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  Hold Me

  Twist Me: Book 3

  Anna Zaires

  ♠ Mozaika Publications ♠

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Anna Zaires

  www.annazaires.com

  All rights reserved.

  Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

  www.mozaikallc.com

  Edited by Mella Baxter

  Cover by Eden Crane Designs.

  e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-046-7

  Print ISBN: 978-1-63142-066-5

  Dedication

  To our readers, for all your love and support, and to Inna, for helping us tremendously these past few months. And as always, a big thank you to our beta readers (Chancy, Erika, Kelly, Lina, Tanya, Jackie, Fima, and Fern), our colleague Mella, and our amazingly supportive families.

  Part I: The Return

  Chapter 1

  Julian

  A gasping cry wakes me up, dragging me out of restless sleep. My uninjured eye flies open on a rush of adrenaline, and I jackknife to a sitting position, the sudden movement causing my cracked ribs to scream in protest. The cast on my left arm bangs into the heart-rate monitor next to the bed, and the wave of agony is so intense that the room spins around me in a sickening swirl. My pulse is pounding, and it takes a moment to realize what woke me.

  Nora.

  She must be in the grip of another nightmare.

  My body, coiled for combat, relaxes slightly. There’s no danger, nobody coming after us right now. I’m lying next to Nora in my luxurious hospital bed, and we’re both safe, the clinic in Switzerland as secure as Lucas can make it.

  The pain in my ribs and arm is better now, more tolerable. Moving more carefully, I place my right hand on Nora’s shoulder and try to gently shake her awake. She’s turned away from me, facing in the opposite direction, so I can’t see her face to check if she’s crying. Her skin, however, is cold and damp from sweat. She must’ve been having the nightmare for a while. She’s also shivering.

  “Wake up, baby,” I murmur, stroking her slender arm. I can see the light filtering through the blinds on the window, and I know it must be morning. “It’s just a dream. Wake up, my pet . . .”

  She stiffens under my touch, and I know she’s not fully awake, the nightmare still holding her captive. Her breathing is coming in audible, gasping bursts, and I can feel the tremors running through her body. Her distress claws at me, hurting me worse than any injury, and the knowledge that I’m again responsible for this—that I failed to keep her safe—makes my insides burn with acidic fury.

  Fury at myself and at Peter Sokolov—the man who allowed Nora to risk her life to rescue me.

  Before my cursed trip to Tajikistan, she had been slowly getting over Beth’s death, her nightmares becoming less frequent as the months wore on. Now, however, the bad dreams are back—and Nora is worse off than before, judging by the panic attack she had during sex yesterday.

  I want to kill Peter for this—and I might, if he ever crosses my path again. The Russian saved my life, but he endangered Nora’s in the process, and that’s not something I will ever forgive. And his fucking list of names? Forget it. There is no way I’m going to reward him for betraying me like this, no matter what Nora promised him.

  “Come on, baby, wake up,” I urge her again, using my right arm to lower myself back down on the bed. My ribs ache at the movement, but less fiercely this time. I carefully shift closer to Nora, pressing my body against hers from the back. “You’re okay. It’s all over, I promise.”

  She draws in a deep, hiccuping breath, and I feel the tension within her easing as she realizes where she is. “Julian?” she whispers, turning around to face me, and I see that she’s been crying after all, her cheeks coated with moisture from her tears.

  “Yes. You’re safe now. Everything is fine.” I reach over with my right hand and trail my fingers over her jaw, marveling at the fragile beauty of her facial structure. My hand looks huge and rough against her delicate face, my nails ragged and bruised from the needles Majid used on me. The contrast between us is glaring—though Nora is not entirely unscathed either. The purity of her golden skin is marred by a bruise on the left side of her face, where those Al-Quadar motherfuckers hit her to knock her out.

  If they weren’t already dead, I would’ve ripped them apart with my bare hands for hurting her.

  “What did you dream about?” I ask softly. “Was it Beth?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, and I see that her breathing is beginning to return to normal. Her voice, however, still holds echoes of horror as she says hoarsely, “It was you this time. Majid was cutting out your eyes, and I couldn’t stop him.”

  I try not to react, but it’s impossible. Her words hurl me back to that cold, windowless room, to the nauseating sensations I’ve been trying to forget for the past several days. My head begins to throb with remembered agony, my half-healed eye socket burning with emptiness once again. I feel blood and other fluids dripping down my face, and my stomach heaves at the recollection. I’m no stranger to pain, or even to torture—my father believed that his son should be able to withstand anything—but losing my eye had been by far the most excruciating experience of my life.

  Physically, at least.

  Emotionally, Nora’s appearance in that room probably holds that honor.

  It takes all of my willpower to wrench my thoughts back to the present, away from the mind-numbing terror of seeing her dragged in by Majid’s men.

  “You did stop him, Nora.” It kills me to admit this, but if it weren’t for her bravery, I would probably be decomposing in some dumpster in Tajikistan. “You came for me, and you saved me.”

