The Alastair Affair 2: Sylvain (A Billionaire Dark Romance) Read online

  His chest constricted. He felt short on breath.

  Alicia, his Alicia, standing before him after so many years…

  At forty-eight she was still a radiant beauty. Immediately, all the things they’d shared together came streaming back to him. All the memories he refused to acknowledge in those dark nights in prison flared into being. All the good. All the bad. All the pleasure…

  All the pain.

  “Oh,” she said simply. “It’s you.”

  She pulled the door open and stepped aside.

  What the hell? Sylvain thought. That was the response he warranted?

  Alicia walked to the dining table and sat down. Without looking up at him, she reached for the pot of tea and poured herself a small cup.

  Sylvain watched all this, transfixed, from the doorstep. It was her… and yet, it was not.

  She was different.

  But then her hair fell in her eyes, and she tsked in annoyance and swept it away. And that small mannerism—so quick, so accurate—set his heart ablaze.

  He was certain now he was looking at his Alicia.

  “So?” she said, a bit indifferently. “You’re letting the heat out. Will you be coming in, or no?”

  Sylvain’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped inside. He did not like her tone of voice.

  He looked around. He eyed the components of the apartment. Precious little had changed.

  In fact, it was a bit like he’d gone back in time.

  “The years have been uncharacteristically kind to you,” he said. He maintained a neutral tone. “You are much the same woman I remember.”

  “And you, little one,” she replied coyly, shooting him a mischievous look, “are not so little anymore.”

  She made a motion that took in his upper chest and shoulders.

  “I had a lot of time in prison,” he said. He sat across from her. “A lot of time to train. A lot of time to think.”

  “Oui?” she asked. God, her voice made goosebumps rise on Sylvain’s flesh. How he’d missed hearing that voice. How he’d missed its scratchy timbre, that soft ethereal quality, missed the way it could make him feel aroused at the simplest whisper.

  “And what were you thinking about, my dear?”

  “Who betrayed me,” Sylvain said coldly.

  Alicia laughed. She tossed her head back and laughed.

  “And you are here, because you suspect me?” she asked. “I did not need your money, little one. It was you…” she curled a finger through her hair, “…you, that I always wanted. Our… venture, will you call it that? It was simply a way to keep you close.”

  “That’s a lie,” Sylvain growled. He put both hands on the table. “That’s a lie, and we both know it.”

  Alicia laughed again. “Oh, my fiery man, it is so good to see you too.”

  Sylvain sat and said nothing.

  Alicia smiled. “You never could keep your true emotions from me. You are a man of passions, Sylvain Alastair. No matter how you think you control them, they control you. And around me, they have always…” she put her hand out before quickly snatching it away, “always, always, always, belonged to me.”

  She stood up. “So why are you here? Truly, why are you here, Sylvain? Because if it is only about betrayal, a simple phone call would do.”

  “I had to see you,” he said. “I had to look into your eyes and hear you tell me it wasn’t you.”

  She leaned over the back of her chair. The neck of her shirt dipped down, and for a moment, Sylvan saw the most delicious bit of flesh.

  His cock twitched.

  She looked him right in the eyes. “It. Wasn’t. Me,” she said.

  Not once did she break eye contact.

  Sylvain grunted and turned away. He could not hold her gaze and remain unaffected.

  He could not look anywhere at her, in fact, and remain unaffected.

  She knew it, too. She issued a throaty laugh.

  “So five years behind bars, and the first thing you do is, you come to me?” she asked. “Mon cher. I have you in the palm of my hand still, do I not?”

  She walked around the table and placed her hands on his shoulders. Sylvain tensed.

  “No, no, no,” she whispered. “Right now, I am here for you. I will not do anything you wouldn’t want.”

  Her fingers started kneading his muscles, while expertly avoiding the scars.

  Sylvain felt himself relaxing. He was falling under her spell again, and he was not here for that, dammit!

  He surged up. Alicia gasped and stepped away.

  Her composure returned a mere half-second later.

  “So it will be like that,” she murmured.

  “It will,” Sylvain affirmed.

  “Very well.” She gestured back at their chairs at the table. “Shall we sit, then? It’s clear you want to talk.”

  Sylvain nodded. He lowered himself back down.

  Alicia did the same on the other side. Her eyes took him in, and Sylvain could feel their sharp intensity. He knew she was dissecting him.

  She could always tell exactly what he was thinking.

  How she did it, he had no idea.

  It was one of those things he both loved and hated about her.

  “I did not touch your money,” she said preemptively. “Not a dollar, not a dime. It has all built up and remained fully yours.”

  “I know,” Sylvain said. “That is why I had to see you, Alicia. You did not touch it, but a part of it belonged to you. I promised you that. You did not take it.” He paused. “Why?”

  “Look around you, don’t you see?” Mirth colored her words. “I was never like you, Sylvain. I was never like any of the Alastair men. All of you, all you cared about was your money.” She leaned in close. “And all I cared about… was you.”

  Chapter Eight

  2001.

  Sylvain Alastair, 26 years old.

