by Shayla Black
“All the predictable stuff. He wants to know where I am so he can come out here and talk to me. He’s crazy enough to do it, too.”
That sends off alarm bells. “Is he crazy enough to harass and threaten you?”
She frowns. “I can’t even picture that. Bruce doesn’t seem like the violent kind.”
Maybe not, but anyone with enough motive can become violent.
“Besides, why would he try to hurt me when he says he just wants me to know how deep his feelings for me are?” She falls quieter. “He wants me to marry him.”
I stiffen. “How do you feel?”
“I’ve resisted because I’ve worried he has his nose too far up my father’s ass. But since Dad tried to buy you off so Bruce could marry me, I’m convinced. Nice to know my instincts were right.”
“Sounds like.” I’m just glad she has no interest in Bruce. If I make Mandy mine, he’s one less bastard for me to fight off.
“Now that Oliver is down, I’m going to take my evening shower. I’ll be back.”
While she does, I find the pump to blow up my inflatable mattress, fit it with some sheets stashed in the closet, grab a quilt and a pillow, and hope it will be comfortable enough to catch some z’s.
When I’m done, I saunter out to the living room to wait. A moment later she emerges, looking clean and wearing a short, silken champagne-colored bathrobe belted around her small waist. A thick braid falls over one dainty shoulder. Her feet are bare.
I’m instantly turned on.
What would it be like to go to bed with her every night and know she’s mine?
“Oh, I feel so much better. Best part of the day, after a long shower and once I’m wearing my favorite frilly nightie.” She stretches, and I try not to look at her rising breasts or her short hem making its way up her thighs. “TV?”
“Sure.” I don’t watch much, but if it makes her happy—and takes my mind off sex—fine.
We both plop onto the sofa, then turn to each other with a matched set of scowls. She’s gaping in shock. “This is the hardest sofa I’ve ever sat on. There’s nothing comfortable about it.”
I nod. “It’s like a damn rock.”
We end up on the floor together since the rug is actually softer. I lean back against the hard-as-stone sofa. Mandy falls against me and curls up to my side, and it seems so natural when I wrap my arm around her. She rests her head on my shoulder as I flip on the TV.
“What do you like to watch?”
“Anymore? I barely have time. But I don’t want to get too involved, so no bingeing.”
“Sure.” I flip a little and find the start of a house hunting show. “This work for you?”
“I love these shows. You ever watch them?”
I didn’t even know these were a thing. “Can’t say I do.”
Over the next thirty minutes, we see a same-sex couple trying to choose a new house in Phoenix. At the end, we both agree house two is the better option, even though it’s a bit of a fixer. But the couple on the show picks house one because it’s move-in ready.
“I don’t get that.” She gestures to the TV. “A little elbow grease can be fun, and you get to make the place your own.”
I shrug. “Yep. Besides, the house they picked seems way too small.”
“Totally.”
Another episode starts, this time starring a single woman buying her first place after a divorce. She wants to be in the heart of Chicago, close to all the restaurants, bars, and her friends. Option number one is astronomically expensive, and when I look down to say something to Mandy about it, her eyes are closed. Her breathing is deep.
She’s fast asleep.
I smile at her, then lift her into my arms, haul her against my chest, and head for the master bedroom. She doesn’t weigh much, and it seems even more mind-blowing that she fought off a knife-wielding intruder alone.
Inside the cool, dark space, I tip her onto her feet and steady her. “Time for bed, Mandy.”
“Wha…?” she mumbles, barely opening her eyes.
I’m not shocked she’s exhausted. Sure, she napped earlier, but not nearly enough to make up for the six hours of sleep she missed last night.
Banding one arm around her waist, I pull the covers back, then peel off her silky-soft robe. Underneath, she’s wearing that champagne nightie I saw earlier that reveals at least as much as it covers. Forcing myself not to gawk, I lay her down, head on the pillow, then cover her.
“Good night, Mandy.” I kiss her forehead.
She doesn’t even stir.
