The Fool Ch. 06

Their driver was a tall, muscular black man who was strangely silent, only nodding his head and smiling when Sinclair spoke to him. The staff had gathered and formed a line at the entrance as she and Sinclair walked in together. He spoke to them all, only getting polite smiles or self-conscious giggles in return as he greeted them all warmly. At the end of the line he introduced the caretakers of this house as Sunday and Amara.

"Has Davis been in contact?" Sinclair asked quietly.

"No, Sir, but we got a message from one of his associates, it's in the office on your desk with the updates," Sunday said in a deep soft baritone.

"Okay, can you take the bags up to our room, and bring a jug of Amara's peach iced tea to the office. I'll give Miss Carrington the tour once I've checked the messages," Sinclair said, brusquely dismissing the staff and guiding Carrie into the house to a large open room that served as his office here. "Have a seat, this won't take long," he said, moving from Carrie's side to the large oak desk.

Since landing, Sinclair's demeanour had become darker, and the early days of their relationship when he had dominated her completely came back to mind. He commanded rather than asked and had an air of superiority about him as he interacted with the people who worked for him here in Panama. She watched as he went through the messages on his desk and sorted them into piles that she assumed were in the order of urgency.

Until now Sinclair had kept his work very separate from his relationship with Carrie and the work she was doing for the exhibition. It made her realise she knew little about his professional life, aside from the fact that he was a notorious thief that appeared to do little more than travel the world and party. The Playboy lifestyle, she realised now, was a front, but she had never found any information that he was anything more than a professional thief who traded off his family name and fortune.

"Who's Davis?" she asked curiously. "I don't remember you mentioning him before."

"Chris? Christopher Davis, the name should ring a bell for you," he smiled as her face registered the name.

"So, aside of some of the most daring and, might I add, successful thefts in the underworld, what is it you do while I am combing through your family's treasures? You can't possibly be casing and researching your next targets in every place we've been?" She asked.

"I freelance with some international agencies," he said carefully. To give her too much information too soon would make her suspicious of his motives, and, while he had every intention of allowing her to find out what he did in his legitimate work, he knew that letting her discover it for herself would be far more satisfying for both of them. "I have skills and connections that allow me to travel freely without raising any eyebrows and pick up and deliver packages for those agencies."

"Drugs?" she blurted unbelievingly, trying to match what he was saying with something that would need to be picked up and delivered.

"Seriously?" Sinclair laughed loudly, shaking his head. "No, not drugs," he continued to laugh as Amara came in with the iced tea he'd asked for and placed it on the table. He neither acknowledged nor thanked her.

"Thank you," Carrie said with a smile as Amara put the glass in front of her. Amara immediate looked down at the ground and hurried from the room, leaving Carrie frowning and turning toward Sinclair for answers as to why his staff seemed so frightened of him and, in turn, her.

"Amara has a form of PTSD; she's not comfortable interacting with anyone who isn't on the staff with her and, even then, she is reticent. She is a hard worker and wants to be here because the walls and fences make her feel safe," he explained. "You'll find most of the staff here have similar stories, so do me a favour and play lady of the manor while you are here. All of my homes have a staff, this is no different."

Carrie looked at him thoughtfully. The people here were servants, not staff. There was a definite class line drawn in this house, and she didn't like it, but she nodded silently rather than argue about it where these people would hear her. If this was the life they wanted, she shouldn't judge them, but she only had Sinclair's words to back that up. She decided to investigate for herself just how truthful his explanation was.

"I can be a lady," she smiled slyly, "But, as such, perhaps I should have my own room, seeing as we aren't married, or even engaged, for that matter. It's hardly the behaviour of a lady to be so physically involved with a man who isn't her husband."

"I see," Sinclair said seriously. "It's not much of a proposal, particularly after the argument we had on the plane, but I accept. I assume you have a ring for me?" he asked with a perfectly straight face.

"A what? You're unbelievable! I didn't propose!" she was incredulous that he had twisted her words in such a way. "You know how I feel. It was just a joke, for goodness sake!"

