He glanced up. “Marking you. Be quiet.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. She was still trying to decide what to do with the heat rushing through her when he raised up and flipped her onto her stomach.
“This is…”
“Madlyn,” he whispered against her neck. “You’re having fun, babe. Just go with it.”
Oh, hell, that’s what this was. She was enjoying herself. Her sinuses started to sting along with her eyes, and she swallowed hard. She wasn’t allowed to enjoy herself.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” His words were warm but distracted as he drew on her back. His knee went between her legs, shoving them slightly apart, and he leaned his weight on her thighs as he moved the marker along the smooth curve of her ass. “I’m going to make you have fun even if it kills you.”
“It might,” she admitted.
She felt him smile, then nearly came off the bed as the marker moved dangerously lower.
“Spread your legs more—”
“That’s enough…you’ve had your fun.”
“Stubborn.”
The marker hit the bed, and rough hands clasped at her legs, urging her to her knees. She heard him groan as he positioned her. She tugged at the scarf, but his knots were solid. He started drawing again on the insides of her thighs, and every part of her burned in reaction. She had never felt so exposed in her life. She clamped her eyes shut, not understanding the shimmering that started low in her belly.
She didn’t like this at all. She felt…she felt…vulnerable. The second her brain focused, his mouth touched her, and everything went white hot. She tried to move away, but he caught her hips and pinned her. His tongue teased her until she was clawing at the scarf for another reason.
“No, no, no,” she whispered.
“Are you begging?” He smiled against her, his breath burning along the delicate folds before his tongue raked across them.
Her face pressed into the pillow. “Yes,” she seethed.
“You want me to stop?”
She waited, tensing when he did hold back. “No.” The words scraped out of her through gritted teeth as she admitted she never wanted him to stop.
He pulled back, straightening up behind her, then leaning over her, pushing her face harder into the pillows as he buried his face in her neck and whispered in her ear. “Beg me not to stop. I like when you beg.”
“No.”
“You like when you beg.” He nipped at her earlobe.
She closed her eyes again. She did. She was even more screwed up than she’d thought.
“Say it.” He sucked her earlobe into his mouth, and chills raked across her trembling frame.
“Untie me.”
He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of her neck as he slid his fingers deep inside her. “I’ll untie you when you come…”
Madlyn shuddered and did just that when his thumb circled her clit and coaxed the slow release, then pushed her past it towards something she wasn’t ready for. “No,” she whispered, but she couldn’t get away from it. His fingers crooked and twisted, and his thumb pressed down hard, flinging her right past the orgasm into something so cataclysmic she didn’t even have a name for it. But it roared through her body like liquid sunshine, burning everything out of her and leaving her breathless with light sparking on the edges of reality.
“Tell me what you want, Maddie,” he whispered in her ear.
“Untie me.” And this time she meant it.
He surprised her by releasing her and reaching to pull the scarf free. When her hands were almost free, she started to roll away, but his arm banded hard across her abdomen, then rolled them both until she straddled him while he leaned against the headboard.
She watched his fingers work the knots loose on the scarf, meaning to pull away as he rubbed the places where the scarf had gotten too tight. Her eyes followed her fingers as he pulled them to his mouth. She knew better than to look up. Meeting his eyes would be a big mistake.
She still did it. She didn’t have the strength not to. And she lost herself in warmth, concern, and lurking humor. Even that smug smile didn’t both her even though she had no business finding it cute. He was surprised he got to her, and he liked it way more than he expected to.
“Better, Maddie?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“What?”
“Maddie.” Every time he called her that she forgot who she was. She couldn’t lose sight of that. No matter how good he made her feel.
He stared at her a minute. “Okay.”
“Just like that?” She’d expected a sarcastic flip response.
“Yeah. Just like that.”
“No begging?”
“No, it’s only fun when you want to beg.”
“I don’t like begging.”
“You totally do.” He grinned. “When it’s me.”
Madlyn stared at that playful grin, then glanced down at the sharpie ink trailing all over her body. “This had better come off.”
“That’s a Jared Marshall original.” His index finger moved to trace a butterfly flitting along her thigh.
She just shook her head, glad when her hair partially covered her face. She wasn’t sure what to do next. She braced herself and said something ridiculous. “Thanks for the waffle.”
“You want coffee?” He sounded so normal, so casual, that the disorientation swelled over her again. “Come on.”
He rolled both of them out of bed, pulled up his jeans, then slid his T-shirt over her head before she could protest. “We’ll finish this later,” he promised, dropping a quick kiss on her mouth. “Brush your teeth.”
She found herself smiling back at him.
What the hell was she doing?
Although…coffee did sound good.
It took forever to brush her teeth because she couldn’t stop looking at all the intricate black scrollwork swirling around her body. He’d drawn lace around the tops of her thighs, like stockings, and long lines all the way down her legs to her ankles. She pulled the T-shirt off and turned to look at her back. There were flowers and butterflies and vines. It was the most beautiful thing Madlyn had seen in a long time. Her vision blurred, and she turned back around before she made a complete fool out of herself. She grabbed her red satin robe off the back of the door and slipped it on, covering most of the ink.
