First Touch

by Laurelin Paige

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, a response that served as an answer though it was mostly an involuntary reaction to his hands. He’d reached the top of my limb again. Like before, the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds.

  Goddamnit, I was wet. And trembling. And overwrought with anticipation. This time, would he let his touch wander farther up? In?

  His hands left me. He pushed my leg down, pulled the sheet back over my leg and pinned me with narrowed eyes. “It’s also not unlike the power of being a very attractive person. Another privilege that you understand.” He scanned the length of my body, the sheet still a barrier between us, and let out an audible breath. “I imagine you must understand it very well indeed.”

  It was an accusation. The grit in his voice and the weight of his stare said so. Fucker. Whatever hopes I’d had for this whole scene of his, it was clear now that his intent was not friendly. Punishing, more like. I still wasn’t sure for what exactly. For being in his pool. For using my beauty to draw his interest. For coming on to him without his permission. I’d thought his humiliating body search had been all the reprimand I was getting. Guess I’d been wrong.

  My eyes fell. However, a glance at his crotch gave me the slightest smidgeon of satisfaction. He was unmistakably hard. He might be punishing me, but he was punishing himself too.

  Reeve headed toward the door, and I feared suddenly he was leaving. Instead he grabbed the stool in the corner and brought it back with him to set above my head. I kept my eyes down. Not closed, but lids lowered because if I looked anywhere but toward my feet, I could see him – he was that close – and it was intimidating. Why had he sat, anyway? Why give up the ability to tower over me? Though when he’d stood, he felt less menacing. It was this new position that made me feel the most vulnerable.

  Every one of my senses magnified as I tried not to panic. My mouth tasted like iron, as though I’d bitten my tongue. Maybe I had. The stool creaked – he’d moved. Why? The pump of the dispenser sounded. Then his hands were on me again, massaging my shoulders in small firm circles of his fingertips. Like before, his pressure was perfect, his attention to my knots, precise.

  I closed my eyes.

  After several long minutes of silence, he spoke again. “There’s one more group.” His voice was low. Soothing. “They’re small and they seem to be… how do I put it? Attracted, that’s it. They’re attracted to the idea of danger. The mystery of it. The intrigue. It’s glamorous to them. I encounter them often.” His hands pushed lower, to the muscles above my breasts. “They want to friend you. They want to fuck you. They want to be fucked by you.”

  My eyes flew open and I tilted my head back to see him better. You think that’s me? I wanted to say. You think I’m attracted to you because I think you’re dangerous?

  But I said nothing. Because possibly he was right.

  Though I was looking at him, his eyes remained on his hands. They trailed together up my sternum to the hollow of my throat, where his touch lingered and I wondered if he could feel the rapid beat of my heart.

  When his fingers moved again, they separated outward to slowly glide up the sides of my neck. Every nerve ending in my body whirred with terror. I was still with fear.

  “I assure you, Emily, that it’s not nearly as romantic as it all seems.” His voice was so hushed and the blood thrumming in my ears so loud that I had to strain to hear him now. “It’s a façade. It’s the power that attracts you. The idea of violence. Not the actual act.” His hands splayed to lightly cup the sides of my throat. His touch barely there. Tickling at my skin.

  Yet I knew… God, he could break me. He could squeeze and that would be all.

  “In reality, Emily, murder is messy and final. And it hurts.”

  My teeth clenched together. Every muscle in my body went rigid. I wasn’t prepared for this. Finally, I was afraid.

  In a sudden movement, he swept his hands back down over my shoulders and I let out a heavy sigh of relief.

  Then he began the rhythmic kneading again. His fingers pressed painfully into my tissues causing tears to gather in my eyes. Though it hurt, I preferred it to the soft touch at my throat.

  “You asked around about me, Emily,” he said, and again the air left my lungs. This was my crime, I realized. For the second time, I’d fucked up. Fucked up big. Had I really thought that my questions would go unnoticed? Had I really thought Reeve let anything go unnoticed? “That didn’t make me happy.”

