I was glad to hear something good came from my trip to Chicago.
And then today, there was the special delivery of a Sinful Thread scarf. That wouldn’t have seemed odd except that particular scarf had not yet been launched. The only inventory was in our chaos room.
Sparrow’s packages and messages kept him forefront in my mind. Over and over, I replayed the meeting in the office. Each time, the threats faded as I recalled the way my insides twisted when his hard body pressed against me and the aura of control surrounding him, hiding him in a fog of mixed emotions.
I shouldn’t find that attractive, yet I did.
No. Attraction was not the reason I would return to Chicago. What made his proposal even consideration-worthy was not the idea of what it would be like to be with him. It was his promise that he could tell me about myself. At twenty-six years of age, I was being offered the chance to learn my own secrets.
I poured myself a glass of wine and resumed my pacing.
A million questions cycloned through my thoughts when the ringing of my phone brought me back to reality, causing me to jump. For a moment I stared, shocked that it was ringing, wondering if it was really him.
The screen glowed, but Patrick’s name wasn’t there. Instead it read BLOCKED NUMBER.
Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Hello.”
“Araneae.”
The sound of that name and the tenor of his voice rumbled through me.
“I-I wasn’t sure you would call.” Damn nerves.
A deep chuckle added thunder to the rumbling within me. With only his voice, he could brew a storm of emotions.
“I have questions and demands,” I said, attempting to assert some control.
“Interesting. I would expect questions. We’ll have plenty of time to answer those once you’re here.”
“That’s the thing. I’m not going to be there, not without the answers first.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“Yes, it is,” I said, falling back onto the couch. “I decide if I get on that plane or not. I need more than threats before I make that move.”
“The safety of your friends and business is no longer your concern?”
“Of course, it is. That’s not what I mean.”
“Then by all means, explain.”
“I need more.”
“I’ve already given you more,” he said. “I’ve given you your name. Now it’s my turn to receive, and I will on Wednesday night.”
The confidence in his voice twisted my insides, almost enough to convince me that he was right.
Almost.
“I have demands.” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “First, I will be in daily contact with Louisa. This may be by phone or FaceTime. I will not give up my best friend and business partner. I will also be involved in the day-to-day operations of Sinful Threads, and lastly, I will not be held prisoner. I will come and go as I want, including returning here as needed.”
I waited while the phone against my ear remained silent. Finally, I asked, “Are you still there?”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“All?”
“Is there more?”
“Those were...” I said. “...well, will you honor those?”
“You see, I was right.” His voice had changed. No longer a storm, it was now smooth as Sinful Threads’ silk.
“About?”
“You, Araneae. Your concerns are centered on others instead of yourself. That flaw is beautiful and selfless and why you need to be here.”
“It’s not a flaw to think of others.”
“It is if it’s at your own expense.”
“So I should tell you to go fuck yourself?” I asked, my indignation growing as I sat forward. “Maybe I should go on with my life as if you didn’t turn it upside down.”
“You’re close. However, you should know, myself is not who I plan to fuck.”
I sucked in a breath.
He went on, “I thought you may have demands in regard to your housing, such as a room of your own.”
Oh shit!
I hadn’t even thought of that. How could I not think of that? “I-I...”
“How does that make you feel to know I have plans for you?”
I snapped my chin up and sprang from the couch, my grip tightening on the phone with each step as I walked the length of the room and back. “For your information, my making this move is not and should not be considered an invitation for you to carry out those plans. I will have my own room. And the only fucking that will take place is with your own hand, so get used to it.”
Again, the deep chuckle floated through the phone. “Your housing will be provided. The details are mine to decide.
“You know, Araneae, your words say one thing, but your body another. I remember the way your nipples beaded under that silk dress. If it hadn’t been a prototype, I would have ripped it from your sexy curves. Soon, I’ll see what I couldn’t the other night when I had you against that wall. My imagination is vivid, but I want more, more than seeing. I want to touch, suck, and lick. I want to hold those luscious tits in my hand as they grow heavy with need and your nipples turn a deeper shade of red.”
My pacing stilled as his words and breathy tone sent shock waves to my core. “I-I don’t even know you.”
“You will. And you’ll want my hands on you as much as I want them there. You’ve been plagued with insufficient lovers for too long. I would surmise that right now you’re wet. Your body knows what your mind is having trouble understanding. You want a man to take control, to quiet your smart mouth with his, and show you how satisfying it can be to let go. I’m that man. I always have been, and soon your mind and your body will come together.”
“How do you know anything about my past?”
“It should be clear by now. You’re mine. It’s not debatable. It was decided years ago, and it’s now time to make that happen in more than principle—in reality. I know everything about you because I make it a point to know everything about what belongs to me. You, Araneae, belong to me. I’ll consider your demands while you consider mine.”
“Tell me your name,” I said, ignoring how twisted I was on the inside and the fact that he was probably right about the state of my panties.
