The gleam in his gaze sizzled as he narrowed his eyes. “Who else would I allow to come in here when you’re lying there all naked and alluring?”
My smile bloomed as warmth filled my cheeks. “I’m glad you think so. I think I’m probably a wreck.” I lifted my hand to my hair. “I’m sure my hair is a mess and I probably smell of sex.”
His nostrils flared as he came closer. “If it were up to me, it would be the perfume you always wore.” Sterling placed the tray over my lap and lifted the lid. “You’re gorgeous, and I’m not sharing.”
The feast before me included a scrumptious vegetable omelet, thick sourdough toast, and a bowl of fruit. Above what had been covered, was a glass of juice, large mug filled with coffee, a small pitcher of cream, and a tiny vase with one of the purple flowers I’d seen growing outside the cabin.
“Are you also the chef?”
“No. I could manage the toast without burning it, but cooking has never been my strong suit.”
I took a bite of toast. “Yeah, you probably didn’t need to, growing up like this.”
His smile disappeared. “I told you, tip of the iceberg. Having cooks, maids, and a big house doesn’t guarantee happiness.”
“Sterling, I’m sorry.”
“Most of my cooking skill came in the army, and I won’t feed you the shit we ate...ever.”
As he paced about the room, it seemed as though he was giving me glimpses into the man he was, and yet the pieces were all fragmented, a mosaic instead of a portrait. It also seemed that despite Sterling knowing almost everything about me, I would learn his secrets in his time.
No, I’d learn both of our secrets in his time.
Lifting the warm mug to my lips, I asked, “What are our plans?”
His head shook. “It’s time to go back to Chicago.”
My appetite disappeared as my stomach dropped. “I was hoping that could wait until tonight.”
Sterling disappeared into the large closet and came back out with a black dress that appeared somewhat familiar, yet I was certain I hadn’t seen it in his closet.
“We have an engagement,” he said.
It was hard to tell from the hanger, but the material reminded me of the Sinful Threads prototype I’d worn during my last trip to Chicago. “Where did that come from and what kind of engagement?”
“Where dresses come from,” he said noncommittally, “and the engagement is considered formal.”
“Am I wearing some other woman’s dress to this formal engagement?”
“Of course not.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Why can’t we get to your castle before I dress?”
His hand went through his hair. “You’re infuriating.”
My eyes popped open wide. “Me?”
“Can’t you just do as I say without ten thousand questions?”
“I think the obvious answer is no.”
Sterling swallowed as his neck strained. “It was easier to have a dress delivered than the other dress dry-cleaned.”
I wanted to mention whose fault it was that the red dress needed dry cleaning, but this conversation wasn’t going well and poking the bear didn’t seem like a good idea.
“There are shoes and jewelry in there. My house—our home,” he corrected, “isn’t a castle. My mother still lives in that. When she’s done with it, it can burn to the ground for all I care. We live in a penthouse, five complete floors and the best security in the world.”
“Why do you need five floors?”
“Only two are the living quarters. You won’t need to enter the other three.”
“I won’t need to enter? Or I’m not allowed to enter? Is this like the not talking to people thing?”
“Just eat the damn food and shower,” he said as he stepped toward the door and reached for the doorknob.
“Sterling, do not walk out.” I was trapped by the damn tray as I lifted it from my lap and threw back the covers, the table setting rattling. Well aware that I was now completely without clothes, I decided to concentrate on the future. “Why can’t I get adjusted to everything before an engagement? I’m...” I wasn’t sure what I was.
The expression from before was back, including the dark stare and clenched jaw. “Do you or do you not want to go to work tomorrow? Do you want to continue with Sinful Threads?”
My fists went to my hips. As soon as they connected, I realized that I’d been right. My hips were bruised from the earlier grasp of the man before me. Ignoring the pain, I answered, “You know damn well that is what I want. It was part of my demands.”
Releasing the handle, he turned back to me. “Mine is that you do as I say. You’re not going out in Chicago, ever, without Patrick or me, and you’re not going out at all until the statement is made that you’re there and you’re mine.”