  I couldn’t help it – I whimpered.

  “Aw, Emily. Shh.” He ran a hand over my hair, petting me. Maybe it was supposed to be soothing but I guessed he meant it to be as chilling as it was. “I understand, beautiful girl. I can’t blame you for wanting to find out about the women I’ve been with. It’s smart. You want to know if you could fit in where they did. Want to know if you compare. Want to know why they are no longer with me. If it’s because I really am as dangerous as people say. That’s it, right?”

  I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.

  “I need to hear it, Emily. That’s why you were asking, wasn’t it?”

  My yes came out on another whimper, but he accepted it. “Good.” He ran the tips of his fingers around the edge of my face from my chin to my forehead, stopping to massage my temples. “The problem with men who are actually a threat, though, Emily, is that you don’t ever find out how unsafe they are until it’s too late.”

  I shuddered. But even though my breathing was now laced with soft sobs and my lip was trembling, I was still undeniably aroused.

  I hated him, I decided. I hated him and I hated me.

  Reeve’s hands fell audibly into his lap. “Tell you what. Since you were so curious, I’ll give you this: each relationship I’ve had has ended for a reason. There’s no need for you to know any more than that.”

  If he were going to kill me, I thought, he wouldn’t say that. He’d tell me everything. Right? It wasn’t a bet I’d put money on, but I was clinging to it.

  He leaned his face down toward mine and rested the bridge of his nose on my cheek. A tear slipped down my face as he whispered at my ear. “As for whether or not you compare – yes, Emily. You are one of very few women who actually do.”

  He nipped my lobe, sending a buzz of fear/excitement to scatter through my already trembling nerves.

  Abruptly, he stood and smiled. Fucking bastard had the nerve to flash me his devilish grin. “Nice chat, Emily. I think this went well, don’t you?”

  Thankfully he didn’t press me for an answer because I refused. I was too frightened. Too pissed. He’d never intended to hurt me, just intimidate me. And he got off on it. And that made him a goddamn asshole.

  He started to leave and I held as still as I could, waiting for the sound of the door to shut so I could get up, get dressed, and get the fuck out of there.

  But before I heard it, he spoke again. “Oh, and I think you made a good choice not to meet up with my former pool boy last night. As his title implies, he’s just a child. What you’re looking for requires a man.”

  That was it. I was furious. He’d fucked with me. He’d scared me. He’d belittled and chided. Now he’d implied he was the only person who could give me what I need, yet he’d made sure I knew he was completely off limits. His weakness was me. He wanted me and he hated that maybe as much as I hated him.

  I sat up and twisted toward him, purposefully letting the sheet fall around my waist. “You sound jealous, Reeve.”

  He turned back to me, his eyes sparking at the sight of my naked torso. His expression was hot and primitive, drawing my nipples out to sharp points. He placed his hand over the thick bulge at the front of his pants and stroked himself. “Maybe I am jealous,” he said, his voice strained. “But I’ve learned from experience not to let jealousy inform my actions.”

  With his hand still pressed against his cock, he delivered one last statement. “Leave my resort, Ms. Wayborn.” Then he was gone.

  I let out an exasperated groan.

  Then, I left
too.

  I dressed as fast as I could and hurried back to my room where I packed in a flurry. Within an hour after leaving my massage, I was checked out of the hotel and on my way home. Done. I was done with him. The whole thing had been a bad idea. The man was a psycho. A fucking manipulator.

  For the entire two-hour drive back to Hollywood, though, as well as the days that followed, Reeve’s words stayed with me, haunting me as effectively as Amber did. He’d been warning me, yes. Proving he was a threat. Making sure I knew who he was and what he could do. And it worked – I was thoroughly convinced.

  But I couldn’t stop remembering that look in his eyes – the one that wanted to devour me. The one that said his control was on a thread. That blazed as he stroked himself through his pants.

  He’d threatened me, but that look made me wish I’d called his bluff.