Smiling, I back away, then follow the faint golden glow of the nightlight into the walk-in closet. Oliver is sprawled on his back in the middle of the crib, his stuffed toy train cuddled in one lax palm.
He really is a cute kid. If Mandy decides to give us a chance, I’ll be spending a lot more time with him. Even twelve hours ago that would have terrified me because what do I know about kids? But now I don’t mind. In fact, I kind of like it.
On my way back out of the master bedroom, I glance at Mandy one last time. She’s already grabbed the spare pillow and rolled to her side. I draw the black-out drapes, hoping the darkness will keep her asleep come sunrise. Then I double-check both the interior and exterior of the house, tightening locks as I go, before retreating to my makeshift bedroom to scan my phone. It’s still early. I’m not quite tired, and nothing on the device is holding my attention.
What about Mandy’s phone?
I shouldn’t snoop or pry, but I need to make sure her location services are turned off. I don’t know if her father or anyone else can ping her device and view her whereabouts. I fucking should have thought of that earlier, but the last time I did any bodyguarding work, tracking phones wasn’t a thing.
With a sigh, I manage to work my way upright from the floor and find her device in the kitchen. It’s not password protected, which is a bonus for me now…but I’ll need to persuade her to correct that later. A quick scroll proves she doesn’t have much on the phone except pictures of Oliver. Her emails are scant and mostly informational—news headlines, bills, bulletins from her alma matter, and the like. True to her word, she has no social media loaded. In her settings, I see her location services are turned on. Cursing, I press the button to shut them off. But if her father or anyone who’s had access to her phone has already seen her current whereabouts, she’s compromised.
If that’s the case, I’ll need a quick Plan B.
When I’m back at the home screen, I settle my thumb over the button to darken her phone when a text appears. It’s from Bruce.
Please tell me where to find you. I’m worried.
“Motherfucker.” I wish this guy would go away.
But he won’t, and neither will her father—unless and until she tells them to.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t, but I start reading their text string, which started a few hours ago. And I get pissed.
I just heard from your dad that someone attacked you last night. Are you okay?
Fine. Thanks.
Let me protect you. Tell me where you’re staying. I need to see you, to talk to you about us. You shouldn’t have to protect Oliver alone. I’ll be there for you.
We’re friends, Bruce. I’m not ready to talk about more. I’ve hired a bodyguard, so I’m safe. Don’t worry. We’ll talk when I’m home.
I’m not giving up on you.
Mandy didn’t reply after that, and this asswipe is texting her again. Doesn’t he know when to quit?
She may not be cynical enough to question whether this jackhole is being paid to care so damn much, but I am. Sure, I understand why a father may want to make sure that his daughter finds a good husband. But Douglas Lund is going about this like a controlling bastard who didn’t like Mandy’s previous decisions so he’s decided to make her future ones for her.
It’s not going to happen, pal.
I darken her phone, traipse back down the hall, and after a pause to ensure she’s still sleeping pea
cefully, I grab some clean boxers and find the bathroom on the other end of the villa. After a short, scalding shower, I arrange my Glock beside the mattress, within easy reach, then fall onto the inflatable again, lace my fingers across my stomach, and stare at the ceiling, wide awake. I’m hyperaware of Mandy in the next room.
It’s going to be a long night.
Somewhere after midnight, I finally drift off and have a few weird-ass dreams I barely remember. I don’t know why I’m suddenly awake. Then I hear footsteps in the hallway just outside the room. I tense and reach for the weapon, pointing it at the doorway just in time to see a shape emerge from the shadows toward me.
“Tanner?”
“Mandy,” I breathe and shove the gun aside. “Something wrong?”
“I can’t sleep.”
Despite her exhaustion? I get to my feet and grope unsuccessfully for my T-shirt and shorts. “You afraid, baby? Don’t be. You’re safe. I’m making sure of it.”
She fumbles through the dark until she grabs my hand. “I…I need you.”
