by S. Ann Cole
I press my hand over my mouth and fight hard against the impulse to go in there and make it all real. What did he call me last night? Self-absorbed. How embarrassed I’d be if I went in there and realized I’m wrong.
With a frustrated noise, he lets go of himself and falls back onto the bed. Covers his face with his hands and growls an aggravated “Fuck!” into them.
Nodding to myself, I back away slowly.
Every ounce of excitement and hope and desire seeps out of me like vapor as I skitter off down the hall.
I was right not to go inside.
Lyra Henderson just doesn’t do it for Torin Garza.
Not even in his fucking fantasies.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“What’s her name?”
Lyra
I LUG MY BAGS DOWN THE stairs.
They’re heavy, but I’ll be damned if I ask Mr. Assface for help with them.
I’m itching with impatience to get out of this house. My attraction to him is suffocating me. And his revulsion for me is doing nothing for my self-esteem.
Patrick is on his way to pick me up. I’m not too keen on being at the house without Dad there, given everything, but it’s better than being here. With him. Choking on unrequited lust that’s slowly morphing into hate.
He’s in the recliner in the living room, watching TV, a lowball glass of amber liquid in hand. Light from the television flickers through the darkened room.
With an exaggerated grunt, I haul my bags to the front door, making obvious strain noises with each step to see if he would volunteer to help.
He doesn’t.
Not even a glance in my direction.
Dickwad.
Leaving my bags by the door, I head to the kitchen for a bottled water.
On the television, the movie he’s watching transitions to an intimate scene. Lips touching, hands pawing, clothes shedding, all to a smooth, sexy soundtrack.
Ah, yes, the overrated recreation that causes men to rape, women to be sold and enslaved, husbands to cheat, families ruined and lives to end.
That over-hyped act that makes women, like me, stupid.
I take a sip of water as I pad to the living room and jut my hip against the back of the couch, attention on the flat-screen. “What’s that like?”
Without turning his head, Torin flicks just his gaze to me, as if I’m not worthy of his full attention. “What’s what like?”
“Consensual sex.”
His gaze lingers on the side of my face for one beat, two beats, three beats, then shifts back to the TV. “Depends. Can be anywhere along the scale of bad, meh, good, great, and mind-blowing.”
“What part of the scale do you usually experience?”
“Between meh and great.”
“Well, that’s unexpectedly honest.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “For mind-blowing to happen, there needs to be more than just two people knocking body parts. More than just lust. Mind-blowing happens when there’s intense affection and an involved emotional connection. When you care deeply for the person...love them, even.”
Watching him from my peripheral, I sink my teeth down on my lip to quell the jealousy stabbing at me. It would seem this impassive, ice-sculpture of a man has been in love before. Who would’ve thought?
“What’s her name?”
Another flick of a glance in my direction. “Whose name?”
“The one you had ‘mind-blowing’ with.”
He looks down into his drink. Swirls it around. Ice clanking against the glass. “Lexi.”
Swallowing past my unjustifiable envy, I push away from the couch and take a long gulp of water. “I almost can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That you have emotions,” I say. “It almost makes you seem...human.”
He stares at me, dry and apathetic.
I smile sweetly.
His phone rings.
“Yeah,” he answers, listening. “Hang on...” He throws words at me as I’m walking to the front door. “Your step-brother drives a silver Saab?”
“Yes. Is he here?”
He replies to the person on the phone instead of me. “Yeah, it’s good.”
When he hangs up, I ask, “What, are you the king of this street or something?”
He takes another sip of his drink and brings his attention back to the television, ignoring me.
I lug my bags out onto the porch, expecting to see Patrick’s car waiting by the main gate, but it isn’t.
“Hey, bestie,” a familiar voice comes from the left of me and I almost jump out of my skin.
“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.
Relaxed in one of the porch chairs with his feet crossed at the ankles, fingers laced behind his head, is Reuben. Laughing at me. Apparently scaring the bejesus out of me is freaking hilarious.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, wandering over to him.
“Waiting for you.”
“For me? Why?”
He tilts his head to the side and gives me a look, as if I’m supposed to know what’s going on here. “I’m your assigned security detail ‘til your father gets back.”
“What are you talking about? What security detail? I’m going home.”
Reuben frowns, as though he’s just as confused as I am. He jerks his head in a nod. “Ah, yeah, you’ll need to sort this out with the boss.” He holds his hands up. “I’m just here reporting for duty.”
Of freaking course.
I stomp back into the house and find the bastard still reclined in the living room without a care in the world.
I go right in front of the TV and cross my arms.
He lifts a brow at me. Bored. Uncaring. “What’s your issue now?”
Oh, what a smug, calculating ass. “Why is Reuben here?”
“‘Cause he’s your security detail.”
“I don’t need security detail,” I snap. “I told you Patrick will be at the house. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you did. Except that when I called Henderson to confirm, he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. And since he’s the one who hired me, he’s the one I’m choosing to listen to.”