My pulse quickened. “So you’re saying that if I want to go to work or to the fucking bakery we have to do this—tonight?”
“I see no reason for you to go to a bakery. The rest, yes.”
Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “You’re insane.” I stalked over to the sofa where the black dress was lying and picked it up. Holy shit. “You didn’t get this at a store. These aren’t sold in stores.” I ran my hand over the silky fabric. “It’s...” I turned back to Sterling. “I haven’t seen this yet, not in full size. How the fuck did you get it?”
He shrugged. “Reid has already been looking into increasing your security.”
I gently laid the dress back on the couch as I spun back around and tugged at my own hair. “Gah! I don’t get you.”
He took two long strides until he was right before me. Wrapping one arm around my waist, he pulled my naked body flush to his partially clothed one. “You do, Araneae. You get me, every damn day for the rest of your life. Get used to it.
“I had this Sinful Threads dress brought to you for two reasons. One, to show you that your design facility is in need of better security, and two, because I knew that in this dress you would slay the room we are going to enter. Every fucking eye will be on you, and as unsure as you are about all that’s happened this last week, you are confident when it comes to Sinful Threads. I’ve watched you. I’ve sat in large ballrooms and heard you deliver a speech with more emotion and belief in your product than I’ve heard from the likes of Mark Zuckerberg or Bill Gates. You may not know who to believe or all your own secrets, but there is one thing you do believe in. Sinful Threads.”
He’s been to my presentations? When? Where?
I didn’t get the chance to ask as his deep voice continued.
“I want you to walk into the club tonight like the queen you are.” He lifted my chin high enough to stretch my neck and spine. “Head held high, regal, and noble.” His lips quirked as he took a step back and scanned my naked form. “That’s how I’ve always seen you. It’s how you look now. You’re a queen, even here...”
His hand skirted my side, from my breast to my hip, his touch too light to caress, yet too intimate for me not to react.
Shivers peppered my skin with goose bumps.
“It is how everyone in that room will see you,” Sterling said, “and when they do, they’ll know that if they lay a goddamned finger on one precious hair on your head, I will take great pleasure in watching them die. It’ll be my word. A man’s word is either his most valuable tool or his most respected weapon. Tonight, it will be a weapon, one I won’t hesitate to use.”
Letting go of my chin, he ran his finger along my cheek as he shook his head. “It won’t take long. My message to every asshole in that room will be short.” His stare darkened. “That doesn’t mean it will be sweet. No matter, it will come through loud and clear.”
Releasing his hold, his hand came down hard on my ass, the slap making me jump as I reached back to my now-stinging skin. “Ouch.”
Sterling’s stare didn’t lighten. “Finish your meal and get ready. I have work to do downstairs. Don’t leave this room. I want you to think about what I said about
not talking to people—that includes here. We’re leaving by five, and I want you dressed to kill. And if you’re not ready, it will be more than one slap to your ass.”
“Asshole.”
Faster than the speed of light, Sterling’s fingers pinched my cheeks. I tried to back away as pain flooded my receptors, and once again my mind questioned my safety. I couldn’t back away. I couldn’t move as his grip tightened. I reached for his hand to no avail. Moisture came to my eyes as the taste of copper floated over my tongue.
His words were slow and weighted. “I enjoy your fire, but if you ever speak to me like that in front of anyone—and I mean, anyone—you won’t be sitting for a week.” He released me.
As I rubbed my jaw, words failed to form. Well, some did.
Asshole.
Bully.
Bastard.
No. He’d corrected that one.
How about son of a bitch?
Before I could voice any of them, he turned and walked to the door. Opening and closing it loudly, he left me standing naked and alone in the middle of the bedroom.
Fuck you, Sterling Sparrow.
Araneae
I was dressed and ready before five o’clock. I also decided that if Sterling didn’t want me speaking to anyone, I’d start with him. I didn’t wait for him to come back to the room. Despite his order to stay inside, when he wasn’t there at five minutes before five, I made my way downstairs and out onto the lawn as the helicopter landed. With my arms wrapped around my body and the wind from the blades blowing my new dress and freshly styled hair, I waited for them to stop.