Given how independent she’s had to be since Oliver’s birth and how difficult it is for her to trust, admitting that couldn’t have been easy.
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” She tugs on my hand and leads me toward her bedroom.
“Let me grab my clothes.”
“No. Now. Please.”
There’s a note of need in her voice that pulls at me. I grab my Glock. “Would you feel better if I checked all the doors and windows again? Went through the house, top to bottom, to make sure we’re alone?”
“I’m not afraid of an intruder right now.” She reaches the side of the bed and flips on the nearby lamp. She’s looking right at me. “I’m afraid of how I feel.”
Tears sheen her eyes, and I can’t resist setting my weapon down and cupping her cheek. “Why?”
“I swore I’d never fall for anyone again, and in one day you’re about to make a liar out of me. I feel so close to falling…”
Is she serious? My heart revs. I take her other cheek in my palm until I’m cradling her face and staring into her eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid. Go ahead and fall as hard as you want. I’ll catch you.”
“It’s not that simple.” She presses her lips together like she’s fighting not to let those tears roll down her cheeks. “You don’t know…”
“Then tell me.”
Mandy looks torn. “You may not look at me the same after you know the whole truth.”
Is she talking about Barclay? Is she going to divulge the details about their affair? Has she decided to give us a chance? “Yes, I will.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
The self-defeat in her tone hurts. “You can tell me anything, baby. As long as we’re communicating, it’s going to be fine. What do you need to talk about?”
“We shouldn’t go any farther until you know what happened with Barclay. And if you can’t forgive me, I’ll understand.”
I can’t imagine why she thinks the story will make a damn bit of difference to me. But the look on her face says she’s terrified it will.
“I just appreciate the truth.” I guide her to sit on the mattress, then sink down beside her. “Go ahead.”
She wrings her hands and takes a deep breath. “I always had a thing for Barclay Reed. I think I was…ten, maybe, when I first thought about him romantically. That sounds silly, but I mean in a first-crush, teen-heartthrob kind of way. I had pictures of him. I envisioned what it would be like for him to look at me like that. I imagined him kissing me. But I had no expectations until I turned thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” My eyes bulge.
“Oh, nothing happened then,” she assures me. “Except…he looked at me. Just once. But that’s all it took for me to be convinced I was in love and we were fated to be together.”
I want to kill the bastard all over again for ogling a child. “Exactly how did he look at you?”
“Like a woman. That summer I was spending a few weeks with Harlow, as I usually did. The Saturday before I flew home, she and I were hanging by the pool. He sauntered into the backyard and said something; I don’t even remember what. I just remember standing on the deck, getting ready to dive in again, when he pinned me with this gaze. I shivered, despite how hot the day was. The bottom of my feet were burning, but I was frozen by his stare. My cheeks got hot. My stomach fluttered. He scanned me from head to toe. I knew exactly what he was thinking.”
“You were a girl.”
She nodded. “But I didn’t feel like one. And I didn’t want him to see me as one.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing that summer or the one afterward. The summer before I turned sixteen…that’s when everything changed.”
Just like Griff suggested. I feel myself get even tenser. “Did he seduce you then?”
“Yes…and no. We had sex.” She licks her lips. “But I was the one who initiated it.”
Is she kidding?
She jerks her stare down to her hands. “You look horrified. I don’t blame you. When I say it now, I am, too. But you have to understand. I’d been completely obsessed with him for fully a third of my very short life. I couldn’t imagine ever feeling differently about him. Back then, I was convinced I loved him and that he would love me too if he just knew how I felt. It was dumb and naive—”
“It doesn’t matter. He took advantage of you. You were a child, and he was a grown-ass man who should have said no.”
“That’s what my therapist always says. And you’re both right. As an adult I see that, but that night I saw an opportunity to be with him and I took it.”
So did he. I grind my teeth together. “What happened?”
