Because He Watches Me (Because He Owns Me, Book Nine) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance)

by Hannah Ford

  “Adriana,” the next message said. “Fuck, Adriana, answer your phone. I need to talk to you.”

  But it was the third message that I replayed over and over, the third message that caused my chest to tighten and my desire for him to stir.

  “Adriana,” he said, but his voice was softer now, with a vulnerability I’d never heard from him before. “Lemon, please, answer your phone, baby. I just… Jesus, Adriana, I know I fucked up. But I can’t focus on anything right now, baby, I’m going fucking crazy in here. I need to talk to you. Please, you have to answer your phone.”

  A muffled cry escaped my lips, and I imagined him standing at some pay phone in the jail, his face still bruised from the fight he’d been in, calling me over and over.

  The need to talk to him overwhelmed me, and I listened to his message over and over, the effect it was having on me all-consuming.

  My body felt like it was on fire, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him, his hands wandering my body, his voice whispering in my ear, his lips trailing kisses down my collarbone.

  Callum, Callum, Callum.

  His name, his presence, imprinted against my heart in a staccato rhythm.

  I could almost hear the click of his handcuffs, could almost feel his whip lashing against my skin. I longed for him, longed for his punishments, his rules, his total takeover of my body and soul.

  I forced myself to stop listening to the recording, and I squirmed against the sheets, my legs twisting and my body contorting.

  It was torture -- this pain, this ache.

  I couldn’t take it anymore, so finally, I got up and dressed in black yoga pants and a grey hoodie, then slid out the front door, being careful not to wake Nessa.

  I headed for the coffee shop around the corner, slipped inside and joined the line. It was already busy, and the fact that there were people here made me feel better. I might not have had a job to go to, and I might not have had Callum, but the world, at least in some sense, for some people, was business as usual.

  I ordered a cinnamon raisin bagel and a vanilla iced coffee, sat outside at a wrought-iron table and sipped my drink while I watched the commuters go by.

  It was 8 am when my phone rang again.

  The number was the same 212 number he’d been calling from all night.

  The urge to answer was intense, but I resisted.

  I held my breath, waiting for the voicemail. As soon as the alert popped up, I pressed play.

  “Adriana,” he said, the vulnerability that had been present before completely gone from his voice. Now he was stern. “I’ll be out at nine. I’m coming over.” He clicked off, his commanding tone causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.

  I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I wanted him.

  I needed him.

  I needed him to come over, to take hold of me, to run his hands over my body, to kiss away my tears, to whisper empty promises into my ear until he’d convinced me that things were okay.

  The slight relief I’d felt at being out of the apartment was gone. He was getting out in a few hours. He was going to come to my apartment. He was going to break me down again.

  I felt like I was going to jump out of my skin.

  And then, suddenly, like a switch being flipped, the desire I’d been feeling for him all night turned into anger as I realized once again That Callum was trying to call the shots. He’d caused me to lose everything that had been important to me, had done things he knew would upset me, and now he was trying to control me again.

  And the worst part was, I wanted him to.

  The pain and anger twisted together into a barbed wire that started in my heart and twisted around my torso, the physical pain so sharp I was almost sure it was real.

  A howl escaped my lips, and I threw my phone down onto the sidewalk.

  It skittered ineffectually against the pavement, the cover keeping it from smashing.

  It only served to fuel my rage.

  I kneeled down and removed the cover, slammed the phone against the sidewalk, over and over, harder and harder until it was completely smashed. Then I stood up and stomped on it for good measure.

  I stared down at my ruined phone, almost like I was looking at it from outside my own body.

  Then I sat down and took another sip of my coffee.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was still sitting there.

  The stream of people heading into the shop was beginning to dissipate, a lull before the next wave of commuters.

  “Hey,” a voice said, and I looked up to see Nessa standing there. “I thought you might be here. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  I shrugged. “You were sleeping so soundly. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  She looked down at the ruined phone by my feet and raised her eyebrows. “Well, that explains why your mom was calling my phone when she couldn’t reach you.” She sat down at the table across from me. “Callum?” she asked gently.

  I nodded.

  She nodded back, not asking questions, and for that, I was thankful. Just hearing someone say his name sent that blast of heartache burning through me again.

  “Your mom needs to talk to you,” she said. “She said it’s an emergency. Something about your sister’s wedding.”

  She slid her phone across the table toward me, and I picked it up and dialed my mom’s number. I wasn’t in the mood to hear about my sister Ciara’s stupid wedding. A stupid wedding she was too young to be having in the first place.

  “Mom, it’s me,” I said when she answered. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, thank God!” my mom said. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past half an hour!” She said half an hour like it was days.

  “Sorry, my phone is…on the fritz.”

  Nessa bit back a laugh.

  “Well, we’re having a wedding catastrophe,” my mother said. She lowered her voice. “I’m just… the thing is… well, honey, Ciara is pregnant.”

