It felt like hours had passed as we stood there in silence, both knowing what needed to be said but not wanting to be the first to say it. Something had changed between us. It couldn’t be love. Only characters in my novels experienced that kind of near-instant love, not real-life flesh and bone. But there was a newly-formed respect between us—something that could one day grow into a strong bond like the love I’d yet to experience. That I knew to be true.
I didn’t have to ask if James felt it, too. I knew he did. I could tell by the way he looked at me, touched me, held me closely. Even though I knew of his feelings, I still questioned their meaning. I still questioned the future.
I’d lived my life without a plan, but now, with James by my side, I craved answers.
What would happen next?
When the sun began to set, we hiked back to our car—again, in silence—and drove back to town. I finally spoke when we reached the hotel and stepped onto the elevator.
“You make me feel safe,” I said, glancing up at him.
He frowned, never looking back at me.
“I don’t think about the drama of my job or that someone’s out there, watching me, when I’m with you,” I said. “You make me feel… normal.”
He swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bounce in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling slowly. When he opened his eyes again, he turned to face me. His bright, sapphire eyes seemed to glow as he looked at me longingly. I leaned into him, resting a hand against his chest. He leaned down, pressing his lips to mine. He kissed me slowly, deeply, as if he’d never again get the chance. The thought left me feeling ill, afraid. I couldn’t lose him. I was finally starting to find myself again, and it was all because of him.
Someone cleared his throat, and we pulled apart to find the elevator doors open to the fifth floor and Brent Miller staring at us.
I ignored him as we exited the elevator and walked to our room to dress for tonight’s formal dinner. I pinned my hair back into an elegant bun; refreshed my makeup, opting for bold, red lips; and slipped into my short black dress and strappy heels. When my look was complete, I assessed myself in the floor-length mirror. My off-the-shoulder dress reached mid-thigh, and the lace edging and sleeves gave the dress a sensual feel, but it wasn’t too extreme. The silver cross necklace James gave me rested atop my dress, so I tucked it underneath. I gave myself a final once-over before leaving the bathroom.
James stood at the other end of the room, his gaze falling on me when I stepped out of the bathroom. I was sure I heard his breath hitch as I walked toward him. He was devastatingly gorgeous in a black suit. He looked like the man I’d interviewed: pristine, confident, undeniably sexy.
“You’re stunning,” he said softly.
I smiled as I reached him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
He reached for me, tracing the short nail of his thumb against the curve of my cheek. “So beautiful.”
I felt my cheeks heat as I looked away. I felt vulnerable under his stare. Butterflies in my stomach fluttered to life, leaving me with a tingling sensation from head to toe. Every inch of me hummed when he was near. I could no longer deny the effect James Blakely had on me. I could only hope I made him feel just as precious.
We walked, hand in hand, into the hotel’s dining room. Everyone we passed stopped to stare, commenting on whatever caught his or her eye: my dress, my hand in James’s, or the Sex God himself. We passed the press table. I scanned the faces, offering a polite smile.
We sat at a table reserved for us and mingled with other staff members. Students were welcomed to attend, but many didn’t. I remembered feeling intimidated when I was a student there, so I assumed that was why the event was mainly staff and press.
We made it through the four-course meal without ruining our cover. To onlookers, we were a couple in love, but inside, I was screaming. As each second ticked by, as each person left for his or her room, we were one second closer to leaving Maine, to returning to Manhattan, to abandoning the life in which we were a couple. The closer we became, the more I realized I wanted James for more than his body, but that was never our agreement.
Another staff member made a joke, and James laughed loudly. I looked up at him, smiling. His arm was resting on the back of my chair, and I leaned into him. I scanned every inch of his face, hoping to burn the memory of this moment in my mind.
When I brought my attention back to the group, I found Margaret, the program director, staring at me. She winked, wiggling her eyebrows as her gaze darted from James to me, and I rolled my eyes. But I couldn’t help the smile that formed.
“Dance with me,” James whispered in my ear.
Several couples were already dancing to the slow piano number that played. I smiled as he brought me to the dance floor and rested his hands at the base of my spine. Closing my eyes, I rested my head against his chest as he held me closely. The music played softly as James’s steady heartbeat echoed through my mind. We didn’t stop dancing, even after the song ended, and we didn’t quicken our pace, even after a song too fast for slow dancing played.
We were lost in our own little world, and I was sure nothing could bring us down to reality.
But then, like any great fairy tale, something had to break up a perfect moment.
I needed to pee.
“Let me take you,” he said.
I shook my head. “There’s no need. Honestly, it’s through the doors and down that hall. I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone.”
I turned on my heel and nearly ran into Margaret.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” I said.
“Still have two left feet, I see,” Margaret joked.
I laughed and excused myself to the bathroom. When James tried to follow me, still insisting I needed an escort, Margaret stopped him, asking him to sit down and chat with her. Stuck in a web of lies, he caved, taking a seat that offered him the best view of the door I’d left through.
“I’m so glad she found you,” she said as I walked out of earshot.
