Protected By The Enemy (Hacienda Heights Book 2)

by Emma Roberts

  I relayed the address. “Please, don’t hang up,” I said, uncharacteristic panic gripping me. “I need to hear your voice. I think I’ll go crazy if left to my own devices.”

  Mina’s hesitation was palpable. “If you think that’s best.”

  “Please. I need a distraction. Tell me about your day. Anything at all.”

  “Oh, damn. I’ll have to call an Uber.” There was the soft jingle of keys on the opposite end of the phone as Mina apparently set them back down.

  “Don’t you have a rental?”

  “Yes, but I…had a bit to drink. I’m fine, I had a shower and a coffee. Hold on.”

  Mina called for a car on her app and moments later her front door shut with an audible click and her footfalls slapped against the stairs. “Well, I made a friend of Isadora Anwick. And I think Gideon may be sleeping with his boss on the side. They seem really close. And not in a workplace camaraderie sense either.”

  The juicy tidbit did successfully divert my attention. Not what I’d expected from that pair, but after what I’d learned about my own father, nothing really shocked me now. They were both unattached and adults. They could do what they wanted, I supposed.

  Mina kept up a solid flow of conversation and I pressed my face harder into the wall, listening intently to every syllable. She was unlikely to speak to me ever again when she learned the truth about what I’d need to do. I’d allow myself her kindness for as long as possible, dreading the day when I’d finally have to let go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mina

  By the time I reached his side, Logan was putting off the barely contained energy of a caged panther. Pacing the tiled hall of the Hacienda Hills Assisted Living Complex, he was being observed by about a dozen residents.

  He stilled when I slid a hand up his bicep and tugged, knowing I could never drag him from the hall under my own power. Logan’s body was corded with muscle and sometimes it felt like smacking into a wall of solid steel when he pulled me in tight. But my touch seemed to have a calming affect, sapping most of his agitation away.

  When he turned to me, the grief in those deep blue eyes nearly brought me to tears.

  “Mina,” he rasped. I didn’t stop him when his arm encircled my waist and drew me into a suffocating embrace.

  Guilt choked the air from my lungs, holding me in a grip even tighter than Logan’s as a nurse filled us in on the details. Logan’s father was dying, and where had I been? Dithering with Gideon, teasing him with the possibility of a relationship that could never be. I was despicable. A horrid, selfish bitch who toyed with others. If I had any lingering effects from the punch, they disappeared. Perhaps the blackmailer had the measure of me. Because there was only one man I’d ever wanted to be with, and anything I gave Gideon would only be a hustle—a farce that could never measure up to the original.

  I drew myself from Logan’s arms, ready to apologize to him. He seized my hand, clutching it as though it were a lifeline. Staring up into his face, taut with stress, I knew I couldn’t confess my misdeed.

  “Come on,” I urged quietly. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “I have to stay. What if there’s news?”

  “Logan, they’ve taken him to the hospital. We’re not doing him any good here. And he won’t be out of the E.R. for a while. Do you want to go to the hospital and wait?” He shook his head. “My house is central. We can wait for news there. Do you have your phone on you?”

  He nodded mutely, and I restrained a sigh. I supposed under the circumstances it was the best I was going to get. Logan, like many men I’d known, retreated behind a wall of silence and stoicism when faced with something potentially life-shattering. I’d seen him like this only once before, when his mother had passed on. He’d stood, taciturn, providing a pillar of support for Katherine while their father retreated to his penthouse office, away from the grief. He had never let me see the depth of his feelings then, and I doubted he’d do so now.

  We exited the complex five minutes later, Logan clutching my hand so tightly my bones creaked.

  I gritted my teeth. I’d push through this pain, and anything that was coming in the next few days. No matter what was sent our way, I’d bear it. It was my turn to be a pillar—a strong, silent well of strength. I’d find a quiet moment sometime soon to have my own breakdown. But for now? I’d be the rock Logan clung to.

  That’s what you did for someone you loved.