  CHAPTER 8

  The backstage assistant smiled in recognition when she spotted me. She was dressed in a black, long-sleeve shirt and black jeans and looked out of place next to all the stars decked in evening wear. Leaning forward, she covered the mike of her headset and whispered, “Ms. Wayborn, you’re up in ten.”

  I couldn’t hear her over the applause in the background but her lips were easy to read. In case I had any doubt, she held all ten fingers up.

  “Thanks.” I nodded then turned to check my lipstick in the backstage mirror and tried not to vomit. Live performances scared the crap out of me. I preferred a camera, a clapboard, and the option to do over.

  For the fifteenth time in as many minutes, I wished I’d declined the invitation to present an award. My agent had thought it would be good for exposure, as did our show’s publicist. The only reason they’d asked me in the first place was because Ty Macy, my costar in NextGen, was up for Best Actor in a Comedy Series. Ty had decided early on that the SAG Awards weren’t worth his time even though he was a shoo-in for the win. So they’d chosen me to present it so that, if he won, I could also accept his award on his behalf and not waste time with climbing out of my chair and approaching the stage.

  Less time meant less money spent from the budget. Hollywood was all about keeping as much in the producers’ pockets as possible. I was economical. Woohoo for me.

  I was also crabby. And restless. While I’d expected to easily get back in the rhythm of filming, I’d been on the set for two weeks and it hadn’t happened. I blamed it on Amber – still missing, still occupying my mind. I refused to credit Reeve Sallis for my distraction. The fact that I’d been counting the days since I’d left his resort – nineteen to be precise – didn’t mean anything either. That was simply the number of days since I’d abandoned my original Find Amber plan. That’s why I knew the count.

  Of course, I didn’t have a new plan yet. Which was another reason I was in such a perma bad mood.

  “Your forehead wrinkles when you’re pissy.” Amber had told me that more than once during our friendship, and sure enough I saw the crease now. Taking a deep breath, I forced my shoulders back and my face to relax. I swept another coat of gloss over my lips and stuffed the tube into the pocket of my designer dress – the absolute best thing about the evening. Pockets had been my only requirement for the evening’s apparel. I hated being tied to a purse.

  As I put my hand in, I felt my phone buzz. I didn’t intend to answer it, just see who was calling. But it was Joe.

  “She was spotted,” he said without a hello.

  It took a few seconds to register the meaning of his words. “You found Amber?” I was so excited, I forgot to hush my voice.

  The stage assistant glared at me with a finger pressed to her lips. I mouthed an apology and plugged an ear so I could hear Joe better over the show in the background.

  “No, I haven’t found her. But she was spotted. Sallis is off the hook.”

  Electricity pricked at the back of my neck but I refrained from getting my hopes up without more information. I stepped farther back into the wing so I wouldn’t disturb anyone. “What does that mean exactly? Spotted by who?”

  “Don’t know. Someone texted me a picture. She’s standing in a casino in Colorado and she looks good. The photo is date stamped and there’s a sign in the background that mentions a Halloween Slot Fest. I’ll send it to you when we’re off the phone.”

  “Halloween.” I went through the dates in my head. We’d guessed Amber’s disappearance had occurred sometime between August and September when Reeve had been seen with another woman. “Could he have gotten back together with Amber in October? Is there a chance we have our timeline wrong?”

  “I don’t think so.” Joe’s quick answer told me he’d already been through all these possibilities before calling me. “And Amber’s with another guy in this pic.”

  “What guy?” There was applause again behind me. I glanced back to make sure it wasn’t time for my entrance and saw there was still one more presenter before me.

  “Don’t know who the guy is. Can’t see his face. It’s not Reeve, though. He wasn’t in Colorado at Halloween. He was at a Day of the Dead charity event that Sallis Resorts and the Four Seasons sponsored in Hawaii.”

  “And you’re sure that the picture wasn’t doctored to make us think it was taken later than it was?”

  Again, Joe’s tone was sure. “I’ll send the pic to you. You’ll see.”