“Ms. Hawkins.”
I turned to see Patrick coming my way. Though I wanted to be mad at him too, I couldn’t come up with a new reason to add him to my list. He’d done nothing wrong since bringing me to Sterling over a week ago. Then again, that sin could warrant a lifetime membership on my list of people not to speak to.
“Am I?” I asked, having not thought about it much while in this magical wilderness bubble, the one Sterling effectively popped hours before.
“Ma’am?”
“Am I Ms. Hawkins?” When he tilted his head, I went on. “Please, Patrick, never act uninformed around me. I’m well aware that you know most if not all of what Sterling knows. That’s a hell of a lot more than I do. When we arrive in Chicago, will I be Kennedy Hawkins or Araneae McCrie?”
“I believe Mr. Sparrow—”
“Mr. Sparrow can...” I stopped myself. Patrick probably qualified as anyone and I wasn’t up for more of Sterling’s punishments. “...tell me, I’m sure.” I added the sweetest smile I could feign. “However, he isn’t here and you are.”
Patrick turned toward the cabin, no doubt praying his boss would appear.
“I do believe he said to do whatever I said. It seems to me that would include answering this question.”
“Ma’am, you can be whomever you like on the plane. In the helicopter you’re Ms. McCrie and tonight at the club too. At Sinful Threads, Mr. Sparrow feels it would be better for you and for your business to continue as Kennedy Hawkins.”
“So this has already been thought out and discussed without my input?”
Patrick swallowed as he turned again to the cabin. This time Sterling was walking our direction, his expression as pleasant as it had been when he left the bedroom. In other words, he was obviously pissed.
“What is happening?” he asked, his tone matching his grim appearance. Not only that, he was still wearing the jeans from before, and a button-down shirt open at the collar, untucked, and rolled up at the sleeves.
I wanted to ask him why he wasn’t ready for a formal engagement and I was, but that would require speaking, and as soon as his rather rudely delivered question left his lips, I turned my attention to the helicopter.
When I didn’t respond, Patrick did. “We’re ready to leave, sir.”
Sterling’s hand came to my back as I walked unsteadily in the heels through the grass toward the now-silent helicopter. “You look lovely.”
I didn’t respond.
“I expected you to still be in the room.” His voice was now low, a hiss near my ear.
Instead of answering, I placed the high-heeled shoe upon the step and lifted myself with fucking royal dignity into the helicopter. All I needed was to raise a gloved hand and do my best Queen Elizabeth wave to the staff left behind. Sterling followed closely behind as he and Patrick joined the pilot and me aboard.
As the propellers began to whirl, I placed the earphones over my ears and wondered about Jana. She wasn’t with us as we lifted off the ground. I could only guess that my mention of her earlier this morning relegated her to ground transportation back to the plane.
It was another reason to be pissed at the man beside me.
The flight took less time than I recalled. Perhaps it was that it was daytime and I was enthralled with the scenery. Maybe it was that Sterling’s show of power in the bedroom continued to play on a loop in my mind and with each rerun, the temperature of my blood rose a few degrees until I was close to the boiling point. Or the fact that I used extra foundation and powder to ensure if bruising occurred on my cheeks, it wouldn’t be noticeable—something I never imagined doing or considering.
Truly he was a talented man. In less than five minutes he’d managed to erase every good memory or feeling of desire that I’d experienced over the past four days. Was that his goal?
When it came to Sterling Sparrow, I was at a complete loss.
Thirty minutes later, after the stopping of the propellers, with my head held high, I boarded the plane, nodding to Marianne, Jana, and Keaton as Sterling again walked with his hand in the small of my back. He’d tried to hold my hand, but with a quick maneuver with my handbag, I’d successfully squelched his effort.
As we passed through the first part of the cabin, he successfully reached for my free hand, stilling my steps. “Patrick and I have more work to do. We’ll be riding up here.”