"It certainly sounded like it to me," he stood from his desk and walked toward her. "I have to admit I'm a little disappointed you don't have a ring, and I was looking forward to the whole one knee image. Tell you what, we'll go and pick a ring and you can ask me again, properly this time, and I'll act all surprised and swoon appropriately as I accept."

"Will you stop!" she said testily as he pulled her to her feet, wishing, as always, that she could wipe the smirk from his face.

"Come with me," he said with a grin, and took her hand, leading her from the room.

"Sinclair, stop!" she reefed her hand out of his and planted her feet firmly. "Why do you always have to twist my words so that a simple joke becomes something else entirely?"

"You said it wouldn't be ladylike to share my room without being married, or at least engaged," he said casually. "I agreed and accepted your proposal. Mostly because I want you in my bed, not just tonight, but for the long term. We've been living together for months now, it's the next logical step in this relationship, despite your reservations," he said as if she was being unreasonable.

"The only proposal I made was to have separate rooms!" she said, letting her anger show in her voice.

"Unless we were engaged," he added calmly, seeing her frustration reach a point where the fun of turning her teasing back on her made her angry enough that she would become emotional again and he would need to assert his dominance over her in this house. He glanced around the large room. It wasn't the best place for a fight, perhaps, but little damage would be done if he kept it short and managed to subdue her quickly. He advanced toward her and saw her step back, placing her weight onto her back foot as if taking a stance. He continued and kept his eyes on her for the moment she would swing at him.

Carrie swung her head as if flicking her hair back and glanced around her quickly. She wanted so badly to wipe that smirk off his face and stop him from continuing with this stupid joke he had made from twisting her words again. When he was close enough, she stepped forward, again transferring her weight to the front leg and swinging the other up into a high kick aimed at his abdomen.

With lightning reflexes, Sinclair grabbed her foot and twisted it, turning her so that she toppled face first toward the floor. Bracing her hands on the floor she kicked out at him, but his vice like grip never broke, and he followed her down, using his weight to trap her between the furniture and the floor.

"Are you sure this is where you want to do this? The staff will be here to ensure nothing is amiss, but if you're not shy about the type of foreplay you prefer, I'm more than happy to take the chance. Perhaps they will just close the door and walk away," he murmured into her ear, pressing his pelvis against her ass and controlling both her arms with his hands.

"Urg! Let me Go!" She bucked up against him, hissing the words as she threw her head back trying to head butt him and stun him into releasing her. The blow glanced off his cheek, and he swore loudly, giving her a small sense of satisfaction. She struggled and bucked as Sinclair pulled her arms behind her, holding her wrists in one large hand and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head up.

"That will cost you," he growled. "Now We're going to get up, and you're going to come with me like I asked, only his time I am telling you this is what you will do. Agreed?"

"Fine!" Carrie spat. "Just let me go!"

"No," he said calmly, but slowly removed his weight from her and pulled her to her feet, still holding her arms. He kept hold of one arm by the wrist, then he began to walk, pulling her with him until she hurried to catch up rather than be dragged through the house in front of the staff.

"We're going down to the cave," Sinclair told Sunday as they passed him in the hallway. "I don't want to be disturbed." He continued to walk, not waiting for any acknowledgement from the quiet man who spoke his hushed agreement at their backs.

They went downstairs, and Carrie realised that the house was set on the back of a small hill at the top of the cliff so that the basement floor received natural light through a series of sliding glass doors that seemed almost seamless and looked out over the ocean. He led her down a corridor, and she looked into windowless rooms as they walked deeper into the back of the hill.

"Why are we here?" Carrie asked testily, hating that she felt so irritated and out of sorts. It certainly wasn't the first time he had twisted her words, nor the first time he had asserted his dominance in their relationship through brute strength, and she took a deep breath, trying to swallow down how annoyed she was with him.

"Giving you the legitimacy you want," he said, easily pulling her into his arms and backing her against the door at the end of the corridor. Before she could say anything else, he kissed her. "You were right when you said I couldn't expect you to act like the lady of the manor when you are my guest here in the staff's eyes."

