30DaystoSyn

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Just me.”

  His expression filled with pain. “You were special.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You were buying my innocence, my virginity.”

  He flinched. “Please don’t look at it in that way. It might have started out as…”

  “Why didn’t Kit mention anything about the Room being wired?” she interrupted.

  “Because he didn’t install the cameras,” he told her. “I did. I never intended for anyone to know about them. The vids are for my eyes only.”

  “To look at later?” she questioned.

  “I watch some of them again, yes.”

  “Those of you and me?” she pressed. “Do you watch them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered then felt the blood drain from her face as another thought crashed into her. “Did you record me at home? Is that on a hard drive somewhere?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “That I did not do.”

  “I guess I should be thankful for small miracles,” she said bitterly.

  “Don’t make this out to be something it’s not,” he said.

  “What is it you think it is, Kiwi?” she demanded. “This whole mess is sordid and immoral and depraved.” She got to her feet. “And just plain sick!”

  “Where are you going?” he asked when she headed for the door.

  “Home! I have to work tomorrow and don’t you say a fucking word about you owning the fucking company!”

  “Melina, stop,” he ordered.

  She turned to face him.

  “Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked and there was terrible uncertainty in his wounded eyes.

  “Today is the twenty-fourth day out of thirty,” she said. “There are six more days left on the contract. I will fulfill our bargain as I promised then it will be finished.”

  She watched his face turn white.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “You have me until Sunday the thirtieth,” she said, snatching open the door. “That’s the day the contract ends.”

  “What does that mean?” he repeated as she left him. “Melina! What the hell does that mean?”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Night Twenty-Five

  They got him out of bed and walking—slowly and uncomfortably—the next morning. He still had the IV in his arm and had to drag the stand along beside him but at least he was ambulatory and not stuck flat on his back. He’d spent a restless night wondering what Melina was thinking, needing to talk to her, wanting to see her. At least a dozen times he’d picked up the phone to call her then put it down again.

  While he ached to see her, he dreaded what she might say to him the next time they met. He wasn’t sure he was ready for her to tell him what she had meant the night before.

  He spent the day being shuffled from one test to another before Craigie told him he was mending well and could go home the next day. He called her to tell her the news but could not reach her.

  Breakfast was returned half-eaten. Lunch wasn’t touched. Dinner still sat on the rolling table when Jono and Spike came to visit. By the time Jake arrived and Craigie had finished his rounds, he was pacing from the bathroom door to the bed and back again.

  Over and over and over—his friends bearing mute witness to his nervousness.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you, bro? You’re acting like a maggot on a hotplate,” Jono finally demanded.

  “I’ve tried calling her all day,” he said. “She won’t take my calls and she won’t return them.”

  “What did you do?” Jake asked, looking up. He was sitting on the couch with Spike.

  “He’s only got one sheep to an acre,” Craigie said. “There’s no telling what stupidity he’s perpetrated this time.”

  “Did you piss her off, then?” Jono inquired.

  “If she’s not answering his calls, he did,” Craigie said.

  “Then he’s in the dog box for sure,” Jake said.

  “Eh, when it comes to knowing how to properly handle a lady he couldn’t poke a stick up a dead dog’s arse,” Craig said with a snort.

  He glared at his friend. “I’m right here, you know.” When they ignored him, he plopped down on the bed. “I might as well speak to my bum—at least it talks back,” he grumbled.

  “Feeling like a spare prick at a wedding, are you?” Jake asked with a wink.

  “Maybe she wasn’t all that impressed when he sank the sausage,” Craigie suggested.

  “Can’t say as I blame her,” Jono said. “It’s not much bigger than a sliver.”

  “I haven’t rooted her!” he shouted to get their attention.

  It worked. Their heads snapped toward him.

  “You haven’t rooted her?” Spike asked. She’d been quiet up until then.

  “No,” he said, looking down at the sheet.

  Craigie’s eyes widened. “Well, fuck me sideways!” he said.

  “Not while there’s cats,” Jake and Jono said in tandem.

  “Why the fuck not?” Spike asked, leaving the couch to stand beside the bed.

  He shrugged. “I had a timetable.”

  Craigie cocked his head to the side. “You had a what?”

  “A timetable,” he mumbled.

  “What the fuck is a timetable?” Jono asked.

  “A schedule listing events and the times at which they will take place,” Jake explaining.

  “If bullshit was music, you’d have your own orchestra,” Craigie snapped. “Jeez.”

  “Does she know about this timetable?” Spike asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?” she prompted. “What does she think of it?”

  “That it’s rubbish,” he admitted. “She’d have done it a week or so ago if I had allowed it.”

  “Allowed it?” Spike queried with disbelief.

  “Allowed what?” Jono asked.

  “Rooting,” Jake and Spike replied.

  “That just goes to prove he’s a chop short of the barbie,” Craigie stated.

  “I’m afraid I’ve lost her,” he said, lying back and flinging an arm over his eyes.

