The Bourbon Kings
Page 85

At least he hadn’t lied about that. It was enormous, on the Elizabeth Taylor scale.
“I have already drafted the announcement,” he said. “My representative will get it out to the press as soon as they hear back from me. The wedding will be as soon as possible.”
She went to take the ring, but he snapped the lid closed. “There is one other detail to iron out.”
“What is that?”
He reached forward and touched her shoulder. “I think you know. And do not tell me to wait until the justice of the peace comes. I do not find that acceptable.”
Gin burst out of the chair. “I have no intention of sleeping with—”
Richard grabbed her by the hair and yanked her against him. “And I have no intention of buying a Ferrari just to look at it in my garage.”
“Take your hands off me—”
“Intimacy is a sacred part of marriage.” His eyes went to her lips. “And something I am prepared to enjoy—”
“Let go of me!”
He began to drag her over to the bed. “—even if you do not.”
“Richard!” She punched at his shoulders, his chest. “Richard, what are you doing—I don’t want—”
As he clamped his hand over her mouth and shoved her down, his smile was that of a predator. “How did you know I like it rough? See, we are compatible, after all …”
It was unfathomable what happened next. As much as she struggled, as thin as she had assumed he was, he got her skirting up and her panties to the side—
He penetrated her on a hard shove.
A surge of nausea went through her, but she wasn’t going to demean herself by showing any weakness in front of him. Focusing on the ceiling, she let him grunt and push into her, the burning sensation deep inside making her think of the color of her dress.
Halfway through it, she fisted up the duvet and winced.
“Tell me you love me,” Richard growled in her ear.
“I will not—”
Richard arched up and put his hand around her throat. As he squeezed, she began to gasp.
“Tell me.”
“I will not!”
Black rage narrowed his eyes and he switched grips, raising his right hand …
“If you slap me, people will talk,” she sneered. “I won’t be able to cover the stain up, and I have to go to the brunch. My absence will be noted.”
His upper lip peeled back … but he dropped his hand. And fucked her so violently, the headboard slammed against the wall.
When he was through, he shoved himself off of her and tucked himself away. “I want you to change. Red is vulgar.”
“I will not—”
With a quick move, he grabbed the skirt and ripped it in two, right up the front. Then he jabbed his finger in her face. “You show up in something else red and we shall have words. Test me if you wish.”
Richard left, striding out and shutting the door with a declarative clap.
It was only then that Gin started to shake, her body trembling hard, particularly her open thighs. Sitting up, she felt a welling between her legs.
That was when she began to throw up.
She emptied her stomach into the ruined skirt—not that she’d eaten much in the last twenty-four hours, anyway. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she felt her eyes sting, but she pulled herself back from that ledge.
In her mind, she heard her father telling her she was worthless. That marrying Richard Pford was the only thing she would ever do for the family.
She wasn’t doing it for the family.
As usual, she had made the decision in her own selfish interest.
After much introspection, she had come to acknowledge a fundamental truth about herself: She couldn’t survive in any other world. And Richard could give her this lifestyle she needed—even as her family might no longer be able to.
It was going to cost her, apparently … but she had lost her self-respect years ago.
To sacrifice her body at the altar of money?
Fine. She would do what she had to.
THIRTY
In retrospect, it was the very best day to play Hardy Boys with a computer at the Old Site.
As Lane parked Mack’s truck behind the two-hundred-year-old cabin and the various storage barns, there was no one around. No administrators. No floor workers. No one accepting deliveries of supplies. No tourists, either.
“That coffee helped,” Mack said as they both got out.
“Good.”
“You want some of this PowerBar?”
“Not without a gun to my head.”
Heading over to the refurbished log cabin, Lane stood to one side as Mack put his pass card through the reader and pushed his way inside. The interior glowed with old wood carefully tended to, the light from outside passing through bubbled glass that had been added in the late 1800s. Rustic armchairs offered those waiting places to sit, and a trestle table with a lot of modern office equipment was clearly where Mack’s assistant spent her time.
“How long since you’ve been here?” the Master Distiller asked as he hit the light switch.
“Actually, about a day or two.” When the guy looked over, Lane shrugged. “Needed a place to think, so I went and sat around the barrels. I used the old pass code.”
“Ah. Yeah, I do that, too.”
“It didn’t help.”
“Doesn’t work for me, either, but maybe one day.” Mack nodded to the rear of the reception area. “I’m still here in the back.”