  I still have trouble believing that she did that—that she voluntarily placed herself in the hands of psychotic terrorists to save my life. She didn’t do it out of some naïve conviction that they wouldn’t harm her. No, my pet knew exactly what they were capable of, and she still had the courage to act.

  I owe my life to the girl I abducted, and I don’t quite know how to deal with that.

  “Why did you do it?” I ask, stroking the edge of her lower lip with my thumb. Deep down, I know, but I want to hear her admit it.

  She gazes at me, her eyes filled with shadows from her dream. “Because I can’t survive without you,” she says quietly. “You know that, Julian. You wanted me to love you, and I do. I love you so much I would walk through hell for you.”

  I take in her words with greedy, shameless pleasure. I can’t get enough of her love. I can’t get enough of her. I wanted her initially because of her resemblance to Maria, but my childhood friend had never evoked even a fraction of the emotions Nora makes me feel. My affection for Maria had been innocent and pure, just like Maria herself.

  My obsession with Nora is anything but.

  “Listen to me, my pet . . .” My hand leaves her face to rest on her shoulder. “I need you to promise me that you will never do something like that again. I’m obviously glad to be alive, but I would sooner have died than had you in that kind of danger. You are never to risk your life for me again. Do you understand me?”

  The nod she gives me is faint, almost imperceptible, and I see a mutinous gleam in her eyes. She doesn’t want to make me mad, so she’s not disagreeing, but I have a strong suspicion she’s going to do what she thinks is right regardless of what she says right now.

  This obviou
sly calls for more heavy-handed measures.

  “Good,” I say silkily. “Because next time—if there is ever a next time—I will kill anyone who helps you against my orders, and I will do it slowly and painfully. Do you understand me, Nora? If anyone so much as endangers a hair on your head, whether it’s to save me or for any other reason, that person will die a very unpleasant death. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” She looks pale now, her lips pressed together as if to contain a protest. She’s angry with me, but she’s also scared. Not for herself—she’s beyond that fear now—but for others. My pet knows I mean what I say.

  She knows I’m a conscienceless killer with only one weakness.

  Her.

  Gripping her shoulder tighter, I lean forward and kiss her closed mouth. Her lips are stiff for a moment, resisting me, but as I slide my hand under her neck and cup her nape, she exhales and her lips soften, letting me in. The surge of heat in my body is strong and immediate, her taste causing my cock to harden uncontrollably.

  “Um, excuse me, Mr. Esguerra . . .” The sound of a woman’s voice is accompanied by a timid knock on the door, and I realize it’s the nurses making their morning rounds.

  Fuck. I’m tempted to ignore them, but I have a feeling they’ll just come back again in a bit—possibly when I’m balls-deep inside Nora’s tight pussy.

  Reluctantly releasing Nora, I roll over onto my back, sucking in my breath at the jolt of pain, and watch as Nora jumps off the bed and hurriedly pulls on a robe.

  “Do you want me to open the door for them?” she asks, and I nod, resigned. The nurses have to change my bandages and make sure I’m well enough to travel today, and I have every intention of cooperating with their plans.

  The sooner they’re done, the faster I can get out of this fucking hospital.

  As soon as Nora opens the door, two female nurses come in, accompanied by David Goldberg—a short, balding man who’s my personal doctor at the estate. He’s an excellent trauma surgeon, so I had him oversee the repairs on my face, to make sure the plastic surgeons at the clinic didn’t fuck anything up.

  I don’t want to repel Nora with my scars if I can help it.

  “The plane is already waiting,” Goldberg says as the nurses begin to unwrap the bandages on my head. “If there are no signs of infection, we should be able to head home.”

  “Excellent.” I lie still, ignoring the pain resulting from the nurses’ ministrations. In the meantime, Nora grabs some clothes from the closet and disappears into the bathroom that adjoins our room. I hear the water running and realize she must’ve decided to use this time to take a shower. It’s probably her way of avoiding me for a bit, since she’s still upset over my threat. My pet is sensitive to violence being doled out to those she views as innocent—like that stupid boy Jake she kissed the night I took her.

  I still want to rip out his insides for touching her . . . and someday I probably will.

  “No sign of infection,” Goldberg tells me when the nurses are done removing the bandages. “You’re healing well.”

  “Good.” I take slow, deep breaths to control the pain as the two nurses clean the sutures and rebind my ribs. I’ve been taking half of my prescribed dose of painkillers for the past two days, and I’m definitely feeling it. In another couple of days, I’ll go off the painkillers completely to avoid becoming dependent on them.

  One addiction is plenty for anyone.

  As the nurses are wrapping up, Nora comes out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved blouse. “All clear?” she asks, glancing at Goldberg.

  “He’s good to go,” he replies, giving her a warm smile. I think he likes her—which is fine with me, given his homosexual orientation. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” She lifts her arm to show a large Band-Aid over the area where the terrorists cut out her birth control implant by mistake. “I’ll be happy when the stitches are out, but it doesn’t bother me much.”

  “Great, glad to hear it.” Turning toward me, Goldberg asks, “When should we plan to head out?”

