San Francisco: The Complete Trilogy Page 19

  The past month had been an emotional roller coaster, one entirely of her own making. She’d moped. She’d cried. She’d tried to convince herself that what she had with James, what she felt with him, wasn’t that special.

  All that had led her to the third-floor playroom of a stranger, where she’d voluntarily let herself be beaten, at least in part as a way to punish herself.

  This was crazy—it had to stop.

  She stayed in the bath for as long as she could stand it, then got out and wrapped herself in several layers of towels. Her skin was pink from the cold, and she bundled herself into some winter PJs—thick sweats, socks, and a tank top under a sweatshirt.

  Next stop was the kitchen for some tea and aspirin.

  Grabbing her laptop, she laid on her stomach on the bed. The one thing she hadn’t done that she’d forced herself not to do, was to Google James. She knew almost nothing about him, so a search might have been fruitless, but still she’d avoided the temptation.

  No more. She and James had something special. She was going to find him, go to him and confess who she was. Then, if he laughed at her and sent her away, at least she would know she’d tried.

  It was time to stop being a coward and fight for her man.

  Despite her throbbing ass and thighs, she was smiling, her heart practically fluttering as she started to type.

  It was nearing 5:00 a.m. when she found him, on a list of eligible billionaire bachelors compiled by an English-language Dutch gossip blog.

  James Khaled Nolen, once a billionaire bad boy, is now a most eligible bachelor, poised to take over his family’s vast empire. Raised in Britain, he’s the son of billionaire real estate tycoon Henry Nolen and Princess Reem bin Ahmas Al Mualla, the daughter of Sheikh Mohammed of Umm Al Quwain in the UAE.

  He was the son of a princess. A literal prince.

  Christiana closed her laptop, no longer smiling.

  He was out of her league. So far out of her league that it was almost funny. It had been bad enough when she thought he was just some uber-wealthy businessman.

  He was more than that. He lived in an entirely different world than she did.

  And what did it mean he was once a billionaire “bad boy”?

  Billionaire…

  She shook her head and put her laptop on the floor, then crawled under the covers, lying on her stomach.

  She’d been determined to throw caution to the wind and buy a last-minute plane ticket to anywhere in the world in a dramatic quest to chase him down and, when she found him, explain everything. That determination was fading along with the dark of night. In the cold light of dawn, she was reminded just how stupid that sounded, how ridiculous it was of her to think he would even care enough to listen to her explanation. What had been, for her, a life-changing event was probably nothing more than a standard, forgettable encounter for him.

  She laid in her bed, unable to get comfortable, for hours. At 10:00 a.m., she gave up, made a strong pot of coffee and called Ginger. She’d texted her friend during the painful ride home. Luckily Ginger hadn’t seen the first message until after receiving the second. That meant she’d been relatively easily persuaded that there was nothing really crazy going on in Christiana’s life.

  Christiana had been avoiding Ginger for a month, which was easier than it should have been since Gin had left for Dallas two weeks ago and would be there for several months as part of a major project she was working on with her consulting firm.

  Still, it was Sunday morning, Sunday afternoon in Dallas. She called, but when Gin didn’t answer, she hung up rather than leave a voicemail. A few minutes later, she got a text.

  Working this weekend. Talk soon? Want to hear about last night.

  Working. That wasn’t a bad idea.

  Christiana typed out a reply. Sounds good.

  Though her division with Caltrans was technically closed today, the facility was always busy on the weekends, as that was when a lot of roadwork was done. Christiana could use the time to catch up on paperwork, file some reports, and make up any work she’d missed because she’d called in sick on Friday. She shed her PJs and put on her uniform, wincing as she pulled on a thong and pants. Her ass and thighs ached and burned. She carefully didn’t look at herself in the mirror.

  Two hours later, she was riding shotgun in a work truck with one of the electrical engineers, Gerald, headed back to Treasure Island. They were about halfway done with demolition on the warehouse, and she was going to do a surprise progress inspection. It was something she wouldn’t normally have bothered with—she had enough to do—but she’d run into Gerald as he was on his way out, and when he’d found out she was the structural point person on his current demo project, he’d offered to let her tag along.

  Maybe it was fate. Maybe watching the building where she’d met James being demolished would help her put all this behind her.

  She shifted in her seat, her ass and thighs still aching even with the painkillers she’d taken.

  As they pulled off the bridge onto the island, taking the winding road down to the warehouse, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back her feelings.

  They parked and she climbed out, shrugging into her safety vest and clapping her hard hat on her head. The once-deserted area around the warehouse was now filled with dump trucks and heavy equipment. She first examined the scene with a professional detachment, making sure the building was being demolished the way she’d designated. Gerald wandered off to check with the demo company electricians.

  Christiana strode into the site, picking her way along the shoreline until she was at the far end of the warehouse. They hadn’t started demolition here yet.

  If she hadn’t known, if she hadn’t been here, she never would have guessed that anything had happened. She headed toward the metal door the Orchid Club had used as an entrance. A rusted chain held it shut.