  I could sense something besides guilt and grief roiling just beneath Logan’s stony exterior, but couldn’t quite gauge his mood until we stepped out of the elevator into my penthouse apartment.

  We’d barely cleared the entryway before Logan seized me by the hips, pulling me backward and into his very evident arousal. Despite everything that had happened, my body lurched into overdrive, my inner muscles clenching tight at the memory of our last time in the apartment.

  “Logan,” I said weakly. “Are you sure...?”

  “I need you,” he groaned. “Please. I need to make love to you before...”

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but I could understand the sentiment. His world was tilted on its axis, about to change in a fundamental way. I’d sworn to myself I’d be his rock. If this was what he needed to cling to, I’d give it.

  “Yes, Logan. Make love to me.”

  That was all the prompting he needed. His rough, calloused fingers found my zipper and drew it down with excruciating slowness.

  Logan brushed my long curtain of hair back, sweeping it quickly over my shoulder. His breath fanned over the nape of my neck and my whole body tingled, achingly aware of him at my back. He kissed my neck and, despite the familiar touch, I shivered. This felt different, somehow, than other times we’d done the same.

  His lips were warm, and he left sparks in his wake as he kissed along my newly bared flesh. He tugged at the shoulders of the dress, peeling it off me. He bared me inch by inch, and I could feel his heated gaze on my breasts, mounded up in the black lace bra I’d slipped on that morning. The matching panties were already soaked through, as I was sure he’d soon discover.

  “Oh, Mina.” His voice had gone impossibly rough and came out as more of a growl than anything else.

  Behind me, he knelt, pulling the fabric bunched at my waist farther down. He slid the dress to my ankles, and I stepped daintily out of the pile of fabric that had pooled at my feet. I kicked it out of the way. His hands slid up my calves, ghosting over the hollows behind my knees, and began exploring my thighs. The sensation made me go weak in the knees.

  He pressed another searing kiss to the small of my back, just above the line of my panties. His fingers slid beneath the black lace and I nearly lost my balance. His fingers quested deftly along my aching sex, searching for that bit of flesh that was desperately yearning for his touch.

  The next few minutes were a blur of discarded clothing and a staggering trip to the bed as our hands explored the other. I tipped him onto my mattress, clambering on top of him, shivering when his cock nudged my entrance.

  As I eased myself down onto him, my back arched and my eyes shut of their own accord. I reveled in the sensation. He filled me so completely that I could barely separate where he ended and I began.

  Beneath me, he groaned, his hands falling to either side of my waist. His hips bucked upward and he thrust impossibly deeper inside of me, brushing across the spot that had my toes curling.

  “Christ,” Logan hissed. He reached up a hand to cup my face, pulling me toward him and pressing his forehead to mine. Somehow, the soft cradle of his hand and the fan of his breath across my cheek felt more intimate than the connection of our bodies.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “No matter what happens. Don’t forget that. I love you. I will love you until the day I die.”

  He arched into me again, sending prickles of pleasure shooting up my spine. The current traveled as I began to move with him, joy stealing through me.

  “I love you too.”

  I loved him past t
he bounds of rationality. No matter what happened, no matter how much it hurt. I loved Logan Farraday.

  He guided my hips in an easy, practiced movement, turning our joining into accomplished bliss. When he was sure of the rhythm, his hands slid back up my stomach. He plucked at my nipples, smirking just a little when I keened. The expression faded quickly, though. The heavy press of his grief was waiting on the periphery.

  Logan thrust into me with abandon, hitting that spot deep inside of me with each fierce stroke. His fingers found my clit and began rubbing slow, agonizing circles around it, until my legs were shaking. Each pass of his fingers over my clit had me bucking in spasmodic motions.

  “Oh, Logan,” I moaned, letting my head fall back.

  The pleasure overflowed and spread like a flood, washing through the rest of my body. For a moment, I saw white. I was only vaguely aware of Logan’s groan, or the spill of hot liquid against my thigh that signaled that he’d found his release as well.