  We’d just finished making love. Both of us lay panting, hot and satiated, comforted by the other’s arms.

  I rolled my head over and looked at her. There she was, my wonderful French vixen. An absolute beauty. A marvel.

  I could unequivocally say that I owed my whole life to her. She’d pulled me out of my father’s grip. She ripped me out of my shell. She helped me cast aside the shackles I’d always worn under my father’s rule.

  And she replaced those… with chains, with leather, with bonds all of her own.

  I loved her all the more for it.

  She looked at me. The satisfaction was apparent in her eyes. Oh yes, for all that she’d taught me, I wasn’t one to forego… improvements.

  She’d unleashed me. I always came back to her. We were not exclusive—well, she was not.

  In my mind, nobody else compared.

  And praise her soul, she was always there for me.

  “Your eyes are storming, little one,” she said softly. I winced even as she touched my cheek.

  I hated that nickname. It didn’t seem fitting, anymore, not after all this time.

  But she insisted on holding it over my head. As a relic of our past? As a reminder of who I was when we began?

  Maybe.

  I placed my hand over hers. I brought it up to my lips and kissed her palm.

  “I’m leaving soon,” I said in a bare whisper.

  Alicia sprang from me like a startled cat. “What?” she hissed.

  I sighed and pushed myself up. The blanket fell to my waist. I ignored it.

  “You knew this day was coming,” I told her. “They want me in New York. And I need to be there. I have to make sure everything… we… did, is working.”

  “You mean your Trojan,” she said.

  “Yes. It’s been lying latent for years. Enough time has passed for me to feel secure in beginning what we envisioned years ago.”

  She looked at me with those huge, marble eyes. She bit her lip, the way she did on those rare occasions she was nervous.

  She searched my face. What does she see in me? I wondered. What did she see in m
e the first day we met, when I was just a nineteen-year-old kid?

  “Sylvain…” she said carefully. I prepared myself for the worst.

  She only used my first name when she was serious.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  My anger flared. “Yes, I—”

  I stopped. Control. Precision. Those things got me to where I was.

  I could not turn into my father. I would never lose control like him.

  I took a slow, deliberate breath. I collected the anger and shoved it back into the tight, black ball ever-present at the back of my mind.

  “Yes, dearest,” I said, more softly. She hated that pet name I knew, and my use of it was perhaps evidence of my mindset. “I am sure. I need to be there. It would look suspicious if I did not come. This is what we wanted, isn’t it?”

  She looked me up and down in contemplative silence. She stood and walked over to the armchair that held her satin robe.

  My eyes did not move once from her gorgeous body.

  She threw the robe over her shoulders and the vision was lost. Her arm darted in. She turned back to me, tying the sash closed.

  “This is what we wanted, oui,” she said. “But that was before. Before the acquisition. We thought they would just license the code, not buy it outright. We had no idea how much money The Big Company would throw your way.”

  I had to chuckle. “The Big Company.”

  She meant IBM. She never spoke the name out loud. It was a superstition that I found infinitely amusing.

  Another one of those quirks I loved about her.

  “Do you really need more? Truly, Sylvian? Do you need more?” She came to me and sat near my feet. “Sylvain. My precious Sylvain. You are out of your father’s shadow. What else do you need to prove?”

  Mention of that man made my anger rise up again. I lashed out in a violent spasm. “Do NOT talk to me about him!” I roared.

  She gasped and flinched back. But then a half-second later she was all cool composure once more.

  She came closer and put her hand on my shoulder.

  I tightened and did not meet her eyes. I stared resolutely at my feet.

  “I know he hurt you,” she said sadly. “And I know how conflicted you are. You cannot decide if you love him or not. You hate him, I know that, but it’s a hate tempered by love. Isn’t it?”

  “This is a stupid conversation,” I said. “He is who he is. I am who I am. We will always be our own men.”

  “Wrong,” she told me. She brought one finger under my chin and turned my head toward her. “You will always be an Alastair.”

  I grunted. “A tainted name…”

  “You have the opportunity to make it whole.”

  “Gah,” I said. “What use to me is the old family history?”

  “It is your heritage, little one.” She stroked my arm with her small, delicate hands. She brought her face close and pressed it to my tricep.

  She kissed the skin.

  I could not stay angry with her. My body softened under her touch.

  “What good to me is a heritage clouded by so much darkness?”

  “Your sister is still there,” she reminded me. “She is still with him. She lives under his care.”

  My heart clenched. My sister, Bianca. After my mother died, Bianca and Alicia became the only two important women to me in the entire world.

  “She is still young,” I said. “She can break free.”

  “Without you there to guide her?” Alicia mused. “Without your aid? She is a wounded soul. A broken butterfly. Beautiful, but unwhole.”

  I sighed. “I know.”

  “And you would abandon her to go to America? For what? You have the money now, Sylvain. Make your life here. Make it…” she held my arm tighter, “…with me.”

  I froze. My mind blanched at such a prospect. How many times had I wished, prayed for it…

  “You’re not serious?” I breathed.