  “Lillian thought of everything,” she said quietly. She had no doubt that if she went inside it would be an empty shell, with no traces of the amazing space that had so briefly inhabited the building.

  Christiana turned and walked back toward the other end, where the buzz and crack of jackhammers and breaking concrete drowned out all other noise, even her thoughts.

  Chapter 3

  “We found her apartment, and have had people keeping watch since 4:00 a.m.”

  Tim walked beside James as he stalked from the private plane to a chauffeured car. The PI had been waiting at the foot of the steps when James disembarked.

  “You have the address for me?” James asked.

  “I do, but at approximately 10:38 this morning she left her apartment, taking the bus to the Oakland offices of Caltrans.”

  “She went in to work?”

  “It appears so. We kept watch on the facility, and at 12:41, she left in a work vehicle with a male driver.”

  “Who was he?”

  “Preliminary investigation identified him as Gerald Gutierrez, another engineer. We followed them to the site of a warehouse demolition on—”

  James held up a hand. “Let me guess. On Treasure Island?”

  Tim nodded, with no indication of surprise. “Yes.”

  James stopped beside the car. The driver wore a polo with the same small logo that was on Tim’s shirt. “Do you know how to get to the island?” James asked the driver.

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, with almost military promptness.

  “Good.”

  “Would you like me to come with you, Mr. Nolen?” Tim asked.

  “No.”

  “I need to make you aware that my employees will not aid you in the commission of a crime.”

  “I’m not planning to commit a crime.”

  Tim nodded once. “That’s all I need to hear.” He looked at his employee, who got into the driver’s seat.

  James climbed into the back seat of the black SUV. He’d slept on the plane, though not for more than a few hours at a time. It had been a grueling day of travel and his mood was appro
priately dark. He stared out the window, forcing himself not to think about what he’d say to her. He’d already rehearsed several speeches, and developing yet another scenario wasn’t going to help.

  It took nearly an hour for them to get from the small private airport he’d been forced to use to the island.

  What had been a quiet and secluded place was now a busy construction site. James’s driver had to pull to the side of the twisting road, two wheels on the vegetation, to let a caravan of three heavily loaded dump trucks rumble up to the high point of the island where they could merge onto the bridge. Once they’d passed, the driver whipped onto the gravel road once more.

  “She’s still here,” the man called back. “We have someone watching the site, in case she left.”

  “Good.”

  They rounded a curve and James saw the warehouse, or what was left of it. Half of the structure was gone, though the steel frame remained, like the exposed bones of some great beast. It looked like they were closing down for the day, men carrying tools towards trucks, bulldozers being pulled off to the side and parked. James’s heart started to pound.

  The driver found a place to park behind a large dumpster and stopped the car. “Would you like me to keep it running?” he asked in a carefully neutral tone.

  “No need.” James climbed out, aware of the driver’s watchful gaze.

  The driver wasn’t the only one looking at him as he made his way across what had once been relatively flat gravel, but was now furrowed by large tire tracks. He circled a lock box, which he knew was for keeping valuable scrap. He wasn’t exactly a construction expert, but he’d bought, demolished, and then rebuilt enough buildings to know what he was looking at here.

  There were two people standing not far from the bin, both wearing hard hats and high-visibility vests. One of them had dark hair that had been coiled into a bun at the back of her head and stuck though the straps on the back of her hard hat so it wouldn’t interfere with the function of the protective gear.

  Even in the bulky garments, with her back to him, he knew her.

  Christiana.

  His heart leapt when he saw her, and he once more damned himself for being a fool.

  Her companion turned as he was speaking, enough to catch sight of James. He stopped midword and frowned. “Hey, buddy,” he called out. “This is a construction zone. You need to get out of here.”

  Christiana turned to see who her companion was yelling at. She froze, and even in the shadow of her helmet, he saw her face go pale.

  That’s right. I found you. I caught you.

  He kept his own expression aloof.

  She took a half step toward him, her lips parting. Then she did something he did not expect. She thrust the heavy clipboard she held at the man beside her and ran to James.

  He blinked in shock a second before she threw her arms around him, pressing herself against him so tightly that whatever hard implements she carried in her vest pockets and belt dug into his skin.

  Shock gave way to sweet relief and he wrapped his arms around her. The yellow helmet she wore prevented him from laying his cheek on her hair, so he did what he could and held her tight.

  None of the scenarios he’d imagined started like this, but as she trembled in his arms, he realized he didn’t care about anything but the fact that she was safe, and he was holding her.

  Christiana was well aware that this couldn’t be real. A chunk of concrete had probably fallen on her head, and she was now in a coma, making this a delusion. She didn’t care. It felt real. He felt real.

  “James,” she whispered against his shoulder. “James.”

  “Christiana,” he murmured in reply. His arms were tight around her, and she felt happy. More than that. Happy was too pale a word. She felt whole.

  Then his arms loosened. “Though I hear you go by Chris.”

