Unwilling Pawn by Measha Stone

Chapter 10

Amelia

Bacon lured me down the stairs to the dining room. Other than the popcorn during the movie the night before I hadn’t eaten since Friday night when I met Maggie at the club. My stomach growled at me. A hunger strike wouldn’t change my situation, so I went in search of breakfast.

The aroma beckoned me like a siren—cliché, I know, but I was seriously hungry. The dining room was empty, so I continued to follow the scent to the kitchen. I’d explored a good part of the house last night, which is how I found the theater room. After I got some food in my stomach, I’d finish my exploration. It’s not like I had anything else to do.

I expected to find the housekeeper in the kitchen, so I was thrown off balance when I found Christian standing over the stove, using a fork to remove strips of bacon from the frying pan. I paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of him before he opened his mouth and ruined everything.

A white t-shirt stretched over his broad back. The short sleeves exposed the dark, black tattoos running up and down both of his arms. Up until that moment, he’d been wearing a suit. I had no idea what lurked beneath the tailor-made material.

His jeans hung low on his hips and hugged his ass. This man wasn’t a couch potato, that much was for sure. Muscles and power, both exuded from him even while he lazily laid the bacon over a paper towel on a plate.

“Are you going to stand there staring for much longer? Or do you want to come get some food?” His deep tenor shook me from my inspection. He hadn’t even turned; how could he know I was there?

“I was expecting Mrs. Kowalski,” I said, as though that explained anything.

“I made her take the day off. She was up late last night,” he explained, looking over his shoulder toward me. His hair was loose, not combed neatly, with a light touch of gel to hold it in place like normal. With his deep blue eyes set against his blond hair, he looked almost like a normal human being. Definitely not as scary as the first night I’d come face to face with him.

“It’s Sunday,” I mentioned, walking around the kitchen island toward the stove. Two plates sat on the counter beside the pile of bacon. “Doesn’t she normally have Sundays off?”

He pushed the frying pan to the back burner on the stove and turned off the flame.

“She’s used to my cousin’s schedule.” He lifted the lid off another pan and revealed warm scrambled eggs. “Hold your plate for me.” He gestured with his chin.

I picked up the closest to me and held it out for him while he piled on two scoops of eggs.

“That’s too much. I’m not that hungry,” I said, looking down at the fluffy goodness. My stomach growled at that exact moment. The traitorous bastard. Though so far, my body has been nothing but a traitor since I laid eyes on Christian Kaczmarek.

Ignoring my statement, he placed three pieces of bacon beside the eggs. “There’s orange juice in the fridge if you want.”

“Thanks, I’m good.”

I grabbed a fork and brought my plate around the kitchen island and settled myself on one of the stools. Christian plated his breakfast and left his plate next to me while he went to the fridge.

He brought two bottles of water back to the island and placed one in front of me.

I put my focus on my breakfast, scooping eggs into my mouth. It took great effort not to moan with pleasure. They were perfect. Some people overcooked scrambled eggs, making them dry. Others made them too runny and all you could taste was slimy yolk. But Christian had them perfectly fluffy and flavorful.

Before he sat down, he went back to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of ketchup. He flipped the top of the squeezable bottle and squirted it beside his bacon.

I laughed.

“What?” he asked, looking up at me with furrowed brows.

“I thought you were going to put the ketchup on your eggs,” I explained and scooped another bite.

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid.” He picked up a piece of bacon and swished it though the ketchup.

“That’s not much better.”

He chewed his bacon with a grin. And damn. Without the predator glare, he looked so approachable, so human. A deep crease formed on the right side of his mouth.

I turned away, keeping my eyes on my plate as I ate. I couldn’t forget who this man was. He was the man who’d kidnapped me from a night club and was forcing me to marry him. He was not a man to be trusted. He was a man to be feared, to be cautious around.

“My grandmother hated bacon,” he said casually. “So, she’d dump a bunch of ketchup on it. She watched us a lot when we were small, and I picked up the habit.”

“She could have just not eaten it,” I said, taking another bite of my eggs.

“She grew up in Poland on a farm during the war. It was instilled in us never to waste a bite of food. My grandfather loved bacon. She made it often for him, so she made do.”

“You have more of a New York accent than Chicago. Does that mean you grew up there?”

He nodded, grabbing his bottle of water. “I’m only here because of my cousin. Since his death, Lukas and I have had to sort some business stuff out. Once it’s done, I’ll be going back to New York and Lukas will remain here.”

He’ll be going back?

