Hurt (The Hurt Series, #1)

by Lydia Michaels

  “Aye. She’s like that to me, I suppose.”

  “Does she remember your sister?” Trying not to overstep, she kept her voice tentative, leaving him the option not to answer.

  “I hope not. My sister wasnae well at the end, but she loved Uma the best she could.”

  Her hand tightened over his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  His sister must have been very young when she had the baby. Frowning, she wondered how Uma had avoided the fire. Maybe the au pair had been with her when the fire happened.

  “Has Elspeth always been her nanny?”

  “Since she was two.”

  He didn’t seem to enjoy discussing this, so she changed the subject. “Do you think Matt will eventually have a dark enough spray tan to get cast in the next Willy Wonka remake?”

  Callan snorted, his laughter shaking from his chest into her back. “That or possibly a future as a spokesperson for cheese puffs.”

  She laughed. “Someone should tell him.”

  “I think Marco tried.”

  She rolled to her other side so she could face him. “Do you think they know we’re dating?”

  He lifted a brow. “I dinnae care either way.” His hand gripped her ass and yanked her closer. “You’re mine, and I’ll not try te hide it.”

  His lips pressed to hers as he turned her, pulling her under him. She moaned as he deepened the kiss, her hands lowering to fondle him.

  His hips lifted and he broke the kiss. She stilled, wondering if that might be one of his rules.

  “I don’t have to touch you,” she said.

  Gaze still turned away, he blinked as if working through an internal battle. “It’s not that I dinnae want your hands on me, love.”

  “I know. When you’re ready.”

  He frowned, appearing disappointed in himself.

  “Really, Callan, it’s fine.”

  Reluctantly, he nodded and rolled off of her, his head lowering to her chest as if she was his favorite pillow. “I’m not sure it’s possible to cover scars enough that we forget they’re there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What ye said earlier about washin’ away what came before.”

  “They were your words, the ones you read me from your journal.”

  He glanced at her, and she laughed at his surprise.

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. Couldn’t you tell?”

  He lowered his head back to her chest. “What a trite windbag I am, mutterin’ on with such fanciful bullshite.”

  She shoved his shoulder. “Hey! I love your words. Hearing you read them the other day was like ... looking into a poet’s soul. I can hardly write a grocery list.”

  “Remind me not to share any more excerpts if you’re gonna go rememberin’ them and quotin’ them for all the world te hear,” he teased.

  “Please,” she begged.

  His fingers drifted over the thatch of curls between her legs. “Please what?”

  “Please share your writing with me again. I really love it.”

  He sighed and gently pulled her thighs apart. “I suppose I could. But only the best of my drivel and I’ll ask that you not quote it back to anyone.”

  “Deal.”

  His finger sank into her sex, delving softly with shallow dips. Soon she was breathing fast, and he replaced his hand with his body. Like before, they clung to each other with an unmatched intensity.

  By the time the sun started to set, and shadows stretched across the room, they admitted they were both going to be late for work. They shared a shower and dressed in front of each other with a novel comfort that still fit a little awkwardly, like a new pair of running shoes.

  “You didn’t get to spend any time with Uma today.” She felt guilty for taking up so much of his free time now that she knew he had a little girl at home.

  “Her days are spent with Elspeth. They have school.”

  “Is she in kindergarten?”

  He nodded and helped her make the bed. “Home school.”

  “Oh. How come?” The local schools were fantastic in this area. Not a large population of homeschooled kids.

  His eyes shifted away. He sat on the bed, presenting her with his back, as he laced up his black combat boots.

  “Callan?”

  “Aye?”

  She frowned and rounded the bed. “If there’s something you’d rather not discuss then say so. Don’t just ignore me.”

  He dropped his leg and sighed. “Uma’s taught at home because she’s not registered with the schools. The house is under Elspeth’s name. Everything is, but I own it.”

  “Why?”

  “I told ye we aren’t here legally and we cannae go back.”

  Her lips parted. “If you were caught, would they deport you back to Scotland?” Fear clutched her heart with sharp claws.

  “Aye. But no one knows we’re here. Matt pays me under the table, and cash tips are untraceable. We’re very careful, love. No one’s caught us yet.”

  She lowered to sit beside him on the edge of the bed, knowing they were already late. “Do you have legal custody of her?”

  “She’s my responsibility.”

  Her stare jumped to his face. “It doesn’t work that way here. If they find you living here illegally and you have no proof she’s yours—”

  “Hush,” he kissed her. “She’s mine, love. They’ll never get close enough to take her from me, nor would I let them go pokin’ around in our DNA. Elspeth understands how protective I am. I trust her to keep Uma safe.”

  But what sort of life was that for a child? Kids needed to play with other kids. “You said the men you used to associate with are gone.”

  His eyes hardened. “Aye.”

  “Then why not try to live a normal life? You could change your name if you think someone’s still looking for you, become a citizen, and raise Uma here.” She knew it was much more complicated, but it was still worth trying.

  He stood. “This isnae a part of my life I need help figurin’ out, Em’ry.”

  “When does she play with other kids, Callan?”