  Chris. He’d just called her Chris. This wasn’t a delusion. This was real.

  Oh, God. This was actually happening. James had found her—at work.

  She jerked back, looking up at him in dawning horror.

  James quirked a brow, and a shiver of remembered pleasure raced through her. She had to look away.

  “Hey, Chris, you know this dude?” Gerald walked up, suspicion lacing his voice.

  “Um, yeah.” She didn’t dare look at her coworker. “Can you take my board back to the office? I’m going to head out.”

  “Uh, sure.” Gerald wandered away, leaving her standing alone before James. They weren’t exactly alone. There were still people milling around the site, though it was shutting down for the day.

  “James, I…”

  He raised that eyebrow again.

  “You’re here,” she finished lamely.

  “Yes, I am.”

  She fumbled for her pockets. “Let me order a ride. We need to leave the site.”

  “I have a car waiting.”

  “Oh.” Of course, he had a car waiting. He was a billionaire.

  And she was wearing her work uniform and a hard hat.

  “Shall we?” James gestured with a regal motion of his hand. Regal was an all-too-fitting description, since he was royalty. For one split second, she’d forgotten everything and had been overwhelmed with happiness and relief at seeing him.

  She walked the direction he indicated, catching sight of a black SUV with tinted windows. As she approached, the car started. She reached for the door handle, her hand colliding with James’s. She jerked back and he opened the door for her.

  She climbed in, wincing as she sat on her abused backside. She glanced at the driver, who briefly met her gaze in the rearview mirror, then looked forward once more.

  James opened the other door and climbed in, taking the seat beside her.

  Christiana reached up and took off her hard hat, tugging her bun out from between the back straps. She turned the hat over in her hands, then told herself to stop fidgeting and placed it on her lap. The car turned around, heading up the road towards the bridge.

  She laid her hands one atop the other on the crown of her helmet, and stared at her short, practical nails.

  There were a million things she wanted to say, and dozens of emotions were rolling through her, making her slightly nauseous. The car merged onto the bridge. She glanced out her window. It was a lovely day—the sun sparkled on the water, and traffic was moving at a remarkably good pace.

  The silence was too much.

  “I’m sorry.” That was the best place to start. “I’m so sorry, James.”

  “And what are you sorry for?” he asked in a cool voice.

  She flinched. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “Which lie in particular?”

  “Please don’t,” she said softly. “If you’re here, then you know… you know what I lied about.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  Anger spiked though her. “Hear what?” She turned to face him. “You want to hear how I stumbled onto the setup for the party and snuck around, then lost my freaking mind and decided to pretend I was one of you?”

  “Is that what happened?”

  She gestured at herself. “I was inspecting the building pre-demo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my job.”

  “The host of the event arranged with the leader of your organization to make sure that the building wasn’t inspected until after the event.”

  “This might surprise you, but I’m not on a first-name basis with the director of Caltrans. I must have missed that memo.”

  James blinked, and some of his cold mask slipped. “Simple as that? You never got any sort of orders to delay the inspection?”

  She shrugged. “No one said anything to me about when I was supposed to inspect. I only knew the starting demo date.”

  He barked out a laugh. “Well, Lillian will be relieved, and maybe the club won’t have to disband.”

  “What?” she asked in shock.

  “When I asked about you yesterday, and it c
ame out that there was no new member in San Francisco, no member named Christiana at all, well, that meant there had been a critical security breach.”

  Christiana felt the blood drain from her face. “Oh, God, I didn’t think of that.”

  James’s jaw muscle flexed. “And what did you think, Christiana? You had no plans of meeting me in Luxembourg. What did you think I would do? What did you think would happen?”

  He looked… hurt.

  “James.” She reached for him, but he caught her wrist, holding her for a moment and releasing her. She turned in her seat, wanting to face him, but forgot about her battered ass and thighs. A fresh stab of pain startled a little hissing sound out of her.

  James glanced at her wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no. You were… you were wonderful, James.” Christiana sighed, laying her hands on her helmet once more. “I was inspecting the building, and I found the false wall. I kicked a hole in it—”

  A startled laugh escaped James. “You kicked a hole in it?” The laughter faded. “And no one noticed?”

  “It was the wall that was covered with velvet drapes. On the second floor. Do you remember?” When he nodded, she continued, “I started looking around and then I…” This was the hard part of her story, because it seemed so ridiculously silly after the fact. “It was like I’d stumbled into this magical world. I was Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, into a world where everything was different and new and interesting. I was looking around and I heard someone coming. I should have confronted them, but instead I hid. It snowballed from there.”

  They rode in silence for what felt like an hour but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  “When you were looking around, did you recognize the equipment, the furniture? Did you know what sort of place that was?”

  Christiana nodded.

  “So, you are at least an experienced BDSM player.”

  “Um, well…”

  James narrowed his eyes. “Christiana.”

  “I read a lot,” she mumbled.

  James blew out a long, slow breath. “Are you telling me that our time together was your first-ever BDSM experience?”