I shook my head, smiling. I knew Margaret would find a way to give James the talk. After all, she was the closest thing I had to a mother. I liked that James was getting to know her. There were few people in my life who knew of my troubled past, and she was one of them. Once I returned to Manhattan, we would go back to simply sharing regular emails and sending holiday cards, though.
The dining room opened into the front lobby, which, thankfully, had a restroom down a nearby hallway. As I walked toward the bathroom, I felt a warm breeze brush against my skin. Glancing over my shoulder, I stared out a screen door, which led to one of the hotel’s many parking lots. It was a late, warm night, and the moonlight cascaded down, offering bits of light to scare away the shadows.
After washing my hands, I fixed my makeup, re-pinned a few loose strands of hair, and turned to leave. Before I could reach the door, someone walked in. The door opened so quickly I nearly ran into it. Stumbling, I tried to catch my fall but ended up falling backward against a stall door.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” a familiar voice said.
My heart sank, fear sparking every nerve ending in my body. Slowly, I looked up, meeting the steely gray eyes staring back at me. Something was wrong. Immediately, my fight or flight response was on high alert. I needed to escape, to call out for help. I wasn’t too far from the dining room. James could hear me…
“Don’t worry, Jezebel. I have no intention of hurting you.”
“Brent… What are you doing in here? This is the women’s bathroom,” I said, offering him an easy escape before he did something he’d regret.
My breath came in short bursts, but I didn’t smell the formidable stench of alcohol on him. Even so, I assumed he was drunk.
“I didn’t think I’d find you in the men’s bathroom.”
He smiled, and a chill ran down my spine. The predatory gaze in his eyes made me want to vomit. He looked at me as if I were a piece of meat, as if a hunter had final
ly cornered his prey.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Brent,” I warned. “This hotel is full of people.”
He laughed. “Those who aren’t already in bed are drunk. Who will stop me?”
I swallowed hard. Stop him? From doing what?
“Please, Brent. Just walk away.”
I was panicking. Why hadn’t I ever taken self-defense courses? They’d come in handy when a rapist was attacking me in a bathroom… Silently, I chastised myself for hiring a bodyguard instead of learning to protect myself.
Brent took the few small steps toward me, caging my small frame between his thick arms. He smelled of beer, shrimp, and aftershave, a nauseating combination. I turned my head away from him as he leaned into me. I kept my palms flat against his chest, hoping I could easily push him away.
He ran the tip of his nose against the curve of my ear. I listened as he inhaled slowly.
“You smell so much better than I could have ever imagined,” he whispered.
His breath was hot, sticky. A slop of bile worked its way into my mouth, but I swallowed it down. I was beginning to feel lightheaded; my vision blurred. I couldn’t hear the laughter of people outside the bathroom walls anymore. Instead, I heard the incessant beating of my over-worked heart.
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I felt the slightest of pinpricks against my neck as he whispered, “I told you he can’t stop me.”
And then, the world went black.
I woke in darkness. My mouth was dry, my lips cracked. My arms hung on either side of my head, my hands bound together as I hung from the ceiling. I shifted slightly. The binding on my wrists dug into my skin, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
The world seemed… foggy. I searched my memory until everything came crashing down.
The hotel. The party. The bathroom.
Brent Miller.
He attacked me.
I told you he can’t stop me.
I suppressed a whimper; tears stung my eyes as I remembered the photos I’d received. Those same words were written on the back of one of the pictures I’d been sent.
My stalker.
Brent Fucking Miller.
I replayed the memory of his face repeatedly.
Who was he? I’d never heard of him, never seen him before. Was he really with the press, or was that just a cover to attend the residency?
I blinked away the tears that pooled in my eyes until they dripped down my cheeks.
The room was dark, too dark. I couldn’t see anything.
Was I wearing a blindfold?
I blinked once. Twice. Nothing.
No, it was just that dark.
Where could he have taken me that would be this dark?
My mind wandered to a book I’d started to read recently. A woman’s husband beat her and then left her in an underground bunker. He’d left her there to die. She’d woken just like I had—in darkness and with a foggy memory.
I wished I’d finished the book…
My neck throbbed, and I remembered the sharp pain I’d felt before the world went dark. I’d watched enough Dexter to know that meant he stuck me with a needle, drugging me into compliance.
I tried to remember something past that moment—anything that could tell me where I was, how many days had passed.
I was thirsty, but I’d been drinking. Was my thirst from the alcohol or a testament to the time I’d spent here?
I blinked again. Once. Twice. Still, my eyes didn’t adjust to the darkness.
Did I dare call out?
What if someone was close by? This could be my only chance for survival.
I opened my mouth to speak, but quickly snapped it shut.
Someone was in the room with me.
The faintest of breaths echoed in my mind. My heart seemed to escape my chest and splatter onto the floor beneath me.
He was there.
Did I dare speak? Did I dare believe I could guilt him into releasing me?
I felt the tip of a blade press against my bare back, and only then did I realize I wasn’t wearing my dress. The blade slid down my skin, scratching from the base of my neck to the lowest arch of my spine. In its trail, it sliced through the strap of my bra.
