“Brian?” Lindsay prodded. Ultimately they could vote all they wanted but Brian was the dangerous one. He had to be on board or else he might just go rogue and kill her no matter what the others wanted. And they needed his particular skill set to eliminate true threats to the house.
“Oh, all right. Fine. I won't kill her. Maybe it'll work in our favor. She can serve as a cautionary tale of what happens when someone smarts off to me. I do so enjoy being feared.”
Soon after the incident with Brian, Lindsay had tried to treat her, but he hadn't been able to deal with the hatred she sent his way. He perhaps could have if he hadn't deserved every bit of her disgust. He'd convinced himself she was okay, that his presence would make her worse, not better. And then he'd faded out of her life, too cowardly to clean up his own mess.
He'd given her sedatives for years whenever she'd asked, too guilt-ridden to think the logical thought... that maybe they weren't for insomnia. He wondered if this was the first time she'd built up a stash for this method. Had she built up others, but lost her nerve? Or had they expired before she worked up the nerve?
He took the cups and saucers to the sink and rinsed them out. Then he put away all the tea things.
He shouldn't be so fucking attracted to her. It was wrong. She'd been through too much. She was too traumatized.
The first time she'd walked into his office in the city, he'd sat behind his desk and avoided coming out to cover the erection. Few women had such a potent effect on him. And if he wasn't so pissed with Shannon right now, he was sure it would have happened again tonight. Despite everything.
She was beautiful, of course, but it was the way she thought that truly undid him. The way she talked. It was her mind. He'd made excuses for years about why he didn't have a pet of his own—particularly when all the other partners, even Brian of all people, had coupled up. He claimed he didn't have time for one. A lie. He'd said he didn't have the interest in having one. Another lie.
What he didn't have was the patience to deal with a foolish little twit—especially one far too young and too inexperienced at life to ever understand him.
Shannon had been too young from the start, but she was smart. She was so smart, in fact, that he couldn't understand why she hadn't used her mind for a more challenging profession. She could have been a doctor or a lawyer with that mind. Hell, she could have been a scientist. She was nothing but potential as far as he was concerned.
But still, she'd been too young.
She was one of the first women he'd brought to the house to be trained and sold. But he'd brought her there for himself. He hadn't been able to admit the truth until he'd almost lost her. And then it was too late for honesty because she wouldn't stop looking at him with that raw unfettered revulsion and blame.
But leaving her alone obviously hadn't done her any good. He hadn't stopped to think about the fact that much of her pain now was from loneliness. It was a pain he could have spared her much sooner if he'd been able to work through his own guilt.
He'd been shocked she was so worried about her age.
She was young. Why would she worry about her age? But there was a kernel of truth in it. Every year he was sure the girls they brought in to train looked younger and younger to her. They seemed younger and younger to Lindsay. Getting older would do that to you.
It must be a constant reminder that she'd missed her opportunity.
But she hadn't missed it. He could no longer deny how much he wanted her to be his. He just didn't know if it was possible for her to stop hating him long enough to see that. Or if she even cared. Then again, the way she'd looked at him when she'd come out of the bathroom had given him enough hope and resolve to do the incredibly stupid thing he planned to do next.
When everything was cleaned up, Lindsay folded the dish rag and draped it over the sink and went upstairs to his suite. He had no idea what he was going to do with her.
Actually he had plenty of ideas. The problem was, he didn't know what he could do with her. If all he cared about was what he wanted, he wouldn't have to struggle. He'd go up there and he'd take her. Right now. He'd take her until she begged him never to leave her body empty of him again. He'd make her drunk on him. He'd addict her to the feel of his hands on her flesh... controlling her. Consuming her.
But such an outcome was unlikely. Especially tonight. He'd almost lost her tonight. Again.
It was too quiet when he reached the bedroom. “Shannon?”
“You're a very dirty girl. Do you know what I want to do with this body?” the bird squawked.
“Shut up, Ralph.” He should have kept that goddamned bird at the office.
Lindsay searched the bedroom, the bathroom, the balcony, even the closets. No Shannon. His emotions warred between anger and fear. He'd told her to go to his room. What if he'd miscalculated her willingness to try again... or her ability? What if she had a second stash of pills hidden away?
He raced down the stairs, not sure where she'd go. Maybe the pool? Would she fling herself into the pool? No, that seemed unlikely. It was an awful way to die.
The spa was the last place he'd discovered her, so it was the first place he looked. He let out a sigh of relief when he found her there, alive and well and not looking particularly suicidal—at least for the moment. The relief turned quickly to anger.
“I thought I told you to go to my room,” he said, not caring about the cold ice that seeped into his voice. Did she not take him seriously? Somehow the desire not to damage her further and the guilt over her current state came in a distant second to the urge to make sure she never underestimated him again.
“I didn't think you'd want the flowers lying out overnight,” she said, carefully avoiding his gaze.
He'd forgotten about the flowers. Shannon stood near the desk arranging the second bouquet in one of the large vases. The other one she'd already done while he'd been in the kitchen. She was right. They would have been wilted by morning.
“You didn't know there were fresh flowers. You were unconscious. So why did you come down here instead of going up to my room like I told you?”
She shrugged. “I just... didn't.”
That wasn't going to work for him. Lindsay sat in one of the large red chairs in the waiting area and folded his arms over his chest.
“I'll wait while you finish. Then you have a punishment coming.”
She looked up, startled. The first real, solid fear on her face since she'd regained consciousness.
“You wouldn't... not after tonight...”
“Why not after tonight? I should punish you for that, too. Especially that.”
She just stared at him. “How is it even possible that you're a doctor? You think punishing somebody for trying to kill themselves is the way to go?”
“I'm open to trying new experimental therapies,” Lindsay said. In truth, he did sort of want to beat her back into living. As wrong as that thought was, he felt something dramatic must be done or she might somehow just float away. She barely even seemed real now. Wispy. Like a shadow or a ghost, barely tethered to this reality by the thinnest of strings.
And either way, he wasn't acting as a doctor. He was acting as a person. And he was certain that when somebody you cared for tried to off themselves, it was quite normal to want to shake them or smack it out of them. He wasn't sure that would work, but he wasn't sure it wouldn't, either. It wasn't as if it was on the list of approved therapies.