“You know my name. Scott has been dealt with for his slip of tongue.”
“What do you mean? What happened to him?”
“You know my name and you searched me.” He chuckled, yet I didn’t hear amusement on his side. “Which while technically was not a direct violation of what you’d been told, should warrant reprimand.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one. Also, be aware, not all information is on the internet. Only what I want public.”
My pacing resumed. “Stop following me.”
“My sweet Araneae, I’m in Chicago. You’re in Boulder.”
“Then quit having me followed.”
“I also protect what is mine. You take unnecessary chances with what is most precious. It’s clear that you won’t be safe until you’re here with me.”
I stopped walking, my toes buried in the area rug as I asked the question that had been plaguing me since I decided to follow his demand. “Will I be?”
“Will you be safe?”
My mind said I wouldn’t. Being with Sterling Sparrow may protect me from outside forces—he’d shown that in Wichita—but the man on the phone was likely more dangerous than whatever or whomever was after me.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Time will tell.” By the tone of his voice, I got the feeling that our discussion was nearly done. “You’ll receive instructions regarding Wednesday. Patrick will retrieve you from your apartment and accompany you on the flight. We’re taking precautions to avoid any air emergencies on Wednesday’s flight. I don’t want our reunion delayed.”
“Sterling?” I couldn’t describe the way saying his name affected me.
“Hmm.”
�
�My friends and company?”
“Their fate is in your hands.”
The phone went dead, and in that moment, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would talk with him again. However, the next time I wouldn’t only feel the rumble and silk of his tone, but I’d also see the dark of his eyes.
Kennedy
I left the office a little after one, promising to call Louisa as soon as I landed in Chicago. I’d meant what I’d said about staying in contact with her. That thought alone kept me sane as I drove to my apartment, fighting tears.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked upon Mrs. Powell’s door.
“Kennedy, it’s so good to see you,” she said upon opening the door, her cat Polly doing a figure eight around her feet. “Come in before Polly decides to make a break for it.”
I followed her inside. “Jeanne, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be out of town for a while. I-I...” I took a deep breath as I looked around her apartment. Nearly every surface was covered in knickknacks, small figurines, vases, all sitting upon doilies.
She reached for my hand. “Are you upset about this trip?”
I shook my head, though the truth was yes. I swallowed as tears pricked the back of my eyes. “No, not at all. I just wanted you to be aware. I may not be back in time for our next dinner.”
“Oh, I hope you are.”
That brought a smile to my lips. “Me too.” I leaned down and gave her a hug.
She reached for my hand as I began to back away. “Don’t you worry. I’ll look after your place.”
“Thank you.”
With each step up the staircase to my apartment, I cursed Sterling Sparrow. Once inside, I walked into my bedroom and did nothing. I had nothing packed. I had no idea how long I’d be gone or what I needed. My flight was leaving in four hours, and I was completely unprepared.
When the doorbell rang, though it was too early, I expected to see Patrick. Instead, I was greeted by a deliveryman holding a large white box with a red bow.
“Ms. Hawkins?”
“Yes.”
He held out a small handheld device. “Please sign here.”
I let out a long breath and did as he asked.
“Have a nice day.”
I smiled and nodded, though with everything in me, I doubted that nice would be my description when I finally fell asleep at the end of whatever today would bring. Carrying the package to the sofa, I noted that it was lighter than it looked.
I’d read stories where a man would send a woman a dress or an outfit. Was that what he was doing? While I disliked the idea that he would tell me what to wear, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity as I eased the bow from the Garbarini box. Garbarini was a high-end boutique located in Denver. I’d shopped there on a few occasions but rarely found anything in my price range.
With building anticipation, I lifted the lid and pushed back the tissue paper.
The only thing inside besides the tissue paper was an envelope with Araneae written in elegant swirls.
* * *
Araneae,
All that is in this gift is all that you need to bring with you.
Your every need will be met. Even though what is in this box is my attire choice for you, your closet here is filled.
Until our reunion,
Sterling
* * *
Like the note to the flowers, I crumpled this one in a ball, throwing it into the nearly empty box. Asshole.
Taking large strides, I went to my room and pulled my suitcase from the shelf of my closet. I may be moving to Chicago—temporarily—but he wasn’t calling all the damn shots. Ripping clothes from their hangers, I tossed them on the bed until the pile was much too large for the one suitcase.
He could take his closet of clothes and stick it up his ass. I had my own clothes. If he thought I’d leave my Sinful Threads accessories and the dress I’d worn to that party in Chicago, he was crazy.
In less than an hour I had three suitcases filled with clothes and accessories, cosmetics and jewelry, and even a few pictures in frames from around my apartment. I made sure to have my hidden picture of my parents as well as the charm bracelet. The cheap gold-covered charms may not be what Mr. Sparrow had in mind for my jewelry, but I didn’t care. Crossing my arms over my chest, I looked down at the luggage. “There you go, asshole. Fuck you and your closet.”