“Stephen, Dad, and I were supposed to go camping for the week with Barclay, Harlow, and Griff. We’d done it the summer before and had a great time. But Griff never showed. He and a bunch of college buddies ended up in Mexico instead. Harlow got sick the night before we left, throwing up everywhere. My dad suggested cancelling everything, but Barclay insisted we still go. When Harlow got better, Linda could drive her up to the site, no problem. So the rest of us went. Everything was fine the first day, but as night fell, Stephen started throwing up, and we thought he’d caught what Harlow had. Then he started running a fever, too, and complaining about excruciating abdominal pain. My dad panicked and drove Stephen to the nearest hospital—and just in time. He had an emergency appendectomy an hour later.”
“That left you and Barclay alone.”
She nods, a heart-rending mixture of guilt and shame wrenches her soft face. “It was too dark to pack up the campsite and head down the winding mountain road, so Barclay told my dad we’d leave at first light. I was so thrilled. Worried about my brother, yes. But I was determined to make the most of my time with Barclay. We had dinner, but we didn’t talk. We eye-fucked.”
I’m furious. Mandy was just a kid. Yeah, maybe she’d been developing a woman’s body, but she had visions of Barclay being a romantic hero. The asshole should have been a responsible adult, not a predatory lech grooming her to be his underage sex partner.
“Amanda…” I don’t know what she’s planning to say next, but I want it to stop. “You don’t have to tell me anymore.”
“I do. Everyone blames Barclay for what happened. But I had a hand in it. I can’t deny that.”
“You didn’t know any better.”
“I didn’t stop to think about the future or the consequences or anything like that, true. But I was pretty sure I knew what would happen when I lunged at him and pressed my lips to his.”
I want to block this out, but she seems compelled to tell me. I can only guess it’s because she’s trying to gauge whether we have a future. And she won’t trust any assurance I give her until she’s spilled all the gory details.
“He kissed you back?”
She nods. “From the second our lips met, it was on. We climbed into the tent, and my clothes were off two minutes later. I helped him get me
naked.”
There’s the self-blame in her voice again, and I’m so angry that I’m struggling to keep my temper in check. “Look, I know where you’re going with this. If you think he only had sex with you because you encouraged it, you’re wrong. From what I’ve heard of this guy, it was just a matter of time before he hit on you. Stop blaming yourself. He’s the one who took advantage of your eagerness and naiveté.”
“I wasn’t so naive that I didn’t know we were going to have sex. In fact, that’s what I wanted.” She frowns. “I just didn’t expect it to be so rushed and to hurt so much.”
That pisses me off even more. I don’t want details but… “Did he just jump on you and shove his way inside you?”
She flushes and looks down. “More or less. And I did everything he told me to since I figured he knew what he was doing, but it wasn’t as if we’d planned anything. Except…” She frowns. “He had condoms. So…yeah.”
“He was prepared, then. Why else would he have brought them on a camping trip with his buddy and their kids unless he had a plan?” Granted, he couldn’t have plotted Stephen’s appendicitis, but he may have been cooking up something else in the hopes of getting Amanda alone. “It wasn’t your fault, Mandy. Even if you thought you wanted to have sex with him that night, you were too young to understand everything that would follow.”
“I think you and my therapist speak the same language.” She tries to joke. “But you’re right. I never stopped to think about the after part. I convinced myself that life would be perfect if he wanted me, too. And, of course, I was sure he would never have sex with me if he didn’t love me. I’d known him most of my life, so it never occurred to me that he would hurt or use me.”
At fifteen, she had no way of knowing how crazy lust and the forbidden drive some men. “So you were surprised when your life wasn’t perfect after he took your innocence?”
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t love you, Mandy.”
“He didn’t.”
“He preyed on you.”
“I know.”
“And he hurt you.”
“A lot. I mean, I expected losing my virginity to be painful. A couple of my friends had already done it with their boyfriends, so they told me. I even overheard one of Stephen’s girlfriends talking to him about her disastrous first time with another guy. But I expected Barclay to care, you know. But he was so impatient. It was horrible.” She shakes her head. “And I was such an idiot. I wrote off his rush as passion neither of us could control.”