Again, I tried to move my wrists, seeing if the binding would give way to a hard jerk. I clenched my jaw shut when it bit into flesh. Droplets landed on my forehead, sliding down the curves of my face before pooling in the corner of my mouth.
Blood.
Before I could decide whether it was worth it to beg for freedom, the lights turned on. I was immediately blinded. I cried out as if I’d been struck. My eyes burned, and I squeezed them shut, letting my tears wash away the sudden surge of pain. Slowly, I re-opened them and locked eyes with my attacker.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment,” he said.
He was close, too close. He reached out, tracing the arch of my jawline. I shivered under his touch, feeling sick. Bile worked its way into my throat, and briefly, I wondered if I could use it to my advantage. If I vomited, maybe he’d leave, maybe he’d untie me to clean up, maybe he’d just let me go.
I told myself whatever lie I could think of to keep hope alive.
I needed to survive.
I wouldn’t let Brent Miller be my end.
“I’ve been watching you for months,” he said, a sly smile twisting his lips. “We met once. Of course, you’d never remember it. Blending in, staying invisible, are just a few of the ways you and I are similar, connected.”
“I remember you,” I whispered.
He paused, eyes searching mine, and then he shook his head.
“I don’t mean at the residency. We’ve met before that day. I saw you at the hospital that day. You were unconscious, weak, injured, yet you were so beautiful. Everyone turned to look at you when you were wheeled in. People rushed over, and I walked beside you, pretended you were mine. But I don’t have to pretend anymore.”
He walked toward me, a smile forming on his lips as he recalled the day that ruined my life.
“It’s fate. I never believed in fate. Not until that day. My dad, he’s the one. He brought us together.”
I swallowed, searching his eyes. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”
“My dad was a worthless drunk, but he was all I had. My mom never wanted us, and my dad never did anything right. Not until that day. Not until he brought me to you.”
My throat was closing; my breath caught. Tears burned behind my eyes.
“Your dad was the driver. He killed my parents,” I whispered.
He nodded, smiling. “I worked at the hospital. That’s where I saw you. I saw them bring you in, and I knew. I could just tell. I could feel it.”
Anger boiled in the pit of my gut, and it gave me a newfound sense of strength. When he was within reaching distance, I tried to kick him.
If only I could land one quick, hard hit between his legs, this would stop. I once read you could kill a man if you hit him in the balls hard enough. I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I was willing to try.
Except, my legs failed me.
I looked down, noticing their awkward angle.
“I must wonder what you were thinking just now.” He smiled. “Were you planning to hurt me?”
Still angry, I feared what I might say, that I might upset him, so I didn’t speak.
“I gave you a paralytic. Eventually, you’ll regain control of your legs,” he said, answering my unspoken words.
More droplets of blood splattered against my skin, and I looked up. My bound arms held the weight of my body. The rope was tight, digging into my flesh. The skin of my hands was pale. I wondered how long I could stay this way before I lost my hands. If I was going to escape, I needed my hands.
Hell, I needed my legs, too.
But right now, my hands were in desperate need of blood.
I took a deep, slow breath. My throat was scratchy as I tried to speak.
“P-Please,” I whispered.
“Would you like some water?” he asked.
He walked to a corner table, poured clear liquid into a plastic cup, and walked back to me.
“Here, let me help you,” he said, angling my head back as he offered me the drink.
I considered my options. Do I swallow it down, hoping it really was water? Do I spit it out? Do I spit it at him? I decided if he wanted me drugged, he’d use his needle, so I greedily drank the liquid.
“Please,” I whispered.
“More?” he asked.
“Let me go.”
He smiled. “Don’t waste your breath. You’re not going anywhere. You see, you and I are meant to be together. Soon, you’ll see that. You will.” he said.
“You don’t have to do this, Brent.”
He closed his eyes, dragging his teeth against his bottom lip. “I love the sound of my name coming from your lips.” He opened his eyes. “I don’t want to force you, Jezebel. Jezebel Tate. I always wondered why you didn’t use your real name when publishing your books. Jezebel Cox was just too cliché.”
“You can let me go, and—”
“And what?” he interrupted. “And we’ll be together? Out there? We don’t belong out there with them. We’re different, you and me.” His eyes scanned the length of my practically-nude frame. “God, you’re even more gorgeous than I imagined.”
He kneeled before me and ran his hand up the length of my leg. If I hadn’t watched him touch my skin, I never would have known he was violating me. Silently, I thanked God for paralytics. I’d never feel him touch me. I could close my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else.
So I did just that.
I closed my eyes.
And there was James.
We were in my apartment. He smiled at me, told me I looked beautiful. The light bounced off his skin as he walked toward me.
“Jezebel.”
He said my name. His lips moved, but his voice was different.
No. I needed to focus.
I wasn’t here. I wasn’t with him.
I was safe. I was with James.
He would protect me.
“James…” I whispered.
“Open your eyes, or I’ll slice open your lids!” he screamed.
I obeyed, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Lies We Keep Page 13