  “Have Lucas get the car ready in twenty minutes,” I tell him, carefully swinging my feet to the floor as the nurses exit the room. “I’ll get dressed, and we’ll go.”

  “Will do,” Goldberg says, turning to leave the room.

  “Wait, Dr. Goldberg, I’ll walk out with you,” Nora says quickly, and there’s something in her voice that catches my attention. “I need something from downstairs,” she explains.

  Goldberg looks surprised. “Oh, sure.”

  “What is it, my pet?” I stand up, ignoring my nakedness. Goldberg politely averts his eyes as I catch Nora’s arm, preventing her from walking out. “What do you need?”

  She looks uncomfortable, her gaze shifting to the side.

  “What is it, Nora?” I demand, my curiosity piqued. My grip on her arm tightens as I pull her closer.

  She looks up at me. Her cheeks are tinged with color, and there is a defiant set to her jaw. “I need the morning-after pill, okay? I want to make sure I get it before we leave.”

  “Oh.” My mind goes blank for a second. Somehow I hadn’t thought about the fact that with her implant gone, Nora can get pregnant. I’ve had her in my bed for almost two years, and during that entire time, she’s been protected by the implant. I’m so used to that, it hadn’t even occurred to me that we need to take precautions now.

  But it had clearly occurred to Nora.

  “You want the morning-after pill?” I repeat slowly, still trying to process the idea that Nora—my Nora—could be pregnant.

  Pregnant with my child.

  A child that she clearly doesn’t want.

  “Yes.” Her dark eyes are huge in her face as she stares up at me. “It’s unlikely from just one time, of course, but I don’t want to risk it.”

  She doesn’t want to risk being pregnant with my child. My chest feels oddly tight as I look at her, seeing the fear she’s trying so hard to conceal. She’s worried about my reaction to this, afraid I’ll prevent her from taking this pill.

  Afraid I’ll force an unwanted child on her.

  “I’ll be right outside,” Goldberg says, apparently sensing the rising tension in the room, and before I can say a word, he slips out the door, leaving us alone.

  Nora lifts her chin, meeting my gaze head on. I can see the determination on her face as she says, “Julian, I know we never talked about this, but—”

  “But you’re not ready,” I interrupt, the tightness in my chest intensifying. “You don’t want a baby right now.”

  She nods, her eyes wide. “Right,” she says warily. “I’m not even done with school yet, and you’ve been injured—”

  “And you’re not sure if you want to have a child with a man like me.”

  She swallows nervously, but doesn’t deny it or look away. Her silence is damning, and the tightness in my chest morphs into a strange aching pain.

  Releasing her arm, I step back. “You can tell Goldberg to get you the pill and whatever birth control he thinks is best.” My voice sounds unusually cold and distant. “I’ll wash up and get dressed.”

  And before she can say anything else, I go into the bathroom and close the door.

  I don’t want to see the look of relief on her face.

  I don’t want to think about how that would feel.

  Chapter 2

  Nora

  Stunned, I watch Julian’s naked form disappear into the bathroom. He’s hampered by his injuries, his movements stiffer than usual. Still, there is a certain grace to the way he walks. Even after his hellish ordeal, his muscular body is strong and athletic, the white bandage around his ribs emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the bronzed hue of his skin.

  He didn’t object to the morning-after pill.

  As that fact sinks in, my knees go weak with relief, the adrenaline-induced tension draining out in a sudden whoosh. I had been almost certain he would deny me t
his; the expression on his face as we spoke had been shuttered, unreadable . . . dangerous in its opaqueness. He had seen right through my flimsy excuses about my school and his injuries, his undamaged eye gleaming with a cold blue light that made my stomach knot in dread.

  But he didn’t deny me the pill. On the contrary, he suggested I get a new method of birth control from Dr. Goldberg.

  I feel almost light-headed with joy. Julian must be on board with the no-kids bit, his strange reaction notwithstanding.

  Not wanting to question my good fortune, I hurry out of the room to grab Dr. Goldberg. I want to make sure I get what I need before we leave the clinic.

  Birth control implants aren’t easy to come by in our jungle compound.

  * * *

  “I took the pill,” I tell Julian when we’re comfortably ensconced on his private jet—the same plane that took us from Chicago to Colombia after Julian returned for me in December. “And I got this.” I raise my right arm to show him a tiny bandage where the new implant went in. My arm aches dully, but I’m so happy to have the implant that I don’t mind the discomfort.

  Julian looks up from his laptop, his expression still closed off. “Good,” he says curtly, and resumes working on the email to one of his engineers. He’s outlining the exact specifications of a new drone he wants designed. I know this because I asked him about it a few minutes ago, and he explained what he’s doing. He’s been much more open with me in the past couple of months—which is why I find it odd that he seems to want to avoid the topic of birth control.

  I wonder if he doesn’t want to discuss it because of Dr. Goldberg’s presence. The short man is sitting at the front of the jet, more than a dozen feet from us, but we don’t have total privacy. Either way, I decide to let it go for now and bring it up again at a more opportune moment.