"I was joking," she shook her head. "Why do you always have to read more into the things I say than what's there?"

"Because I don't know what's there," he said seriously. "You told me a little about your life, but I want more. I want to know everything about you," he kissed her again.

"You already do," she said in frustration. "You made no secret of the fact that you had me investigated."

"Facts and inconsequential details are very different from knowing a person. I had no idea you would react the way you did to meeting my parents, because you never told me." He put the blame for her irritability with him back on her. "You're mad at me for putting you in that position, I get it. But how could I have known?" he asked quietly.

"Sinclair, we've been through this so many times already. What we have, it's not real. It's convenient and fun, but we both know once the Fool strikes again you will move on from me to the next suspect," she said unemotionally. "We aren't compatible in the long term. Haven't I made that clear?"

"And you'll just move on to the next challenge, the next hurdle to jump?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Yes, if the collection does well at the Museum in London I would like to negotiate taking it to a museum in Australia for an exhibition," she said as if she had put a lot of thought into it already.

"So what I want still doesn't matter?" he asked. "You're so sure about my motives that you've made plans to steal my collections and go home without me?"

"It's hardly stealing. You would have to give your consent for the collection to travel, of course," she grumbled, ignoring his comment about her finally going home where she wanted to be. "You twist everything I say. Just stop. This is ridiculous. I didn't propose, and you know it, we aren't going to live some fairy-tale happily ever after story. You need to stop pretending that we're a normal couple who can do normal things."

"Normal things, like getting engaged?" he smirked at her.

"I give up," she sighed in frustration. "You clearly haven't listened to a word I said."

"I love it when you give in to me," he grinned widely and bent his head to kiss her again as he held her trapped against the door. "Now let's go pick out some rings."

"What?" she exclaimed, almost falling backwards through the door that he opened behind her. Carrie turned to see a long winding staircase leading down to a sub-basement and peered curiously into the darkness below them. The passage was narrow, and he urged her to walk before him, the lights turning on by motion sensor as she slowly descended the steep winding steps. The staircase widened and opened out toward the bottom, and the smooth dark walls became rough rock surfaces. She raised her eyebrows as they came to a high-tech steel door that seemed totally out of place in this stairwell.

"Not quite the boulder that used to be here, but slightly more efficient," he smiled, moving to the control panel and typing in a complex series of characters before placing his hand on the screen.

Carrie watched in wonder as the door slowly opened. All of her irritation and the sour mood was forgotten as the dimly lit room opened up to reveal a cave of wonders. It was a treasure like she'd never even imagined. It was the stuff of fairy-tales, like Aladdin or Treasure Island. Brass bound chests overflowing with gold and jewels lay scattered around the edges of the cave or placed on ledges in alcoves. A large mound of what she assumed were Spanish doubloons piled in a corner, and an old shovel stood wedged amongst the little gold discs, as if the pile had only recently been placed there.

"Holy shit!" Carrie gasped, raising a hand to her cheek in shock at the sheer magnitude of the treasure.

Sinclair said nothing; he knew this was what she had wanted from the beginning. His family jewels. He smiled as the term entered his mind. "Both sets," he chuckled to himself. He moved into the room, leaving her taking it all in from where she stood frozen in the doorway. He took a small chest from a high alcove in the wall and took a seat in a chair decorated with gold leaf and red velvet cushions. He opened the small chest and looked at the gaudy rings it contained, using his forefinger to move them around as if stirring a cool drink with his finger.

"Would you like to choose, or should I just pick something appropriate?" he asked with a smirk, breaking her out of her reverie.

"What?" she asked, totally confused by his question.

"An engagement ring," he said easily. "Only members of the family are allowed in the cave. I'm afraid you're committed to that proposal you made upstairs now." She was about to argue with him again when he held up his hand. "You would like some of these pieces for the exhibition, wouldn't you?"

"Gosh yes, but..." she shook her head, trying to work out if he was teasing her again.