She should take a shower, but she couldn’t make herself. She wasn’t ready to wash away anything that had happened between them. Not yet. It was insane, and she would regret it later. But right now, she wanted coffee.
And Jared.
She was going to let herself have both. One more time.
The coffee he handed her was the final nail in his coffin. By the third sip, she decided she was keeping him. She’d let him make her breakfast and coffee every morning, then he’d be dessert.
“That smile is making me nervous,” he said.
“It should.” She sipped her coffee on the way to the living room. Grabbing the remote off the side table, she flipped the television on. The world stopped and froze over. The remote slid out of her fingers.
She sat down, the coffee cup threatening to be next. He took the cup, then picked up the remote.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, turning up the volume on the news story announcing Judge Winston Robicheaux had just made bail. “You didn’t know?”
She shook her head, unable to think, panic and terror clawing at her for control. “No.”
There was footage of him leaving the jail, two high-powered attorneys flanking him. They held off the press and answered questions.
“Who are the suits?”
“The Warren brothers. They’re from Dallas. Very good, very expensive attorneys.”
“That one looks familiar.”
She nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. “He’s on television all the time. News stations like for him to comment on current trials, and he likes the cameras. They don’t take cases they can’t win.
”
She sighed, understanding why her sister had been avoiding her. Suzanne had known he was getting out. Not telling Madlyn meant Suzanne was under orders to keep it a secret. Madlyn’s stomach lurched.
“You haven’t heard anything from him?”
“No,” she admitted, too upset to care that she was shaking.
“Hey.” Concern laced his voice. “Hey, calm down.”
Warm arms went around her, and she tried to shake them off.
“He can’t hurt you, Madlyn.”
The words scored her flesh off her bones. She’d heard them before and had learned the hard way that they just weren’t true. She moved away from him, headed to the kitchen to find her cell.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve got to get dressed.”
“What’s the rush?” he asked as she headed to the kitchen.
“This isn’t live.” She pointed at the television.
Her cell phone had no missed calls or text messages. Not even an email. A cold chill trickled down her spine. This was not good. Why hadn’t he called? Did he know about the Marshalls?
Bile rose in her throat, and all she could think was she had to make Jared go. As far away as possible. “You should go,” she said, panic making her cold. “This was fun, thanks for the waffles and the sex. But now you need to leave.”
His easy-going expression faded.
“I told you, just once,” she reminded him, watching that darkness she caused spread through him. She just absorbed the pain in her chest. He had to go.
He took a step forward, and she backed up, pulling the robe tight around her. That coldness settled in the pit of her stomach. “Let me help you.”
“You can’t let it go, can you? I’m not Jen. I don’t need your protection. I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t want it. I’m the monster, remember? And I’m bored now, Jared. Just go.”
He sized her up, those hazel eyes boring into her. Then, without a word, he headed down the hall to her bedroom. A minute later he was back, dressed, with his backpack over his shoulder. He stopped in front of her, but she refused to look at him.
“When are you going to get that I like the monster?”
Her breath caught, but before she could look up or speak, the back door was slamming. She closed her eyes, choking on tears she wasn’t expecting. Her knees started to buckle, and she let herself sit down on the kitchen floor. She pulled her knees up and buried her face in them. For a moment, she let herself cry. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. Panic, fear, relief, or a profound sense of loss she hadn’t thought she was capable of.
Then her cell phone rang. Her grandfather’s home number popped up on her caller ID, and suddenly nothing else mattered.
Chapter Ten
Robbie was already running down the front steps when she parked in front of the historic Robicheaux antebellum mansion in the Garden District. The house was a perfect example of antebellum architecture, and the Robicheaux family had spared no expense over the years making sure the house was cared for. But all Madlyn cared about was the nine-year-old flying across the front lawn towards her. He’d gotten taller since she’d seen him last, and lost time scraped at her self-control.
He slammed into her with such force, it almost knocked her off her feet. Arms clamped around her, and he pressed his whole body against hers.
“I missed you.” His voice was muffled against her chest. “Are you okay?”
Madlyn nodded. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. All traces of her baby had gone from his face.
“I am now.” She held him away and smoothed the crooked fringe of hair off his forehead. She felt warm for the first time in weeks as the world righted itself on its axis. “I missed you, too.”
“I don’t like for you to be alone.” His selfless concern for her slayed her every single time she was allowed to see him. She couldn’t quite breathe as the familiar mixture of love, fury, and utter helplessness swept through her.
“It won’t always be like this,” she assured him, and as if on cue her grandfather stepped out the front door. She glanced past her son as the old man leaned heavily on his cane a few feet away. Shock joined the emotional storm swirling inside her. He’d aged twenty years since she’d last seen him. Now he looked his age.
She swallowed down the anger so her son wouldn’t feel the tension in her and because she couldn’t afford her grandfather to think he’d scored any points luring her to the house by promising her time with her son.