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “Let me talk to her,” I heard Ciara demanding in the background.

  There was the sound of rustling on the other end as she took the phone from my mother. “So I’m pregnant,” my sister said, by way of greeting. “I know, it’s a travesty, but I’m going with it. And I need to get married before I start showing.”

  This part, I understood. My sister had been obsessed with weddings since she was a little girl, and I knew she would want everything to be perfect. Having a bump under her dress in the pictures wouldn’t do.

  “Congratulations,” I said hollowly.

  “Thanks. We’ve moved the wedding to tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow! Why? I really doubt you’re going to start showing by tomorrow, Ciara.”

  “I know that, Adriana,” she said, sounding exasperated with me, like she wasn’t the type of person who would be so worried about her wedding photos that she would think a day would make a difference, even though she totally was that type of person. “But The Corvelle had a cancellation.”

  Ahh. So that’s what it was. My sister and I might have been very different, but I understood her brain.

  She was obsessed with having her wedding at The Corvelle, a swanky hotel with an outdoor seating area.

  “Oh,” I said. “Okay.”

  “So you’ll be there, right? You’ll fly in tonight?” She was talking to me, but she sounded distracted, and then she was yelling at someone in the background. “Oh, no, not that dress!” she screeched, and then there was a muffled, scratching sound before my mom got back on the phone.

  “Sorry, honey,” my mom said. “She’s having a dress crisis. So you’ll be here, right? You’ll talk to your boss?”

  My heart squeezed at the word “boss.” I didn’t have a boss anymore. I didn’t have a job anymore. Panic seized my chest but then, suddenly, I realized I was being given a perfect opportunity. A perfect opportunity not to have to deal with my life. I thought of my house at home, my tiny litt
le cape-style house with its cornflower blue shutters. I thought of my old bedroom, the one my mom hadn’t bothered to change to a gym or an office the way so many parents did when their children moved away.

  I thought of the scent of cinnamon that always permeated the house, the sound of my mom’s soaps on the television in the living room, the trill of the landline phone ringing, the one mounted on the kitchen wall that my mom refused to get rid of.

  I longed for Michigan.

  Longed for people who didn’t care what you did for a living, people from my hometown who’d never heard of Salvatore Ferragamo and who thought Banana Republic was haute couture.

  Michigan, which was simple and familiar and far away from Callum.

  “I’ll be there,” I told my mom. “I’ll check flights as soon as I hang up.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at Nessa, who reached across the table and grabbed my iced coffee and took a sip. She made a face. “Eww,” she said. “It’s all watery.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So you’re going home?”

  “Is that okay?” I asked. “My sister’s getting married tomorrow, it’s last minute.”

  “Of course,” she said. “You should be there for your sister.”

  “But what about you? Are you… I mean, are you going to be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “My sister’s coming up to stay with me for a few days, and I’m going to… I have an appointment with a therapist later this afternoon.”

  “That’s great,” I said honestly.

  “Yeah.” Her cheeks were red. “And you?” she asked. “What about Callum? Do you want to talk about it? I feel so bad, you came home last night and we barely got to talk about what happened.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” There was a pause and she bit her bottom lip. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “This is going to sound really strange, but can you… can you go to our apartment and pack me a bag? It doesn’t have to be much.” Some of my things were at Callum’s, but a lot of my stuff was still at my apartment, especially the things that he hadn’t picked out for me, my old clothes. I needed to bring things to Michigan, and I couldn’t run the risk of running into Callum if he was on his way.

  “He might come?” Nessa said, getting it.

  “He will,” I said. “Just tell him I’m gone. Don’t tell him where I am, okay?”

  “I promise.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “We’re both going to be okay,” she said. “I know it.”

  I squeezed her hand back, wishing I could be as confident.

  Two hours later, I arrived at JFK, with a new burner phone I’d picked up at a bodega near the airport. It was one of those pre paid phones, the kind that you needed to keep adding minutes to.

  When I got to Michigan, I would buy a new, proper phone.

  But for right now, I liked the idea of not having a phone that could be traced to me.

  I was still in my yoga pants and zip up hoodie, sneakers on my feet.

  Nessa had done a good job packing for me, making sure I’d have what I needed for my trip – jeans and sweaters, a wrap dress in case I needed to be dressy, underwear and pajamas – and I held the handle of my rolling suitcase as I made my way through the busy airport.

  I had an hour before my flight – I’d gotten on the first one I could, paying more for a direct flight to Detroit, so that I didn’t have to deal with layovers. I wasn’t a good flyer, and the takeoffs and landings had always been the worst for me.

  I grabbed some Dramamine and a bottle of iced tea from one of the gift shops, my eyes lingering on the bottles of lemonade in the cooler. The thought of anything lemon made my stomach roll.

  I placed my purchases on the counter near the cash register, adding a pack of gum and a small bag of trail mix. I hadn’t eaten anything all morning – I’d ended up throwing out my bagel without even taking a bite -- and although the thought of food didn’t appeal to me at all, I knew I should try to have something in my stomach to keep to try to keep it settled once I was on the plane.