  “She’s not yer concern. And we’re late.” His temper snapped like a plucked fiddle string, cutting sharply through the air and knocking everything out of key.

  “Okay.” She’d overstepped, and now he was upset. She should have never pressed the issue.

  “I’ll wait for ye downstairs.”

  Left alone in her room, she stared at the empty doorway. The sudden void between them crushed the wind out of her. She wished she could take all her stupid questions back.

  Her eyes prickled and she forced herself to stand, sliding her stocking covered feet into her black pumps. Head bowed, she stepped into the hall.

  Callan’s body collided with hers, and she gasped as his arms closed around her, his face pressing into the collar of her shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I know ye mean well and I dinnae mean te snap at you.”

  Her hands fluttered to his back, and her eyes closed in relief. “I shouldn’t have overstepped. The way you raise Uma is none of my business.”

  He shook his head. “I want it te be your business, Em’ry. My walls are down with you.”

  She sucked in a breath, emotion choking her. “My walls are down with you, too.”

  He nodded and traced his thumb over her lower lip. “Then we forgive each other.”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  He kissed her. Her fingers pulled at his shirt wanting to drag him back to bed. Reluctantly, they broke apart and made it to the car.

  He might think his words were trite, but there was something to the things he said. And while they might not ever fully hide their scars, love had a way of washing the pain away.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Saratoga Springs, New York—America

  Present day

  In the weeks that followed, as the trial drew near, Callan continued to follow Wesley Blaine. Though he’d decided the second he saw Emery stumbling
from the bathroom that ill-fated night he would see this through to the end with her, he now questioned if vengeance was for her or him.

  She dinnae know his plans, and he had no intention of burdening her with them as the end crept closer. There was a strong chance her assailant’s end would be his own.

  Wesley Blaine was a beloved member of his community where his crimes were voluntarily ignored. Killing him would not be as easily overlooked as the murder of a lowly drug dealer or a flesh peddler or pedophile or even a kingpin.

  His family had a powerful attorney, one that would make certain the outcome of his trial would not match the crime. But that’s what boyfriends were for.

  He’d see that vengeance got delivered in the end. He’d see that she found peace and her demons downed. But the Blaine family would not rest until their son’s murderer was apprehended and punished.

  Maybe he’d run. It had been his plan when he understood he might not have the option of simply drifting back into the shadows unnoticed. Everyone, including the polis, would be doing their very best to close the case of the murdered Boy Scout who only occasionally violated women between swim meets and feeding the poor. Not because they loved him, but because the world would be watching.

  He had no stomach for the shite lies pumping out of the media about the bastard. He was a vile, Godless cunt who should have his bollocks chopped off and sewn to his face for the world to see. But the masses loved to debate the motive rather than review the facts in cases of rape. Probably because they couldnae face the truth of it, couldnae fathom the bottomless hurt that never went away.

  As he refilled the drinks of a business party sidled around his bar, his glance drifted across the lobby to Emery. Her head was bowed over a yellow legal pad, her pen working hard to put together some letter her advocate suggested she write.

  He’d offered to help her with it, but every time he brought it up, she tore the top page away and crumpled it in her hand, never letting him see what the letter said. He suspected she was putting so much work into it so it could double as her impact statement to the court, a vignette detailing her assault and the lingering repercussions with enough gut-wrenching truth and evocative prose to sway the judge in her favor when it came to sentencing.

  Not exactly the self-healing process she needed to find satisfaction after the crime. For others like himself, writing could be a cathartic way of healing, but not for his Emery.

  But Blaine had dozens of people singing his praises and proclaiming his infallible innocence, so it made sense that part of her wanted to fight back. How sad that paper and ink were the only weapons she thought she had.

  He hated to see her struggle, hated that she kept reliving those horrendous moments in order to twist them into words that outsiders could never feel as precisely as she had.

  Her pain should have ended that night. But he knew better. The bruises would heal, the skin would mend, but the interior hurt never fully went away.

  He delivered the drinks to his patrons, his gaze once again seeking her out. She lifted her head and smiled, her fingers waving before blowing him a kiss.

  Believing a woman could actually throw a kiss from such a distance ranked with the belief that a fairy collected Uma’s missing teeth from under her pillow. Yet he felt Emery’s love hit him square in the chest like a punch.

  His palm rubbed over the mark, and he grinned. An ache of worry spread beneath the target and tightened his heart.

  What would he do without her?

  He never considered his life coming to this. Never actually believed he’d know her in an intimate way. But what he shared with her now went beyond his comprehension of love. It was deeper and sharper than anything he’d felt before.

  Uma—his wee angel—would adapt to a life without him. She’d cry, but Elspeth would get her through. He’d set up several secret funds to ensure neither girls ever wanted for anything. One of the many benefits of robbing Scotland’s most lucrative criminals before fleeing the country.

  But leaving Emery... Who would she have? Would she ever forgive him? And if he wasn’t dead, would he actually be able to keep away?

  He stowed his worry for another time as she crossed the lobby, a secret smile tucked in the corner of her mouth as she rounded the bar.