“What is—”
“Listen, princess,” he starts, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hard stare fixed on me. “Your father hired me to do a job. Paid a shitload for it, too. You are the job. I might seem chill and all ‘cause you’re in my home crashing my vacation, but if there’s one thing I don’t fuck around with, it’s my job. So I’m gonna give you some options. But understand that the only reason you’re even getting any is because of what you’ve been through, and the last thing I’d want is for you to feel like you’re a captive here.”
“How thoughtful and compassionate of you,” I bite out on a breath of sarcasm.
“Option one,” he says as if I didn’t speak, “you stay here with me—”
“No.”
“Thank fuck.”
“Option two, you go back to your house, but with Reuben and two others from Red Cage as your security detail. Both of whom I’ll have to pull from other jobs for this.”
“And what’s option three, Your Highness?”
“I take you to Barefoot Runaway where you’ll stay with my step-mom and little sister. You’ll be as safe there as you are here.”
“I choose option four,” I counter. “That is, I do whatever the hell I want and you and everyone else can piss right off.”
“I’ve no problem adding that option.” He nods once. “As soon as you call Henderson, sort it out with him, and he confirms your release.”
“Fine! I’ll call him.”
I dig my phone out and dial Daddy’s number. It rings and rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. I call him again, pacing back and forth.
Voicemail.
Determined, I ring him again.
“You mind?” Torin grumbles, shooing me from in front of the flat-screen.
Yes, I do mind. So I don’t mov
e. And, with a saccharine smile, I tell him, “Go to hell.”
A horn honks at the same time my phone pings with a text.
Daddy: Stay where you are.
Me: Are you sending my calls to voicemail on purpose?!
Daddy: Yes. I will be here a bit longer than expected. Torin Garza will keep you safe.
Me: I don’t want to! Call him now and end the job.
Daddy: No.
Me: Screw this. I’m leaving. He can’t MAKE me stay.
Daddy: Red Cage does everything by contract. This one needed both our signatures to start, as you know, and it will need both our signatures to end. You can go ahead and sign, but without my signature or verbal confirmation, he won’t release you.
Daddy: Don’t try to run either. There’s nowhere you can go where he won’t find you.
Me: This is ridiculous.
Daddy: It’s for your own safety, Lyly. Stop acting like a child and settle yourself.
Daddy: And I love you.
I’m furiously typing out a reply with colorful words I’ve never before had to—or wanted to—use with my dad, when it’s interrupted by a call from Patrick.
“Hey, I am outside,” he says when I pick up.
“Be right out.”
I turn and flounce out of the house, and I’m not two steps off the porch when Reuben is behind me. I stop and he stops. I move and he moves.
“Seriously, Reuben?”
“Boss’s orders.”
I know what this is. It’s Torin getting back at me. This is how he irritates me and becomes a pain in my ass. Karmic justice.
I head out the front gate to where Patrick is waiting with his trunk open.
With a frown, his eyes bounce from me to Reuben and back to me. “What is happening? Where are your bags?”
“So, there’s been a slight change of plans.”
“What do you mean?”
“Daddy is insisting that I keep security detail,” I explain. “If I go back home, Reuben here and a couple others are going to be there as well. And I’m sure the last thing you want on your time-off are a bunch of men in black hovering around.”
“And can you tell me again why you are going along with all of this?”
“Daddy thinks—”
“You are a grown fucking woman, Lyra!” he half-shouts, his outburst catching me off-guard.
“Sure. But do you think that means if I tell Reuben not to follow me he won’t?” I turn to Reuben. “Reuben, stop following me.”
Reuben’s lips twitch. “No can do.”
“Go and get your things and come with me, Lyra,” Patrick says. “The farthest they can follow you is outside the gates. Any further without your permission would be trespassing.”
Reuben shoots one hand up like he’s in class. “Uh, except that we have inked permission for full access to the property. Pass codes and all.”
“You have got to be joking,” Patrick says in disbelief. “Mitch has lost his mind.”
“So, yeah, I think it’s best if I stay here until Daddy gets back,” I say.
Patrick shakes his head and shuts his trunk in defeat. “This is terrible. I was hoping we could go out tomorrow night and do something fun, you know.”
“Bet you were,” Reuben mutters under his breath then covers it up with a cough.
I shoot him a narrowed glare. But luckily, Patrick didn’t hear him.
“I’m so sorry for the wasted drive, Patrick.” I walk up and pull him into a hug. “Rain check?”
“Sure, Lyra.” His hug is half-hearted. “Call me if you need me, all right?”
“I will,” I promise. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, sis.”
I wait until he’s gone before I turn on Reuben, hands akimbo. “What was that little comment of yours all about?”
“Don’t tell me you can’t see that your ‘brother’ wants in your pants.”
“Ew!” I make a face. “That’s sick, Reuben.”
He chuckles. “He doesn’t seem to think so. You aren’t blood related.”
I head back through the gate and up the walkway. He follows me. “Patrick doesn’t ‘want in my pants’. He’s sweet, and caring, and just doesn’t agree with Daddy’s overprotective tendencies.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles sarcastically. “Anyway, since you’re staying here, I’m gonna go—”
“Actually... no.” I stop on the steps to the porch. “Can you do me a favor?”