  When I came back to myself, I was being cradled very gently against his chest, and I couldn’t force myself to move. I was overcome by a thick, honeyed torpor that came after really good sex. I didn’t think I had ever felt so completely sated. And I had the sneaking suspicion he was the only person who’d ever be able to give me this.

  Logan’s phone chimed and he reached for it, an automatic gesture. He lifted the phone to his ear, color draining from his face as he listened. After the conversation was through, he limply let it fall to his side.

  “What was that?” I asked, dreading the answer.

  “Alden Farraday entered cardiac arrest ten minutes ago,” he said, his voice as remote and cold as a distant mountain. “He was pronounced dead at 4:00 pm.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Logan

  Crocodile tears. All I could see for miles were big, fat, crocodile tears. With the exception of Katherine, who stood hunched against the buffeting crowd, I didn’t believe a single one of them.

  A thousand people had turned up to my father’s visitation, crowding into the Hacienda Hills Funeral Home. They stretched from one paneled wall to the other, filling every seat and all the standing room. I recognized at least two of the women in the front row from the pictures Owen Mason had shown me. None of them lived in state, so far as their files had shown, and I could only assume they were here to snatch their slice of the pie before there was only crumbs left. I had no doubt my father had left accounts open for each one of his wives and that only greed had compelled them to show up at the funeral of the once-great mogul.

  There were even a few news reporters in attendance, probably hoping to scoop some juicy gossip on my father. They’d never even catch a whiff of the real family shame, if I had anything to say about it.

  He’d been gone for two days. A better man might have been distraught at the loss. But once the initial punch of grief and guilt had worn off, I could only feel a prickling sense of dread. I wanted to curse the old man for sticking me with a pile of shit in his absence.

  His death had locked me into a Faustian bargain with Owen Mason. If I wanted to preserve my father’s good name, I had to sell my soul, and send Mina downriver, so to speak. After she was safe, I could never allow her back into my life again.

  A drop of blood dripped from my palm onto the pristine white carpet of the funeral home. My hands had been so tightly clenched that I’d managed to dig furrows into them sometime during the saccharine service. The condolences and sweet words would not have suited him in life and did not suit him in death either.

  I slipped from my position in the front, shouldering my way through the crowd toward the exit. I’d put in the expected appearance, and it was the best I could ask of myself at the moment. Katherine had Phoebe to comfort her after the service was over.

  Tonight was the night. The tickets I’d secured to Bea Hunter, or rather, Miss Ginger’s party were nonrefundable and I’d already RSVP’d. This was the only gift I could give Mina. I had to restore her freedom before I was locked into the heavy manacles of matrimony with a woman I could never love.

  Mina was waiting for me in the parking lot. She’d assumed, correctly, she wouldn’t be welcome at my father’s visitation. I wouldn’t have put it past Phoebe to have a histrionic fit in the middle of the service if she discovered Mina were there.

  “You look fucking fantastic,” I murmured.

  It was the return of the black body-con dress she’d donned to meet me at the Ritz-Carlton, the night she’d set out to con me. It clung to her like a second skin, tracing every line of her lean body. A generous spill of cleavage was on display and one long, creamy leg was visible where the skirt split up the side.

  Her flame-bright hair had been swept beneath a dark wig. It was cut pixie-style, and highlighting made her cheekbones stand out more prominently than usual beneath the amber incandescence of city lighting.

  She looked rather impish as she smiled. “Thanks. You don’t look half bad yourself.”

  That was probably a lie. If I looked half as bad as I felt, I resembled a walking garbage heap. I’d gotten very little rest in the last couple days, woken from sleep by nightmares from my army days. The dreams always seemed to come back with a vengeance any time I had an emotional upheaval.

  Phoebe had woken me abruptly one night, shouting at me over the sounds I was making. A loving and supporting bride, indeed, I thought sourly.

  Mina drove and we were lucky to hit a lull in traffic, and made good time toward Ecstasy, a popular club for celebrity parties.

