Chapter Five

Belle

I couldn’t believe what he’d done. I couldn’t believe any of it. Tears burned down my cheeks as I huddled in the four-poster bed that ass had given me. Who cared about lilac walls and beautiful marble accents in the bathroom, when Drake McManus was actually everything they’d said he was? For a moment, even with the forced nature of our “negotiations,” I’d thought that we could learn to build something. What an idiot I’d been, a complete fool. There wasn’t anything else beneath that scarred brow and those brown eyes but a man like so many others. He was probably just like George, no matter how he denied it.

A collar?

A diamond-studded monstrosity?

How did he think I was going to react? Was I supposed to clasp it around my neck and then demand more? Maybe I was supposed to rush to his bedroom before we finished the fish and let him spank me or… I couldn’t even think what else he wanted. I wasn’t naïve. I’d been busy the last few years taking care of my mother, and I hadn’t dated as widely as I liked, but I’d read my share of books and seen movies. I could guess what kind of weird Dom/sub games he wanted to get into.

I knew I had to take care of my mother. I’d do anything to keep her alive, or at least I thought I would. Now, over three hours since I’d left my half-eaten plate and that damn collar behind, I wasn’t sure anymore. It was completely possible that there were lines even I couldn’t cross, no matter how badly my mom needed this. Dad hadn’t asked me—in fact, he’d begged me more than once not to go, even right before I left for the airport—but this was our best chance. Drake wasn’t wrong; no one else would even return our calls, let alone sit down to negotiate or offer funds. This was what I had to do.

I could talk business. I could even go on dates or have sex with him, but I wasn’t putting on a dog collar and getting down on all fours. I wasn’t having him whip me or anything else. He seemed so handsome, so powerful and mysterious, but I’d seen that beast inside of him, and I had no interest in being dragged that deeply into his world.

Shaking my head and pulling the covers over my knees, I tried to ignore the frantic growls of my stomach. The salmon had been excellent, but I’d only had a few bites before I’d run off, and now I was starving. Surely, if I snuck out to the kitchen, assuming I could find it, and ate in my own wing then I wouldn’t have to run into Drake before morning. The house was big enough to have its own zip code… or two. Or maybe it was too big a risk. Then my stomach rumbled again and I felt like it was about to digest itself, lining and all. That settled it; I had to get something to eat.

Slipping from the bed, I rummaged through the closet and found a pair of jean shorts and a flowy baby doll top. Even at night, the muggy temperatures soared high and sweat stuck to my skin. Steadying myself, I slipped from the room, my bare feet quiet on the marble floor beneath me. Mrs. Johnson was my guide beforehand, and without her, I never would have found my room. This estate had rooms on rooms and a new, twisting turn around every corner. I was struggling badly now to find anything, wishing I’d even stumble upon a flight of stairs since there was no way the kitchen or any food would be on the third floor. I was lost.

Turning the corner, I thudded into a thick pair of shoulders. I jumped back and brought a hand to my mouth to muffle a scream. The last thing I wanted was to run into Drake when I was still this shaken up. While I believed that he believed he’d take things slow—whatever that meant when collars were involved—everything this evening had been too embarrassing. As my eyes squinted in the darkness, I let out a sigh of relief. The broad man before me had skin almost as dark as night and an open, earnest smile. I wasn’t sure how old he was, but his short hair was highlighted by the moonlight that came in through the few windows on the hall, reflecting small flecks of gray.

He chuckled a little and gave me a little bow. “Miss Fontaine, it’s a pleasure. Enchanté,” he said, the French tripping easily over his tongue. “My name is Leonard St. Croix. I’m—”

“You’re Drake’s personal valet,” I supplied. “Mrs. Johnson told me.”

“All around guy in the know is how I like to think about it,” he said, winking at me again as he regained his posture. “Now, Miss Fontaine, what are you doing up? It’s getting close to one a.m.”

I blushed, feeling the heat flare through my cheeks and positive I was glowing like a beacon for Leonard. “I was starving. I thought I could find the kitchen and sneak some food from the fridge before anyone noticed. I… you aren’t going to tell Drake I’m up, are you? Am I in trouble?”

Will there be whips in my future?

I blew out a short breath at the thought.