My jaw clenched as I stared into his eyes. My response was the same nod I’d given the crew seconds before. By the narrowing of his gaze, I was confident he heard my unspoken response—the one I wasn’t to say in front of anyone: Sit wherever the fuck you want, asshole.
Yep, that was it as I pursed my lips and snapped my head away. This wasn’t my first rodeo in this flying mansion. I knew where to go. My heels clipped the flooring as I proceeded to the part of the plane with the television.
“Ma’am,” Jana said, appearing in front of me. “May I get you anything before or after takeoff?”
I assumed answering direct questions was acceptable, but then again, I wasn’t certain of anything when it came to Sterling. How would it look if I’d suddenly developed laryngitis?
Screw him.
“No, thank you, Jana. I’m good.” As she nodded, I reached for her hand. “How was the drive?”
“Better in the daylight. Thank you again for being so kind.”
I sighed and leaned back against the plush seat. Her response helped to chip away at a bit of the ice that the man in the front of the plane had caused to flow through my veins.
My eyes opened wide as Patrick appeared with my carry-on. “Ma’am, your laptop is charged, and there’s an outlet over there...” He pointed. “...by that table if your battery runs down. It was thought you might like your laptop to respond to emails or check on Sinful Threads.”
“Oh.” I felt the gratitude shine from my face. “Thank you. I suppose...” I stopped myself from asking if this were Sterling-approved. First, if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t be here. Second, I hated that his permission even crossed my mind.
If each incident were a strike, Mr. Sterling Sparrow was out. Hell, if I were the umpire, I’d eject his fine-looking ass from the game.
Once we were in the air, I hurriedly moved from the seat where I was to the one beside a shiny wood-looking table that was attached to the interior wall of the plane. As I fired up my laptop, I wondered about internet. The plane had it, or Pa
trick wouldn’t have made the comment about responding to emails. I considered asking Jana to ask Patrick for the necessary codes, but that seemed juvenile. While I debated, the internet connected.
Of course, it did.
That meant that someone had already been on my laptop to add the Wi-Fi code. Maybe in time, I wouldn’t be surprised. My shock was quickly forgotten as my email loaded to the hundreds of missed emails.
I’d never been out of touch with Sinful Threads for longer than a few hours while I slept. It had been since Wednesday afternoon and now it was Sunday. I hoped that Louisa had taken care of a few of the fires that had popped up.
Instead of assuming, I began forwarding emails with my inquiry: Have you seen this? What happened with this order? Did you forward this to Winnie?
All at once an interoffice messenger bubble popped up on my screen.
* * *
Louisa: “THANK GOD, KENNI. TELL ME YOU’RE BACK IN CHICAGO.”
Me: “ON THE PLANE.”
Louisa: “IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT? I HAVE A WEIRD FEELING THAT I CAN’T SHAKE.”
Everything except I’m kind of kidnapped by a bossy, arrogant son of a bitch. No, I didn’t type that.
Me: “I’M FINE. READY TO TAKE ON CHICAGO AND ALL OF THE SINFUL THREADS MARKET. HOW ARE YOU? BABY KENNEDY?”
Maybe I could suggest that she change the baby’s name to Araneae, especially if it was a girl.
Was there a masculine spelling?
Louisa: “STILL HANGING ON. MOM AND DAD GOT BACK TO SUPERIOR THIS MORNING. THEY SAID LINDSEY IS DOING GREAT. SHE HAS A NEW BOYFRIEND. DAMN, I CAN’T WAIT TO SHOW YOU A PICTURE. I SWEAR HE LOOKS LIKE A BODYGUARD FROM SOME MOVIE OR SHOW.”
Was he? Or was he a threat? Why did I believe everything could be traced to Sterling?
Me: “AS LONG AS SHE’S HAPPY.”
Louisa: “MOM SAYS SHE’S OVER THE MOON. THAT’S OLD-PEOPLE TALK FOR HAPPY—I THINK. (laughing emoji)”
Me: “NOW THAT I’M GOING THROUGH EMAILS, WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?”
* * *
Secrets: Web of Sin Page 21