  “I have been with you for this long,” she told me. “If you’ll have me, I can become yours.”

  I could scarcely think. Never had I considered this a possibility. A distant fantasy, maybe. A dream that could never be, perhaps.

  But not…

  Not reality.

  “Come with me!” I said suddenly. “Come with me to America. We can start our life there together. You and I. You are right, I have the money. But so do you. You’re the one who gave me the idea for the backdoor Trojan. You’re the one who pushed. Were it not for you, I would have never taken the risk. But now it’s done… now, we are secure.”

  I gripped her hand. “I might have a fortune now. But there, in the United States, we can build one greater! Together, you and me, as it was always supposed to be!”

  Alicia smiled sadly and drew away. “You were always a man of passions, Sylvain Alastair,” she told me. “What you do not know is that your passions have always belonged to me.”

  Chapter Nine

  2008.

  Sylvain Alastair, 33 years old.

  Sylvain sat at the table in the cramped upper-story apartment and waited.

  The shower ran. Alicia was in there. She’d left the door unlocked—no accident.

  But was it perhaps an invitation…?

  He couldn’t take it. He would not. He was not here for that. She’d broken his heart once.

  He would never let her do it again.

  An indeterminate amount of time later Alicia came back out. Her curly hair was still wet. Sylvain notices a touch of grey at the roots.

  All the more beautiful, now, he thought.

  Alicia made an elaborate showing of ignoring his presence. She moved throughout the apartment as if he wasn’t there.

  The way they left things, before she’d gone storming off…

  Sylvain stood. “So it wasn’t you,” he said. “Fine. All right. I believe it.”

  She huffed and turned away. Damn, but the woman was as full of emotion as ever.

  “As you should,” she said, in short, stabbing words. She riffled through the kitchen drawers to no purpose. “I have not once given you reason to doubt me, Sylvain.”

  He exhaled. “Prison… turned me into a hard man.”

  “Not unlike your father,” she said.

  That was a low blow. A pulse of fury shot through Sylvain. He bade it down.

  He would not rise to her bait.

  “He has your sister in that castle of yours now, did you know?” she continued conversationally. “He’s kept her there, shielded, locked away from the world, the entire time you were gone.”

  Now Sylvain became truly angry.

  Still, he would not show it.

  But how many cruelties had Bianca suffered without him there? He could not imagine. The scars on his back still burned. They were physical proof to every beating, every single lashing, that had been inflicted upon him by his father.

  The smallest failure would earn Sylvain his father’s wrath. The smallest failure, the slightest mistake…

  No. He would not go down that line of thinking now. Sylvain had become his own man. Had been for years. His father had no dominion over him anymore.

  But over Bianca? Over poor, sweet, kind, gentle Bianca…?

  Sylvain ground his teeth. He would get her out. Come hell or high water, he would get her out.

  But… would she go willingly?

  Am I already too late?

  “Cut the euphemisms, mon cher.” Sylvain mocked Alicia with the affection. “You know as well as I do how and why he shields her.”

  Alicia gave a thin smile. “To hide the signs of abuse.”

  Sylvain nodded. “My family history is dark.”

  “You could have brought light to it. I told you, all those years ago. Do you remember? You could have shone light on the Alastair name. You could have restored it.”

  “I did not want to restore it,” Sylvain said. He grabbed Alicia’s arm as she passed. A tremor ran through her, and fear flashed in her eyes. “I
wanted to create a new name. With you.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “I could never have come with you,” she said. “You knew that. I belong here, in France and across Europe, wherever my career takes me. But I could not come and be an American.”

  “You were scared,” Sylvain said. “Weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she answered softly. “I was.”

  “I would have been there with you,” Sylvain insisted. “You could have seen it all with me.”

  “The past is the past. It can be forgotten, but never changed.” She pulled out of his grip. “Please, Sylvain. You broke my heart, too, when you left. Do not open old wounds.

  “Let me forget you.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sylvain sped to the hotel way past the speed limit. He did not care.

  Alicia’s plea… it nearly broke him.

  He told himself many times before going to that damn apartment that he was not there to rekindle anything. Five years in jail, and he hadn’t received a call, a letter, a single message from the woman!

  He knew better than to expect things. But there he’d been, on the pretense of uncovering those who betrayed him…

  When in truth, he’d wanted nothing more than to have one more night together.

  His hands tightened on the wheel. Fucking hell! Fucking weakness! He hated it. How was he supposed to function with Alicia so much on his mind? She was still beautiful. Age had only graced her. And he’d been so close…

  He pulled up, parked, and stormed through the hotel lobby and into his room.

  “Anderson!” he called. His manservant appeared.

  “There’s been a change of plans. We’re not staying here anymore.

  “We’re going to the castle. Tonight.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sylvain hated planes. He hated flying. He hated landings.

  But this time, the trip to England had passed in the blink of an eye.

  All the money in the world, he thought, and it could not buy him love.

  But money had never mattered between him and Alicia. Sure, they’d planned together. Sure, she’d given him the genesis of the idea. And yes, now that same idea had made him spectacularly rich…