Leonard narrowed his eyes at me but considered my questions before he spoke. “Penelope and I work for Drake, but we also have been told to do whatever you need to make you comfortable. I know this has to be hard. I can’t even imagine. I know that you’re all swept up here and far from home. I believe that Drake—”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but Mrs. Johnson did the same thing before dinner and then he showed me who he really is. I was so wrong to even think we could work together this month!”

Leonard’s jaw tensed before he spoke again. “He has a hard time being honest with anyone. I think he lets his guard down with me and Penelope because we’ve been around the longest, but he’s always closed off and it makes him fumble in weird ways around women he cares about.”

“He offered me a gift I so didn’t want, Leonard. It’s more than that. But… I… is there food?” I asked, batting my eyelashes back at him. “Even if it’s just some cold cereal; I can manage.”

Leonard brightened and a wide smile spread across his lips. “Cherie, I can fry up some mean conch fritters before you blink. Be my guest; I’m going to serve you up right.”

***

The soft, succulent meat of the fried conch melted like butter on my tongue. I couldn’t help but moan a little as I bit into my fourth fritter. “Leonard, I think the Cooking Channel is missing a star. You’re amazing.”

He laughed and sat down next to me at the small table in the corner of what he called “the informal kitchen.” I think that had to mean this was the kitchen for staff to cook and serve themselves, but what did I know. Again, when I’d been younger, we’d had some money but not really a staff. Mom even stayed home with us so there was no need for nannies or anything like that. It floored me to be in a house, well estate that had wings, more than one kitchen, and its own sections just for staff to retire to. It was mind boggling.

“I like my job. I wouldn’t have gotten my family out of Haiti if it weren’t for Mr. McManus. He helped get them all, even my aunties and cousins, out after that big earthquake years ago.”

I sighed and offered a pinched smile. “Mrs. Johnson said something similar, not just about how he’d helped your family, but also how he’d helped hers.”

Leonard nodded. “I can’t talk about deals with you, Ms. Fontaine, but there is more on the table here than just profits or your father’s company and estate.”

“My freedom for a month,” I said bitterly.

“No, even more than that, something that can help so many people. I’ll talk to Drake in the morning myself, figure out what went so wrong, but please try and trust me and Penelope; things are better than they seem.”

“Besides,” Mrs. Johnson said as she walked into the kitchen. “It’s hardly a prison here in the Bahamas, is it?” She cast a glance at Leonard. “Master McManus instructed that we have her wait until breakfast so she’d eat with him. You know he asked you only to return her to her room.”

Leonard shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “And the girl was starving. I could hear her tummy grumbling meters off before I saw her in person. You want to make her go to bed with cold leftovers and just some tap water, Penelope?”

She brought a hand to her bosom and shook her head. “No, of course not. I just… I’m glad you’re fed and feeling better, my dear,” she said. “I just have to find that balance between what the master wants and what’s…”

“Normal and decent?” I offered.

Part of me knew I was being a bit blunt. They hadn’t been there when Drake had shown me the collar. I wasn’t about to tell them something so very humiliating, no matter how kind they’d both been to me. If I could help it, this was going to be a secret that I was going to take to my grave. Still, it was hard to feel fully comfortable with people who were working for Drake. They were loyal to him first. We just weren’t on the same side.

Mrs. Johnson leaned against the counter and sighed. “I’m sure that the master’s sorry for whatever happened at dinner. I… Master McManus has his own ways and he’s very set in them.”

“Leonard mentioned that, too. I know you can’t help that he’s different with his, uh, ‘dates’ than he is with either of you. But I think I saw a side of him tonight that you two don’t know as much about, and it shocked me.”

Actually, it insulted me to my core.

“Maybe we don’t need to worry about everything tonight, ladies,” Leonard said. “Would you like a tour of this wing? We have a great indoor pool and dry sauna, a greenhouse, and a library.”

I quirked my head. “So, Drake reads?”

“It’s a mix of the usual types of books and some fairly extensive collections from his passions. He has temperature-controlled vaults and other things to preserve some books he has on military history. He has an original The Prince—it’s practically priceless,” Mrs. Johnson filled in helpfully.