  “Would serve you right if you did,” Spike told him.

  “Well, when the contract’s done it’s back to flogging the log for you,” Jake said.

  “Fuck off, Jakey. What time is it?” he asked.

  “A quarter to seven,” Jono said. “I should get going.” He headed for the door.

  “You think she’ll be waiting for him to pick her up?” Spike asked no one in particular when Jono had gone.

  He let his arm fall behind his head. “Why wouldn’t she?” he asked and when none of his friends answered, he pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the pain that lanced through his rib cage. “Answer me. Why wouldn’t she?”

  “If you pissed her off, bro, she might not be up for seeing you,” Jake said.

  “It’s something you should consider,” Spike proposed. “She could be done with you.”

  “Out,” he snarled. “All of you. Get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone!”

  “You can’t put a cow cover over a horse and expect to get milk in the morning, bro,” Craigie said of his refusal to think rationally about the situation.

  “Get the fuck out. Now!” he bellowed.

  The trio exited the room without another word. In the hall, Spike reached out to take both Craigie’s and Jake’s arms, drawing them to a halt. She lowered her voice. “You know what’s happening here, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Craigie said. “Synnie McGregor is well gone.”

  Jake nodded in agreement.

  “What does that mean?” Kit asked. He’d been outside the door and about to enter when the shouting stopped him in his tracks.

  “It means our head sherang is deeply in love and doesn’t even know it,” Spike replied.

  * * * * *

  He heard the quiet shush of the door opening and turned over, tightening his jaw to hide the discomfort of his
broken ribs. She was standing framed in the doorway wearing the blouse and skirt she had told him she disliked so much.

  “Hey,” he said. He sat up, pushing his pillow higher along the incline of the raised head of the bed.

  “Hello,” she said. She didn’t advance any farther into the room.

  “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “The ad stated—”

  “I know what the ad stated,” he interrupted in a tone harsher than he intended. He tried to modulate his voice. “I wrote it.”

  “Jonny said Craig is letting you go home tomorrow.”

  “Do you care?”

  “Yes, Kiwi, I do. I’m glad you’re all right.”

  “Are you?”

  She drew in a long breath, pursed her lips then exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

  “Well, I feel munted,” he complained then tossed out a hand. “Wiped out.”

  “You look like a raccoon with those two black eyes,” she said and her lips twitched.

  “Yeah well, if I fell into a barrel of tits, I’d come out sucking my thumb,” he grumbled.

  “Which means…?”

  “I’m a very unlucky person,” he interpreted. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  She walked to the chair beside the bed and sat, folding her hands primly in her lap.

  “Why didn’t you answer when I called?” he asked.

  “I wasn’t at the office today,” she said. “I was with Drew. Today’s his birthday. I didn’t know you’d called until Jonny told me in the car.” She looked down at her hands. “I can imagine the thoughts going through your head when I didn’t return your calls.”

  “Can you?” he pressed.

  She sighed again. “Yes, Kiwi,” she said, brushing lint from her skirt.

  “What happens on Sunday?”

  Her head came up. There was no expression on her face as she stared at him for a long moment before finally answering. “I assume that’s when you will take what you put the ad in the paper for.”

  “Take?” he questioned. “Take?”

  “What else would you call what you plan to do?”

  “Making love to you?” he replied.

  “That’s how you see it unfolding?”

  “That was my intent, yes.”

  “You’re going to take my cherry on Sunday night.”

  He shook his head. “No. On Thursday night.”

  Her forehead crinkled. “Thursday? The 28th?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s Thanksgiving night.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you realize how cheesy that sounds?”

  “Whatcha mean?” he asked

  “Think about it, Kiwi. Did you think I would be thankful that you popped my cherry on Thanksgiving night 2013?”

  “You would always remember it,” he said. “And me.”

  “Oh, I’m not likely to forget it, Kiwi,” she said, eyes flashing. “Trust me on that one. Didn’t you think I might be a tad insulted that you chose a day of national thanks on which to lose my cherry?”

  Her censure made him look away. “I do now. But it’s more than that. You’re still mad at me about the cameras in the Room,” he said quietly.

  “I thought about it and I understand why you did it. I don’t like that you taped me but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “You’re mad,” he said.

  “Frigging livid,” she said, “but—as I said—there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “We won’t be going back there,” he told her. “If I never step foot in that place again it would be okay with me.”

  “I guess you’ll just have to find somewhere else to do your role playing from now on,” she replied.

  “Would it help if I apologized to you?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You? Apologize?” The eyebrows came down. “They must have hit you harder than I thought.”

  “They hit me hard enough to have almost killed me,” he said, beginning to lose his temper.

  She got to her feet. “Coming here tonight wasn’t such a good idea,” she said.

  “Sit down.”

  “No, I’m going—”

  “You are going to sit your arse down, woman!” he snapped. He’d learned the only way to handle her was sternly even though he really didn’t want to do it that way.

  She slowly sat down again—eyes flashing, lips thinned.