I turned back toward my closet, taking in all the empty hangers. My bedside stand was empty, my Kindle and the picture that usually sat there, packed.
Shit.
Did I just play into his hand?
I’d planned on leaving things here, and now I’d packed everything that mattered.
As I lifted the larger suitcase back onto the bed to unpack, my doorbell rang again.
“Oh, wonderful,” I said to no one. “Maybe another empty box.”
I pulled the door inward to be met by Patrick’s smug grin. “Ms. Hawkins.”
My fist came to my hip. “What are your instructions if I tell you no, if I say that I’ve changed my mind?”
“I don’t think you will.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I’ve lived in this area for over ten years. I’m not going to just leave it all behind.” My protest came out louder than I intended.
“May I help you with your bags?”
My lips came together as I exhaled through my nose. “You should know that he told me not to pack.”
“I do. Would you like me to carry the luggage to the car, or will you?”
“Are you always so fucking smug?”
His eyes shone, the only answer my question would get. From what I saw, his answer was yes. “Ms. Hawkins, our plane is waiting.”
I took a step back and gestured for Patrick to enter. “Fine. The luggage is in my bedroom.”
As I reached for my purse, I slowly spun, taking in my apartment, my home.
I will be back, I vowed silently.
Patrick came toward me with one of the three suitcases and my carry-on bag that contained my laptop, tablet, copies of all my work files, and a backup supply of essentials. After what happened in Wichita, I wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll be back for the rest,” he said.
Hurriedly, I went into the kitchen and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer. As I reached for a pen, I listened for Patrick. His footsteps had disappeared down the communal staircase and out the door.
* * *
Louisa,
If you don’t hear from me or I go missing, search for me through a man named Sterling Sparrow. I believe he lives in Chicago.
I love you.
Kennedy
* * *
Quickly I folded the paper in thirds, slipped it into an envelope, and as Patrick reentered the apartment I came up with another lie. “I’m getting some water. Would you like any?” His footsteps moved past the kitchen and echoed toward my bedroom.
“No, thank you.”
I opened the freezer and tucked the envelope under a box of frozen cookies, knowing that if Louisa came looking, she’d find it. I also hoped that no one else would.
When Louisa and I were in college, we used to leave each other notes in the refrigerator or freezer, on the other person’s favorite food. It sounds silly, but it was our thing, our way of ensuring that the other would find it.
As I closed the freezer door, Patrick came into view. “Are you ready, Ms. Hawkins?”
I looked down at my outfit. It was what I’d worn to work today: a black pencil skirt, white blouse, thigh-high sheer stockings, and black pumps. Around my neck was a black and gold Sinful Threads scarf. My hair was pulled back in a messy bun and my makeup was minimal. I hardly felt like I was dressed to be delivered to a man, but fuck him.
I wasn’t going on a date.
“I’m coming back here, Patrick.”
He didn’t verbally answer, but his head bobbed. It was as close to an agreement as I would probably get and at this moment, I took it.
When we reached the curb, I was s
urprised to be met by the driver from before, the woman who’d brought me my luggage. “Ms. Hawkins.”
“Hello.” I turned to Patrick. “You aren’t driving?”
“I’m only here for you.” He opened the door to the back seat. It was the same car she’d driven before, the interior dark and cool.
I huffed as I settled into the seat and Patrick took the copilot’s seat in front.
My mind continued to swirl with thoughts and questions, ones I knew would only be answered by Sterling—even if Patrick knew the answers, he wouldn’t tell me. What was it that Sterling said? Scott had let Sterling’s last name slip, and he’d been dealt with. What the hell did that even mean?
I didn’t know, but I bet Patrick knew—I bet he knew much more than he was letting on.
No, Patrick wouldn’t be the source of my information.
When the car stopped, I looked up and through the darkened windows at the front entrance to the small airport where I’d flown in less than a week earlier. As Patrick got out of the car and opened my door, warm afternoon air replaced the cool. I turned to see the driver going back toward the rear of the car to retrieve my bags. “I thought we had airline tickets?” I asked more than said.
“You had airline tickets. You still do.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does, ma’am. The world thinks you’re flying commercial.”
I spoke in a low whisper, matching Patrick’s responses. “Why would the world care?”
“Your bags,” the woman whose name I couldn’t remember said.
“Thank you...?”
“Shelly, ma’am. If or when you’re back in Boulder, I’m at your service.” Her smile grew as she looked to Patrick. “Anything for Mr. Sparrow.”
“He’ll be pleased.”
My eyes narrowed as I took in their conversation. Had she been the one who took Louisa and Jason’s picture? Was she the one who stole the scarf to turn around and have it delivered?
I didn’t ask, knowing I wouldn’t learn anything.
Secrets: Web of Sin Page 9