  “What’s the plan?” Mina said, steering us into the far lane. “What did your friend tell them? Who are we supposed to be?”

  She barely batted an eyelash at the prospect of going undercover. Of course, she’d been doing this for over six years. Those kind of questions had to feel like shop talk to her. It was a bit of a shock to realize that I was playing in Mina’s sphere now, instead of dragging her into mine. She’d struggled in neither, and I took a second to appreciate just how much confidence and capability she’d armed herself with in the years since we’d first parted.

  I glanced down at the profile my friend had faxed over earlier in the week.

  “I’m Ray Ward, your plus one. Minor league ballplayer until I tore a rotator cuff. You’re Aubrey Irwin. You’re a somewhat famous Instagram model and a part-time cam-girl.”

  She scowled, and I knew I should have vetoed that suggestion. It hit too close to home after the release of our sex tape.

  “My friend thought it was necessary. Word on the street is that Miss Ginger is recruiting. We’re likely to get closer if she’s looking at you as a potential employee. You have both a website and an Instagram account set up, all doctored so they look well-used and popular.”

  Mina relaxed into her seat, the tension flooding out of her shoulders at that. “Makes sense. Snap up the small-time girls and hoist them to the big-time—ensures company loyalty. The mysterious blackmailer knows my business practices alright.”

  It took us surprisingly little time to make our way into the club. The doorman barely glanced at our tickets and ushered us through without comment.

  We stepped from the relatively cool entryway into a warm fug. The dance floor strobed blue, green, and purple. Bodies gyrated in time to a whiny pop song, and it was hard to see anything through a haze of smoke. From the smell, it was a mixture of nicotine and marijuana. I had no doubt more illicit things were circulating the ranks of the attendees.

  The plan was a relatively simple one. All we needed to do was snap some photo evidence of the crimes in progress, send them to my friend on the force. Within a half-hour, Miss Ginger and her cadre would be rounded up and taken into police custody.

  From the main floor, two staircases led up to a balcony, where a couple lounged indolently, watching the organized chaos below.

  My muscles locked into place and I stopped in the entryway, staring at the familiar, scarred profile of an old friend. With this new revelation, I was certain he was the one who’d
released Mina’s sex tape and was now tormenting her again, this time to get a rise out of me. We’d been friends, once upon a time. He knew how to manipulate us both.

  Scott Flemming raised a joint to his lips and took a drag before offering it to the woman beside him. I didn’t recognize her but assumed this had to be the titular Miss Ginger. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with long black hair, hazel eyes, and a dimple that popped when she smiled.

  Mina let out a soft sound of outrage that was swallowed by the crowd. She stalked forward, fury flashing in her eyes. She was making a beeline for the balcony, tossing aside the carefully constructed plan I’d relayed on the way over.

  It was enough to finally unlock me from my anger-fueled paralysis. I reached Mina only a few seconds after she’d set off, yanking her to a stop just before the dance floor. I pulled her into the throng of moving bodies, where we were less likely to be singled out. Keeping my back to the balcony, I pressed her close, and she let her body sway suggestively against mine. Scott would pick me out of the crowd in a New York minute if he saw my face. I was already in the minority, still sporting a suit, while most men were dressed in more casual attire, or even fetish wear.

  “Let me go,” Mina hissed. “I’m going to kick her ass.”

  My brow furrowed. Her? I’d assumed she’d spotted Scott.

  “Who?”

  “Luciana,” she growled. “She’s one of my girls, Logan. One of my first. She was an exceptional actress. When I found her, she was being screwed over literally by her agent.” Mina shook her head. “Turns out she was even better than I thought. I can’t believe I fell for this.”

  “Wait.”

  Mina’s eyes welled with sudden tears. “Oh, God. How many of the other girls are in on it? All of them seemed to be supportive but what if...?”

  I stroked her cheek, catching the crystalline tears before they could fall and smudge her makeup. Tipping her chin up, I forced her to meet my gaze. “I’m sure it’s just Luciana.”