  “Looking for something?” he asked, as she hardly acknowledged him as she passed the patrons.

  “I think I left my book in the back.”

  He frowned. She’d been reading her book an hour ago—at the reception desk.

  He glanced at Peter who had his nose buried in another spy novel by the front door. His customers all had full glasses. Slipping into the back, he nearly crashed into Emery, waiting just around the corner on the other side of the wall.

  She laughed and pulled him by the shirt, yanking him down for a kiss. He sank into her softness, smiling against her pillowy lips.

  His hands burrowed under her blazer, finding the warm curve of her hips. Blood rushed to his cock, and he nudged his hips into hers and growled. “What did I tell ye about gettin’ me fired up at work? Now, I’ll have to go pour drinks with my cock standin’ at full salute for the world to see.”

  She laughed, the witch. He was tempted to drag her deeper in the back, but that’s not what this was. Work was more than their place of employment. It was the place of her nightmares, so they only ever kissed when in the hotel, nothing more.

  Perhaps it was a distraction for her. Or maybe she just wanted to sneak a wee bit of closeness in. It dinnae matter. He liked that she’d recovered her confidence enough to speak her mind and ask for what she wanted. Her boldness with him was a welcome surprise.

  “I have to get back.”

  “Witch,” he hissed, reaching in his pants to try to hide the evidence.

  She snickered. “Only a few more hours until closing.”

  And then two more waiting for her shift to end. His journal entries were turning rather pornographic of late.

  She skipped away, but not before he grabbed a fistful of her arse and pulled a squeak from her. “You’ll be payin’ for that later.”

  “I’m counting on it,” she called. As she looked over her shoulder, the world stilled.

  The whisky brown of her eyes danced with teasing promise, the white corners glittering like the sea. Her laughter drifted through the air like falling dew, lighter than a snowflake and as impactful as a blizzard.

  A wayward strand of fawn colored hair clung to her lips as she smiled in playful abandon. And his heart beat with frenzied haste as he subdued the urge to go after her.

  His mind froze at the thought of abandoning her. How blissful it would be to simply exist in this tumultuous rapture with her, losing himself day after day in the marvelous allure of her body, the breathtaking palace of her mind.

  His eyes glazed with carnal fire, a savage need to hold her close, hide her away and keep her all to himself. Standing as impassive as a statue, he nearly buckled under the weight of the world spinning back into its rapid orbit as her gaze pulled away.

  Ripped from the spell she cast, he plunged back into cold reality.

  Two business associates tried their luck in an unspoken competition to take their one female colleague to bed. The woman had stopped drinking hours ago, unknowingly to her male companions, as she’d subtly asked Callan to switch her over to club soda and lime.

  As their voices grew louder and their manners more sloppy, the woman smiled shrewdly, a look of corporate poise flashing in her eyes and a devotion to her career keeping that false smile pressed to her lips.

  The things women sometimes suffered to even the playing field... He dinnae care to see how far she’d let them drink themselves under the table.

  Noting it was almost midnight, he passed by their glasses. “Last call. Can I get ye anything else?”

  The men carried on, but Callan caught the look of relief in her eyes. He’d addressed situations like this with Matt, and while it wasnae the hotel's policy to impose on guest privacy, the hotel
now had security cameras in every hall and outside of every bathroom and alcove.

  He glanced across the hall and sighed. Unfortunately, Peter, the bibliophile was supposed to be watching the cameras.

  When the group left, and the bar was empty, he dialed over to the front desk, alerting Peter to make sure the woman made it to her room safely.

  When the bar was empty, and the tables cleaned, he settled in with a whisky and his journal. His gaze sought out Emery and the prose simply poured.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Saratoga Springs, New York—America

  Present day

  Callan’s mind stirred under the heavy haze of sleep as Uma’s melodic voice chatted over her dolls. His body protested as he stretched, and the book he’d fallen asleep reading tumbled to the floor.

  Damn, he’d slept in his library again. He needed to stop doing that.

  He always drove down the country road after leaving Emery’s at night, and last night the car hadn’t been parked in front of the trailer that led to a ride past the local college. For a man set to be sentenced in a week, Wesley Blaine sure had an active social life.

  He’d found him stumbling around a fraternity party, pawing his way through the crowd, which reeked of desperation and naivety. So many young, trusting girls looking for some sort of vindication they’d never find there. He stayed long enough to make sure Blaine dinnae put a hand on a single one.

  By the time he got home, he’d been both wired and exhausted. If God had any mercy left for him, he’d see the man put away for at least a few years, giving Callan a break from his grueling post of trying to sever the inseparable nature from the beast.

  Blaine seemed to be somewhat aware of his actions in light of the upcoming trial. Several times Callan saw the flash of entitlement in his eyes, but he never acted on the impulse. But it was in him to do it again and eventually, he would. As sure as Callan would kill again, Blaine would take.

  “What do ye have there, my angel?”

  Uma turned and flashed him a heart-melting grin. Her front teeth were slightly parted in a way that reminded him of her father. “A tea party. Want some?”