"We could leave, but once you take another step into this room, you agree to become part of the Mansvelt family through marriage."

"I'm not going to marry you!" she said, as if it was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard.

"Well, that's disappointing, but I will find some time to pick out a few items myself for the exhibition if you don't want to curate this cave yourself," he said sadly.

"What? No! I want to curate it!" she said quickly.

"Then do you want to pick out a ring, or should I do it? There's quite a nice set of matching ruby rings in here. His and hers," he held up the gaudy pieces of jewellery that had once belonged to Spanish royalty.

"So, to gain access to this room, I have to agree to marry you?" she said slowly, as if the terms he had laid out had just sunk into her mind. "Or this is the only glimpse I get of it?"

"Rules are rules," he shrugged. "Dad suggested a romantic evening down on the beach and entering through the sea door, but you beat me to the question, and how could I not accept when I planned to ask you anyway," Sinclair explained, leaving out the vital element that their engagement was part of his father's larger plan.

"You planned to ask me to marry you? Are you crazy? After that whole scene on the plane!" she raged at him and walked toward him, ready to fight the insanity he was obviously plagued with since their arrival.

"So that's a yes?" he smirked as she moved closer. "Because you took another step, you realise."

"Shit! No, that is not a yes! This is an I think you've lost your mind moment!" She yelled.

"I see, well, in that case, we will be leaving," he shut the small chest and stood, grabbing her hand and pulling her forcefully to the door as she struggled against his grip. He manhandled her out of the door as she raged at him and he turned, placing his hand on the screen and watching it shut with a loud boom that echoed up the staircase. "I'll make sure you get a separate room, if that's what you want," he said petulantly, and left her standing there staring at the door as he started to ascend the stairs alone.

Carrie turned to watch him go. She was totally dumbfounded. The heart was beyond that door, and she wanted to get in there. Why was he doing this? Hadn't she made it clear enough that they weren't meant to be together forever? Why would he want to marry her? There had to be an angle. She started back up the stairs slowly, her mind going over everything that had just happened. Rather than follow him back to his office, she went out of the rear door and wandered aimlessly along the cliff looking out at the Caribbean Sea.

She hadn't been here long enough to even think about connecting to his Wi-Fi network in this house, and she brooded as she wished she could call Jordan. It was hot, and she was hungry, but she wasn't ready to face Sinclair yet. She felt as if her world was spinning out of control and there was nothing she could do to save it. She tried to invoke Robyn, the cold, unemotional woman who would know exactly what she should do at this moment.

Robyn stirred in a deep, unsettling black corner of her brain and glowered at her. "You can't possibly be this stupid, can you?" The voice of Robyn said scornfully. "You seduced him, and I would say well done, but you are screwing it up every moment you sit out here acting like some militant feminist who can't stand the thought of marriage."

"I'm not going in there now and acting all girly and squealing over an engagement ring, and I refuse to apologise or act contrite," Carrie told the voice in her head.

"This is a job, remember. This isn't about how you feel. None of it is real. You are so close to the goal, and you are letting your emotions ruin ten years of planning and sacrifice. I gave you everything, Carrington. I sacrificed my life to get you to this point, and you're going to throw it all away because you've fallen in love with the mark?" Robyn accused.

"I'm not in love with him," she argued.

"Then why are you sitting out here brooding? You are stronger than that. Take the ring, be engaged, he trusts and loves you. You have gotten yourself into the perfect position to steal the heart of the heartless and the heart of the man himself," Robyn was clinical in her assessment and advice. "When you betray him, he will never want to see you again, let alone go through with the marriage. So take the fucking ring, Carrington. This is what we have been working toward."

"If you're looking for a good place to jump from, I prefer a spot a bit further up the cliff, it's got some nice jagged rocks below it," a young woman's voice interrupted her mother's admonishment, making Carrie turn quickly so see who it was.

"I'm not going to jump," Carrie sighed. "I just needed some time to think about my life and where it's going."

"Where are you going?" the girl asked curiously.