He exhales audibly. “What now?”
“Can you please tell Mr. AssFace inside that I choose Option three?”
“Yeah...no.” He leans against the rails and crosses his arms. “I wear many hats in my profession, but a ‘liaison officer’ isn’t one of them.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You aren’t scoring many ‘bestie’ points with me, Ben-Ben.”
“Your father signs his paycheck on this job, and he signs mine,” he points out. “So between me and you, who’s got something to lose by pissing him off?”
“Ugh. You’re such a wimp.”
“A wimp with bills to pay,” he calls after me as I stomp into the house.
Torin is still in the recliner watching TV, all relaxed and self-possessed. He’s like the king of his own world. Everything happening around him while he just sits there unbothered, trusting that everyone is following their given orders.
He’d already decided I had three choices, and how I would choose of those three choices is of no concern to him, so long as I know they’re my only choices.
Oh, and let’s not forget that the only reason I even have choices is because he doesn’t want me to feel like I’m a captive.
I glower at him as I approach, thinking how I both love and hate his power. On the one hand, I hate that he gets to tell me what to do. But on the other hand, in the right setting, bossing me around and telling me what to do is exactly what I’d want from him.
I would submit to him completely.
Let him rule me. Own me. Kneel at his feet.
Alas, this is the only setting I’ll ever get with him. The one where he frustrates me and gets under my skin.
“Option three,” I say when I’m a foot from his recliner.
“Figured that’d be it,” he replies without taking his attention off the flat-screen. “Guessing you want Reuben to take you instead of me?”
Arrogant jerk. Thinks he knows everything. “Yes.”
“That’s fine.” He nods. “Monica is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
I’m turning to leave when his strong fingers wrap around my wrist like a cuff, keeping me in place. He brings his eyes to mine, and suddenly it’s like we’re upstairs in my room again, locked in a wordless, lust fueled battle. My wrist burns with his touch. It seeps into my skin and spreads like wildfire.
As infuriated as I am with him, if he ordered me to stay right now, I would. In a heartbeat. But I know he won’t.
“What, Torin?” I ask just above a whisper.
Nothing.
“You want me to say it for you? Okay, I will,” I hiss, heated. “You want my body, but you hate yourself for it. So much so that you can’t even come while you jerk off thinking of me. Because how could you have possibly allowed yourself to fall in lust with a bought-and-sold whore.”
“Shut up,” he bites out, jaw tight.
“What? You don’t like how the truth sounds out loud?”
In the next second, he’s on his feet and towering over me, eyes blazing. He’s furious. “Shut the fuck up with that shit right now, Lyra.”
“Or what?”
His hard, raging eyes fall to my lips and linger there.
“Go,” he grits out, “before I fucking make you stay.”
Still, he doesn’t let go of me.
Make me stay.
Please, make me stay.
I’m yours if you’ll have me.
I’m a fool for you. Take advantage of me.
Slowly, one loosening finger at a time,
he releases me.
My chest lifts and falls with a dispirited sigh.
As I turn to leave, I mutter, “Coward.”
When I’m almost out the door, he shots back, “So are you.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“You die in the end.”
Lyra
“CAN I ASK YOU SOMETHING, REUBEN?”
The gate security at Barefoot Runaway B&B slips him a numbered card after checking his ID, then waves us through.
“Fire away.”
“It’s about Girl Number 7,” I say.
“What about her?”
“You said she’s happily married with a baby on the way, right?”
“Correct.”
“Do you think her husband knows about her past?” I ask. “Like, maybe she hid that dark truth about herself so he’d love her for who she is and wouldn’t...I don’t know, see her as damaged goods.” I blow out a frustrated breath at my inarticulate ramble. “I guess what I want to know is if you think there’s hope for a woman with a man who knows...well, everything. Every sordid detail of her past. Like, with what happened to Girl Number 7 or me, as a man, is that something you could ever get past?”
His answer is immediate. “Yes.”
I glance over at him. “Yes to what?”
He careens around a water fountain in front of the gorgeous B&B, pulling into a “reserved” lot off to the left.
I’d expected a small, family-owned B&B, but this place is sprawling. Lit up like a dream in the night. People out on the wide, farmhouse-style porch drinking, talking, laughing. Foot patrols milling about the grounds.
“Yes, Girl Number 7’s husband knows about her past,” Reuben replies. “Yes, happiness, true love, and normalcy is possible for women who survived such traumas. And yes, as a man, it’s something I could look past. It’s a non-factor. None of what happened to her was her fault, and any man who deems a woman as unlovable because of it, or sees her as ‘damaged goods,’ is no man at all.”
He jerks up the handbrake, pops the trunk, and hops out of the jeep.
I undo my seatbelt and clamber out, meeting him at the back as he lifts my bags out of the trunk. “Do you really think so? Or did you just say that to make me feel better?”
A staff member jogs up to us. “Good evening, sir. Ma’am. Would you like some help with your luggage?”