The smart thing for me would have been to say no, to stretch my arms over my head and feign exhaustion. Except I wanted to see it. I’d always loved libraries, especially now that I couldn’t afford to buy entertainment. I could always go by the library to find the right DVD to watch with Mom after her treatments, or to bring books to read to her, just as she’d read to me when I’d been little. Before our caretaker and dependent roles had been reversed.

“Wow, that does sound amazing,” I said. “Are there other rare finds?”

Mrs. Johnson and Leonard exchanged enthusiastic glances and nodded so ferociously, you’d have thought they were bobble heads. “So many books!” Leonard shouted.

“Wings and wings of books.”

“Good,” I said, standing up and grinning. “Let’s see them.”

***

There was something awe-inspiring about standing before books so old they had to be under glass to protect not only against the Bahamian heat but also against the ravages of time and air. After wandering through the main part of the library, I found the military history library. I wasn’t even a fan of Machiavelli or old maps from the Revolutionary War, per se, but it was amazing to see relics like that under glass.

It made me feel small, like all my problems and my family’s problems were just specks in the greater march of history.

Mrs. Johnson and Leonard had wandered back into the main part of the library to see if there were any other thrillers around for me. I loved a good page turner like that and had grabbed every book that caught my eye from the main area. They’d left me alone here, and it was only then that I noticed the dark corner of the special collection. Walking over, I looked up at the tall, nearly twelve-foot-tall, thick wooden door in the corner. Frowning, I pushed on the handle and it easily slid open. I was shocked at the lack of resistance. A door like this seemed so imposing that it should have been locked.

Maybe whoever had been in the super-secret section of the library last time had forgotten to lock it.

Slipping inside, I sneezed. Dust choked my throat and a thin film coated the only thing in the entire space: a battered metal footlocker.

Gasping, I stood frozen at the corner. I knew Drake had served in the Marines. His tattoos made it obvious, even if his comments and my own dossier on him hadn’t filled in those missing pieces. I just assumed he’d keep his old service things in his private quarters or, frankly, back in Los Angeles. They were as isolated and remote as possible here in the most forgotten corner of an island estate. The polite thing to do would be to turn around and focus instead on the collection he was clearly proud of. This was a place you stuck something you were ashamed of, or couldn’t bear to ever see again.

If the dust were anything to go by, he really hadn’t looked in years.

And yet, curiosity was eating through me. I couldn’t understand anything about Drake. There was the brash billionaire who drove me nuts, the Dominant whose power and draw scared me, and then that wounded soldier with eyes the color of hot chocolate. Who was the real Drake, and would the footlocker offer me any clues?

I didn’t even remember walking over to the chest. I was just there, almost like magic, flipping it open and pouring through everything. Not that there was much to see: an old folded American flag, his desert-colored uniform from days serving somewhere in the Middle East, and a set of dog tags. I dug deeper, pulling out some boots and a few old paperbacks. Then my finger grazed something sharp and I yipped. Yanking my hand back, I stared down at the blood welling up on my forefinger.

“What the heck?”

This time, being more mindful, I moved the pieces of his fatigues back and found the medal before me. The royal violet color was a dead giveaway that I was staring down at a Purple Heart. Picking it up, I held it to the faint light.

“What the hell are you doing in here? I thought Mrs. Johnson had locked everything after cleaning it. This is private!” Drake roared behind me.

Turning, I gasped and dropped the medal back into the footlocker. “I’m sorry. I know it was rude. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Drake strode across the small expanse of the room and kicked the footlocker back and away from me. “Why did you think you could be in here?”

I stood and looked up at him, noticing for the first time the ire burning in those brilliant brown eyes. My heart pounded in my chest, and I forced myself to ignore the panicked thumping. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

He gripped my shoulders, not too tightly, but the embrace startled me and I took in a sharp breath. Drake brought his face close to mine and spoke slowly but forcefully. “Get out.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck out of this room and don’t ever come back!” he shouted. “You can’t possibly understand this. You don’t belong here!” He was growing more frantic, and his fingers dug into me, causing me pain.

“Ow!” I tore back from him and rubbed at my eyes. “You’re right. You’re the last person on Earth I’d ever understand, and I don’t care what I promised, I’m out of here!” I screamed back before running out of the room and into the Bahamian night.