“So, then.” I put my fork down, almost too giddy at the prospect to be able to hold it steady. “You’ll be going back to New York soon. Our marriage, this arrangement you’ve made with my father—it’s on paper only?”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“I mean, Chicago is my home. I have family here. I have friends.”

He screwed the lid back on his water. “What family? Other than your uncle and your cousin, you have no other family in the area.”

“My father has another brother,” I pointed out.

“He lives in California and you see him every other Christmas for dinner.”

“How do you know all of this?” I asked, turning in my stool to face him.

“Information is what I do,” he said simply. “Finish your bacon.” He pointed at the last strip on my plate.

“I may not have much family here, but I do have a life.”

“You can make another life.”

“So, you’re making me move to New York?” I demanded. I really shouldn’t have considered there being any other options. We’d be married, of course he’d expect me to go with him. But the way he’d phrased his statement, he hadn’t mentioned me.

“Your place is with me.” He picked up his empty plate and carried it to the sink.

My shoulders sagged. I’d let myself have a moment of hope, how foolish. “Can you at least tell me why?”

“Well, first of all it would be pretty hard for you to get pregnant with my son if you were in Chicago while I was in New York,” he said, purposely misunderstanding me while he rinsed off his plate.

“I mean, why do you want this?”

“Why do you think Sebastian wanted you?” he asked, turning away from the sink and crossing his arms over his chest while leaning back against the countertop. Even with the carefree way he looked with his shirt and jeans, this topic brought the darkness back to his eyes. But I had to know.

“A business deal with my father, I think. Dad has the ear of many politicians and with his investment firm I guess he can influence money flow? I’m not sure, but he said it helped him. I don’t see how my father can help a man…well…a man like you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “A man like me?”

“I mean…” I let the words trail off. Maggie would have known what to say. I was bungling the whole thing. “I mean, you don’t do business with my father as far as I know, so why would you benefit from this arrangement?”

He stared at me as though he was sizing me up.

Was I worth the truth or not?

“My family has connections with people in Chicago that help make our work easier. To that end, your father’s influence would benefit us. But you’re right, we don’t really need him.” He stepped forward, coming to the edge of the island and leaning over it toward me. His hands pressed flat against the countertop and he leveled his dark gaze with mine. “But Sebastian Gorecki desperately needs your father’s influence.”

He picked up my plate and brought it to the sink. It took me a moment, but I finally realized what he was saying.

“So, you don’t want this arrangement because it benefits you. You want it because it hurts Sebastian?”

He turned back to me; his features hardened as he nodded. “Now you understand. None of this has anything to do with you.”

Me? Why would it? It was only my life they were playing around with. Maybe I still had time to run away?

“The judge will be here tomorrow morning, first thing. I have meetings in the afternoon, so the sooner we get it done with the better.” He pushed my water bottle toward me.

“Why so soon?” Ideas flew through my mind. Dress shopping. Catering selections. All of these things would require me to leave the house. And if I could just get out of the house, away from his prying eyes, maybe I could make a break for it. “Can’t we wait just a little while? I’d like a new dress. And maybe we could plan a reception. I’m sure my father’s business associates would think it weird if there wasn’t one.”

He shook his head through every excuse I gave. “Getting it done sooner is what’s safest. Like I said, Sebastian is desperate to get his hands on your father’s influence. And to do that, he would need to cut me out, which means getting you down to the altar before I do. So, until you’re my wife, you’re not leaving this house.”

“You realize I’m an actual person, right?” I slid off the stool. “I have a real life, real friends, real passions.”

He walked around the island, bringing his hand to my cheek as he approached me. “If I didn’t already know that last night would have taught me how real you are, Amelia.” He grinned, but it was cold, calculated. “Your screams of pleasure while your come leaked all over my fingers was very real.”

I pulled back from this touch, stepping back from him. How quickly he could go from being a human being to the demon he truly was.

“You’re a monster.” I took another step back.

He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse, and those names were just as true.”

I turned on my heel and hurried from the kitchen. How could I have let myself get comfortable near him? He was not a man of honor.

“Ah, Amelia.” Lukas, Christian’s brother from the club, met me in the hallway as I sought out the refuge of my bedroom. “How are you this morning?”

“A prisoner, doomed to spend eternity in hell,” I muttered as I flew past him and jogged up the stairs.

“Oh.” I heard his response just as I reached the top of the stairs.

I was being dramatic. I knew it, but it didn’t matter. A girl being shoved into a marriage with a man as cold as Christian deserved to be a little dramatic.