, I lingered. Her discontent was obvious.

  Finally reaching the boutique, she scuttled inside, casting one last look into the lobby before hiding herself behind a rack of clothing. The woman who’d helped me earlier missed the barely dressed girl who’d run in, but lifted her head when I strolled through the doors.

  “Mr. Mercier, you’ve returned!” Hurrying out from behind the checkout desk, she approached me. “Did the dress not fit your lady friend? Perhaps it wasn’t to her taste?”

  Graciously, I smiled. “That’s not the case, at all. The dress fit perfectly and was to her taste. In fact, it looks much better on her than the hanger. But, she has another problem which needs to be addressed. Unfortunately, the dress was all she had to wear, and it left her feeling far more exposed than she liked.”

  Understanding my meaning, the woman’s eyes flared wide, a small smile gracing her thin lips before she could hide it behind a hand. “Well,” she finally answered, “I guess we hadn’t considered modesty while picking out a dress. Did she tell you her size? I can find some underthings that may suit her.”

  “I brought her along, actually.” Turning, I could barely contain my laughter to see Penny’s eyes peeking over the rack of clothes. The sales woman had hit the nail on the head by mentioning modesty. Apparently, Penny preferred to hide. Which meant I would challenge that insecurity every chance I got, just for the fun of it.

  “Come over here, Penny,” I called out, my voice amused and vindictive. “There’s no need to be shy.”

  If looks could kill, I’d just died three times over. Without moving for fear of chasing her off into the storm that continued to blister the night, I waited for her to make up her mind and come out from behind the rack. The saleswoman gasped from where she stood beside me, no doubt noticing that Penny’s assets were far too noticeable in the dress we’d chosen. The material left nothing to the imagination.

  “Oh dear,” the woman said, “it seems we did forget a few things.” Approaching Penny, she touched her shoulder and turned her in the direction of the back room, “We’ll get you some underthings, and some shoes. Mr. Mercier hadn’t mentioned how...shapely...you are.”

  I hadn’t known at the time I’d bought the dress. Penny’s figure had been a welcome surprise. “I’ll just wait out here,” I called before selecting a seat that was conveniently positioned to give me an unobstructed view of the mirrors in the back room.

  The two women hurried back and I watched from my chair, choosing not to turn my head when the woman handed Penny some underwear. Penny hesitated to put them on, the other woman chuckling before turning to give Penny the privacy she believed she had.

  As soon as she moved to pull the underwear up her thighs, her fingers dragging the dress up her skin to reveal more of her body to my eyes, a breath hissed over my lips, my pants becoming uncomfortably tight. Her skin was pale, but unmarked in its perfection, the cheeks of her ass firm, yet round. Clenching my hands, I could imagine what they would feel like against my palms, could taste the salt of her skin on my tongue if I were to bite, could see the pink outline of my hand if I were to punish.

  Glancing over her shoulder to ensure the sales woman still had her back turned, Penny slipped the straps of the dress from her shoulders, and I wondered how many times could one man die and come back to life. Stifling a growl that threatened to rattle my chest, I watched as she held the dress in place with her elbows, as she bent over to catch the wei
ght of her breasts with the bra, as she straightened to clasp it behind her back, the fullness of her breasts pushed up and into place...not that they needed the help. There is something to be said about youth, especially in the female body. My tongue traced over my teeth, the sharp edges welcome against the soft muscle.

  After replacing the straps of the dress over her shoulders, Penny spoke to the saleswomen, and together they moved out of the dressing area and into the back portion of the store. I was quick to turn my head, to make it appear as if something outside the boutique doors held my interest. In truth, I was biting my tongue not to demand an encore.

  Selecting shoes took little time, and Penny returned to me with more color gracing her cheeks, her body exquisite beneath the dress, her confidence boosted. “I feel better now,” she admitted.

  Inclining my head, I cleared my throat. “It’s a pleasure to do you the favor.”

  A crooked smile graced her lips, there and then gone. “You say that like I’ll have to return the favor some day.”

  Oh, you will...

  “I already told you that you could pay me back from your checks. Why would you assume any differently?”

  She shrugged. “It was just the tone of your voice, I guess.”

  I didn’t bother to answer. “Shall we go get dinner? Our table awaits, and I’m sure we’ll want to get there before the kitchen runs out of certain selections. The dining room is open not only to the hotel, but also to any person who passes by. It’s quite popular in the city.”

  Penny nodded, her hair still damp from the shower, the length trailing down her back. “Definitely. After the evening I’ve had, I’m actually starving.”

  My eyes closed and opened again. “Then we are one in the same, ma belle , because after the evening I’ve had, so am I.”

  Her responsive laugh was unsure. “I guess getting caught in a massive thunderstorm has that effect on a person, huh?”

  My laughter was anything but unsure. “We can blame the rain,” I answered standing from my seat.