Jail had been hard on him, and it was difficult to reconcile that with the indestructible force that had always been Winston Robicheaux. Now he looked almost human. The thick mane of white hair was cut short. He’d lost more weight than he should have. His custom-made three-piece suit hung on thin bones. But the shrewd black eyes that watched her reunion with her son missed nothing. She shivered as he got to her in a way no one else ever had.
It wasn’t lost on her that she’d managed to fool the entire world into thinking she was like the old man. That she was ruthless and didn’t care what she had to do to get what she wanted. When the whole charade was a defense mechanism. A mirror she hid behind so when he looked at her, he saw only himself in the creature he’d made her into. A creature she hated even more than she hated him.
A small hand curved into hers, jerking her back from the dark place facing her grandfather always took her. She glanced down at the only person who kept part of her human. Her son. The only person alive who didn’t hate her. The only person who mattered.
Until recently…
Surprise whispered through her. Robbie had company in her conscience. She slammed that thought away, unable to deal with that revelation and the old man, too. One trauma at a time. She’d always been good at prioritizing.
She straightened as she and Robbie turned towards her grandfather. He morphed so quickly into the perfect southern great-grandfather that it made her dizzy.
Robbie loved his pop, and despite the pure evil that ran through that old man’s veins, he seemed to genuinely love her son. And that was why she had never been able to strike back at him. The irony was not lost of either of them. The old man knew she would die before she ever let Robbie find out the truth. Or what he had done.
“I think Marietta has those cookies ready, Robert. Go see if you can steal a few for us.”
“Yes, sir!”
Her grandfather stepped sideways in front of her, blocking her view of her son running into the house. “It took you long enough.” The friendly old man disappeared the minute Robbie swept past him.
Madlyn nodded, not about to admit why. The sharpie proved harder to remove from her skin. She’d used alcohol to get most of it off, but there were still swirls on her torso that she hadn’t wanted to erase yet. “I came as soon as I could. Did you mean what you said?”
“You watch yourself, girl.”
She moved forward, surprised when he moved back. “I want it in writing this time.”
His sly smile flickered, and his eyes hardened. “I don’t care what you want. You will do exactly—”
“If you want my cooperation with the Warrens, you will do exactly as I ask.” She kept her voice calm. “You said you would give me custody. Put it in writing.”
He humphed, leaning heavily on the cane that, until he’d been incarcerated, had been an affectation. Now he needed it. She forced herself to look away. He might look like a fragile old man, but he was still dangerous.
She followed him into his office.
“So Milton Marshall offered you a partnership?” he asked as he made his way to his antique desk. His movements were jerky, but she refused to let that soften her resolve. She still couldn’t believe he was so frail.
“And a corner office,” she added, taking the high-backed leather chair that faced his desk once he was seated.
How many times had she sat in that exact same spot, terrified of what was coming? Today she crossed her legs rested her hands on her lap. Her false calm was
n’t false. She was calm. She wasn’t nervous at all. She’d felt this way once before and had paid for it dearly. But not even that rattled her.
She wasn’t a teenager this time, or naïve to the depths to which he would sink to have his way. He couldn’t hurt her any worse than he already had, because the one weakness she had left had become the only weakness he’d ever had. He wouldn’t hurt Robbie.
“You turned it down, of course.” He shuffled papers on his desk, avoiding her eyes. He was worried? She couldn’t get her head around that. “Marshall only offered you the position to get at me.”
“Yes.”
“He asked you for access to the law firm storage warehouse?”
“No.” It was the truth. Milton Marshall had never asked for access.
Surprised, he threw the papers down in a huff. “Don’t lie to me, girl. I know you took boxes out of storage.”
Was he having her followed? She let herself look closer at him. He was unusually pale. “Photo albums and baby clothes. Personal items.” Also the truth.
His eyes narrowed to slits. “You think you’re smarter than me, girl?”
“I know I’m not,” Madlyn assured him, the calm inside her not flickering. Strange how she didn’t feel even slightly nervous. There was no tingle of fear at the base of her spine, and her stomach wasn’t churning. Instead, she was acutely aware of the butterfly inked on her stomach and the ivy that swirled up her spine. She had the crazy idea that the marks Jared had put on her skin protected her from the old man’s vitriol. It was nonsense. Of course it was. But she indulged herself in the fantasy and managed to stay in a place where she could think straight instead of losing herself to the rage that consumed her during these confrontations. “You asked me here for a reason?”
“I expect you to work with the Warrens.”
She nodded, unclasping her hands and twining her fingers together.
“I’m not going to prison,” he continued, his voice gruffer than usual. He sounded…old…tired…
“I don’t think anyone expects that.”
She didn’t believe for a moment he’d go to prison. There were too many people at all levels of the Louisiana government, judicial system and underworld who owed him markers. He’d leave the country before he’d go to prison. She couldn’t risk that. He could take Robbie with him. Madlyn would stop at nothing to prevent that from happening.
The Fall of the Red Queen (Self Made Men...Southern Style Book 3) Page 12