  Other excuses begged to be spoken, reasons why Reeve couldn’t possibly be innocent in Amber’s disappearance. But, really, why did I think that? Because he’d threatened me? Because he’d had a shaky relationship with her? Because I didn’t want to stop thinking about him, even if it was only in terms of this case?

  It’s not him. This is a good thing. “Well, okay then. I guess we can drop the investigation regarding Reeve.”

  “I’ve already pulled the resources that were allocated to researching him further. I’ll keep a loose eye on him in case something comes up, but this is a pretty good sign. And now you don’t need to play amateur Nancy Drew and can drop whatever insane investigation you were doing on your own.”

  “What are you —?” Except, as soon as I thought about it, I knew exactly what he was referring to. A humiliated blush crept up my neck. “How did you —?”

  Joe cut me off. “It’s my job, Em. I have a loose tail on the guy. How did you think I wouldn’t find out?” He didn’t wait for my answer, which was fine because I didn’t have one. “And this isn’t my job, but I feel I need to tell you that what you did was beyond stupid. Not only did you put yourself in the circle of someone who is very probably a dangerous man, but you didn’t tell anyone what you were doing. What would have happened if Sallis had discovered the reason you were at his resort in the first place?”

  I wasn’t exactly sure Reeve hadn’t discovered the reason I’d been there. But Joe’s question implied that he didn’t know the extent of what had happened on my trip, at least. I carefully worded my response so as not to volunteer anything new. “He would have kicked me out,” I said.

  “Or worse. And who would know where you’d gone missing to?”

  The thought had crossed my mind more than once. “Well, you would have, Joe. But, I hear what you’re saying. I’m sorry I went to the resort. It was a lapse of judgment. I won’t do it again.”

  “Good. Because you can’t count on me to bail you out if you get into trouble. I might not get there in time. Especially if you haven’t told me what you’re up to. And even if you had, I’m not a match for that man.” His frustration with me was evident in the number of words he’d devoted to his scolding, even if it was absent in his tone.

  It made me feel guilty. Not guilty enough to stop me from doing something like that again, but he needn’t worry about a repeat venture. Reeve had ended that himself.

  Another round of applause sounded and I turned to see the stage assistant gesturing to me. There was a commercial break before my presentation, so I knew I had at least another minute. “Joe, I have to go. But I get it. And thank you.” Just as I started to say goodbye, I
thought of something. “Oh, wait – who did you say sent you the picture?”

  “I didn’t. Anonymous. I’ve had a bunch of feelers out though. It probably came from one of them.”

  “Ah. Okay.” If the anonymity didn’t bother him, I wouldn’t let it bother me. The assistant waved a frenzied hand toward me. “Going now, Joe. Thanks again.” I clicked “End” and took my mark at the curtain.

  The assistant was visibly relieved that I’d put away my phone. “You have one minute, Ms. Wayborn. I’ll count down when we’re at ten seconds.”

  It was only a moment later when another buzz came from my pocket. Knowing it was the photo from Joe, I pulled out my cell and opened the message immediately, angling myself so that the assistant wouldn’t get uptight about another peek at my cell.

  As it always did when I encountered pictures of Amber, my heart skipped a beat. It was definitely her in the frame. And Joe was right – she looked good. She was only visible from her hips up, and the smirk she wore was distinct, confident.

  It was an expression I recognized very well. It was the same one she gave to Rob the time she saw him after he’d left us and we’d moved on to someone richer, more virile. She gave it to the wife of a New York businessman when she discovered us in her husband’s bed. She gave it to me when I lay in the hospital, chilled from shock, bleeding. It was her victory smile. As though she’d won the ten-thousand-dollar jackpot mentioned in the banner above her in the picture – a feat that would please her, but would hardly impress her. It was probably pennies to the man who stood next to her with his arm at her waist. Though the image was cut off, the edge of his suit was clear and the hand he had pressed low at her hip suggested an intimate relationship. It was almost fitting that his face was hidden. Didn’t matter who he was, anyway. As long as his credit card had a high limit, his name, his features, his personality even, were irrelevant.