  “You can get all lemon-lipped on me all you want but we’re on my dime and you aren’t leaving until I tell you that you can.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Stop talking!”

  Her beautiful mouth formed a perfect O then her eyes narrowed, her lips closed and he watched her jaw muscles flexing.

  “I said I was sorry and I am,” he stated. “Apologies don’t come easy to me so you can bloody well take it for what it’s worth.”

  Her eyes were locked on his.

  “Do you still want the money?”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  “Then get up and come here.”

  For a second or two he thought she would refuse but then she shot up from the chair and took the few steps it took to reach his bedside. To give her her due, she held her ground as he swung his legs off the side of the bed and reached out to take her arms, drawing her between his spread thighs.

  “They hit me hard enough to have almost killed me,” he said again. “Take a damn good look at my face and imagine how it felt to get hit this hard time and time again.”

  Her gaze roamed over his face and he knew what she was seeing. He’d seen it, himself, in the bathroom mirror. There were cuts to either side of his mouth, across his right cheekbone, along his forehead and down one temple. Both eyes were black and blue underscored with a sickening shade of greenish-yellow. His broken nose was swollen. All in all, he looked as though he’d stuck his face into the blades of an electric fan.

  “I lay on that floor with my wrists tied behind me with duct tape. My legs were bound and I could barely breathe through my nose but I had to because my mouth was taped. I kept passing out from the pain and the inability to draw a decent breath into my burning lungs. I pissed myself and had to lie in it the entire day because I couldn’t move. They’d stuck the leg of the desk between my legs so I couldn’t crawl.” He lightly shook her. “And you know what I thought about while I was lying there thinking I might cark it there on that dirty carpet?”

  She shook her head.

  “You, Melina,” he said. “I thought about you. About you and that goddamn fucking ad!”

  “I wish you’d never written that ad,” she said.

  “So do I,” he growled and saw hurt flash through her eyes.

  That was what he had hoped to see.

  He slid his arms under her arms and pulled her gently against him—splaying his hands along her back—then laid his cheek to her chest.

  “But if I hadn’t put that ad in the paper, I might never have met you,” he said. Beneath his ear he could have sworn he felt her heartbeat speed up at his words.

  He felt her hand smoothing over his head and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t leave me, Melina,” he asked. “I need you to stay with me.”

  “For tonight?” she questioned.

  Baby steps, he cautioned himself. Don’t scare her away.

  “Yeah, for tonight.”

  And for every night from then until the day after forever, he thought.

  She was quiet for so long he was afraid she’d say no, but then he heard her sigh.

  “All right, Kiwi. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

  He pulled back and looked at her. He was afraid if he asked permission she would deny him so he took the decision out of her hands and reached for the buttons of her blouse.

  For a split second she thought about stopping him. His knuckles were grazing her skin as he worked the buttons. A part of her was annoyed that he would dare to end their discussion in such an arrogant way but then again—she
reminded herself—she was his possession to do with as he pleased.

  At least for the next five days. After that?

  She didn’t want to think about what would happen after Sunday night. How she would feel on Monday night when the contract had been fulfilled and she had his money in hand.

  Staring down at the top of his head as he undid the last button and pushed the two sides of her blouse aside, she wished his hair was longer so she could rake her fingers through it. She had been longing to do that since their first night together and she had been terrified of him.

  She was no longer terrified. She was deeply—and she admitted it to herself—irrevocably in love with the high handed, conceited, overconfident, full-of-himself bastard.

  And she had no idea when that happened. Maybe it was kismet. Maybe it was karma. Maybe it was nothing more than a bad case of the hots. Whatever had caused it, she knew it—at least for her—real and impossibly complicated.

  If after Sunday night he sent her on her way without a backward look, she knew her heart would break. She had tried so hard not to love him but that hadn’t worked. He had burrowed his way under her skin in no time flat. With his swarthy good looks, killer body and knowing hands, he had completely crushed any resistance she might have considered.

  His fingers were on the front closure of her bra and when he unhooked it, he lifted his head to look up at her. One perfectly arched brow lifted in question and she swallowed. Those eyes were like magnets drawing the iron filings of her libido straight into them.

  She nodded and he glided his palms over the rise of her breasts. His touch was so warm, so gentle, so heady as he caressed her.

  “You have the most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he told her.

  And she would bet her last dime he’d seen a helluva lot. Had touched, stroked and suckled more than his share. A pang of jealousy that those sure, strong fingers had plucked at other women’s nipples as he was plying hers made her clench her teeth. That he might use those elegant, knowing hands on another woman sent red-hot spirals of resentment through her very soul.

  He leaned in and captured one nipple with his lips and drew lightly on it. She cupped his head to hold him to her and she heard him groan deep in his throat.

  Tears scratched at the back of her eyes. If she had to give this man up, it would destroy a part of her for she knew no other male could ever compete with Synjyn McGregor. He was the best and she would be forced to make do with the rest.