  “Twenty-two dollars,” the salesgirl said, and I sighed and looked through my wallet. Now that I had no source of income, I probably shouldn’t be spending so much on things that weren’t really necessities, but whatever.

  I pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, but I couldn’t find another two dollars. I started to reach for my debit card.

  “I got it,” a voice said, smooth and even.

  A strong forearm appeared in my line of vision, and at the end of it was a hand holding a black Amex.

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.

  He’d found me.

  I didn’t know how, but he’d found me.

  I could sense him next to me, his presence, commanding and strong.

  Callum.

  My stomach flipped and I slid my debit card out from its slot.

  “It’s fine,” I said, my hand shaking. “I can use my debit card.”

  The sales girl looked at me, then reached over and took the card out of my hand. I could tell from the look on her face and the way her lips formed an O that she was looking at Callum, noticing how hot he was. I willed myself not to look at him.

  I signed the receipt, scribbling my name hastily, then shoved it into my wallet, grabbed the bag of snacks, and ran out of there.

  I still hadn’t looked at him, but all I wanted to do was put as much distance between us as I could. It was like resisting looking directly at the sun, or trying to stick to a diet – every step away from him was torture, but I kept going.

  But it was futile.

  He caught up to me within a few feet, stepped in front of me and blocked my path.

  He was so tall, so strong, his chest wide and broad. He was still wearing what he’d had on last night, his pressed suit now slightly wrinkled and mussed.

  “Look at me,” he breathed.

  A sob escaped my lips.

  “Adriana,” he said, and he moved toward me, put his hands on my upper arms, his touch burning through my sweatshirt. “Look. At. Me.”

  I kept my eyes averted, and he took my chin and tipped it up so I was forced to look at him.

  His blue eyes burned. There was a bruise under his eye, a cut on his lip, but otherwise, he was Callum, just as devastating and gorgeous as ever. He was the man I loved, the man I couldn’t say no to, the man I needed to stay away from, the man who was everything and nothing to me at all once.

  My instinct was to melt into him.

  But I forced my heart to go cold.

  “How did you know I was here?” I demanded.

  “I begged Nessa until she told me.”

  Anger burned. Nessa. I was going to kill her. I couldn’t imagine Callum begging for anything.

  His touch continued to scorch my skin through my hoodie, his grip sending shockwaves through my body.

  If I stayed connected to him physically for too much longer, I was going to break.

  I took a step back and began walking away from him, back toward the gates for American Airlines.

  “Go home, Callum,” I said. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  He followed me.

  “I’m going with you,” he said.

  “What?!”

  “To Michigan.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “No, you’re not.”

  “We’ll take my jet.”

  I looked up at the board in front of me, scanning it until I found my flight and gate number. Gate G56. I committed it to memory. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I called over my shoulder as I continued walking.

  He sighed, like he was considering his options and had come to the conclusion that perhaps he was going to have to do something he didn’t want to do. I had a mental picture of him picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder, carrying me out of the airport. He wouldn’t do that in public, I told myself.

 
But I couldn’t put anything past him, either.

  “Fine. If you refuse to take the jet, I will join you on your flight.”

  “The hell you will,” I said, whirling around to face him. He couldn’t be serious.

  “I already have my ticket.” He held up his phone, showing me his e-ticket. “I bought it on the way over here.”

  “No.” I kept walking, faster and faster, until I was running. I was running through the airport, faster and faster, until I ended up tripping and falling, my bag of snacks falling everywhere.

  Callum knelt down beside me and picked everything up, put it back in the bag as I buried my face in my hands.

  “Please,” I said. “Please, why are you doing this?” Hot tears burned at the back of my eyes. I’d thought I was free, but now he was here, pulling me back under, shackling me to him. Of course, I could only ever be so free of him – even if he wasn’t with me physically, his presence was constant, pounding through my veins, ever present in my heart.

  He took my chin again and forced me to look at him again. “Because I can’t stay away from you,” he whispered, and for the first time since I’d known him, he sounded scared. His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. “I am shocked by the depth of my love for you.”

  A breath rose in my lungs, hitching in my chest. “What you did last night is not what you do to someone you love.”

  “One trip,” he said softly. “Let me prove that I am worthy of you.”

  “I lost my job, Callum.”

  “I know.”

  “Because of you.”

  “I know.” His gaze remained on mine, strong and true, never wavering. And as much as I was upset with him, as much as I hated what he was doing to me, as angry as I was at his brazenness for just showing up here and making demands when I’d made it perfectly clear that I never wanted to see him again, he made me feel safe.

  I felt grounded, taken care of.

  I knew that if I brought him to Michigan, the trip would be better.

  I felt these things so sure, so strong. And yet how? How could I be back here? How could I be ready to make the same mistakes I’d been making over and over with him?

  Was I really that weak?