by Mandy Baggot
She wished he would say something, but she knew he wasn’t going to. She could see he was struggling with just being in the room with her now. No matter what they’d both said, being intimate together had changed things. She was even more attracted to him, and she knew he felt the same. She could see he felt the same.
“Tomorrow, theoretically, we both could be dead,” she said, breaking the silence.
“That isn’t going to happen,” he responded.
“But it could, theoretically speaking.”
“I don’t think that way.”
“No, I know, but what I’m trying to say is, this could be it, for both of us. This could be it, here tonight.” She slowly uncurled her legs and edged herself across the bed.
“Don’t do this, Autumn.”
She stood and stepped toward him. “What are you afraid of?” she asked.
“What am I afraid of?”
“Yes.”
She stood facing him, so close her chest almost touched his. She could feel the heat radiating from him now. His skin was aroused with color, and she could practically feel his heartbeat.
“I can’t be all you want me to be,” he stated in no more than a whisper.
“What do I want you to be?” She reached out to touch him. Her fingers opened the first button of his shirt, the tips of them touching his skin, before moving down to the second button.
He closed his eyes. “This can’t turn into anything. There’s no future in it,” he told her.
“We might not have tomorrow,” she answered, parting his shirt and easing it down off his shoulders.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked as she pulled the shirt away and discarded it.
She didn’t answer him, but moved her hands across his chest, his abdomen. She found the scar on his left-hand side and stroked her fingers across the jagged skin.
“What was it?” she purred.
“Knife wound, a Russian,” he responded softly.
Her hands moved to a circular mark near the middle of his stomach. “And this?” she asked.
“Bullet, Iraq.”
A smile formed on Autumn’s lips. “See, Mr. Regan, you can talk about yourself.”
“Yeah, but I think that’s enough talking now, don’t you?” he asked, feeling her pull at his belt buckle.
She met his eyes then responded, “Oh, yes, quite enough talking.”
The thin material of the dress ripped apart in his hands as he tore it from her. He let out a groan as he saw she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Her breasts were fully exposed right away, the nipples peaked and hard, as if waiting for his touch. He paused, admired her beauty, watched her shiver in anticipation, naked, longing.
She took hold of his hands. “Nathan,” she pleaded.
He placed a thumb on one of her breasts, and, with a feather-light touch, began to circle the outside, slowly moving closer toward the center. He moved his mouth to her other breast and unhurriedly began to moisten each inch of skin with his lips.
She couldn’t stand it. It was agony and ecstasy combined. He circled her nipple with his fingers, and it hurt in such a blissful way, she wanted to cry. He pulled her breast into his mouth, and his tongue began to skim over her nipple, slowly at first, then rhythmically, building in intensity.
She took his head in her hands and drew it up toward hers. She wanted to look at him. She needed to see him while she touched him.
She crashed her lips against his, longing to taste him again, demanding his tongue inside her mouth, to feel that passion and desire. And as his mouth opened to her, she took him in her hand, slowly, touching, caressing, moving in a deliberate rhythm, feeling him press his body closer to her with every motion.
She watched him. He closed his eyes and held an expression, a look of something between concentration and arousal. Then he opened his eyes again and locked his gaze with hers.
“Autumn,” he began.
“Don’t say anything.” She didn’t want the moment broken. This special closeness they shared, something she’d never had with anyone before, she wanted to savor.
He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around him, moving to let him slide inside her. She closed her eyes and held his body tight, feeling that, right now, nothing else mattered.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was almost seven. He’d slept the entire night. It felt strange. He felt strange, somewhere between completely rested and wiped out. It was probably the jetlag, combined with the turn of events over the last few days.
Autumn was still in his arms. Her hair lay over his chest, and her head rested in the crook of his elbow. He took a section of hair in his hand and toyed with it. What was he going to do?
She opened her eyes and reached out for him.
“Nathan.”
“Morning,” he answered.
She pulled herself up, drawing the duvet around her, and turned onto her side to look at him. There he was, her bodyguard, looking just as sexy as he had last night. His face was dark with the first signs of stubble, and his hair was roughed up. She had done that. She had pulled at his hair and wound her fingers through it as they’d made love, against the dressing table, again in the shower, and finally in the king-sized bed with the Egyptian cotton.
She reached out and touched his face, half expecting him to pull away. When he didn’t, she brought her thumb down to his lips and he kissed it. He drew it slowly into his mouth and sucked the tip.
He kissed her other fingers, in turn, then took her hand in his. His long fingers enveloped hers and held them tight.
She moved closer as he put his arm around her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“What for?”
“For giving me this time, these moments.”
He shook his head at her and tightened his lips. “Don’t you do that, Autumn.”
“Don’t do what?”
“You’re saying goodbyes. You don’t need to do that. I’m going to protect you.”
“I know, it’s just... If this was it—my last day—then I’d have a lot to thank you for.”
As she said the words, her voice failed, and she had to pause and swallow down a knot of sentiment.
He pulled his arm from her and got out of bed. “You have nothing to thank me for,” he insisted.
She watched him as he pulled on his underwear. “I know there’s no future in it. I mean, you said last night, we don’t know what’s going to happen, but...if we did...if there was...do you think there would be?”
“Do I think there would be what?”
“A future in it,” she said.
She felt the atmosphere still as he turned his back on her and began picking his clothes off the floor.
“You and me?” he eventually answered.
She waited until he had turned around to face her before she shrugged.
“Are you talking about a relationship?” he asked.
“You’re going to laugh and say something rude. Please, don’t do that. Please. I know I’m not normal. I do know that. I’m a control freak, I’m a snob sometimes, and I’m a little bit self-obsessed but—”
“A little bit self-obsessed,” he interrupted.
“Well, you’re no picnic either! You’re extremely rude, and you swear too much. You should shave more often, because not shaving makes you look older. You eat really badly, too much junk, and you never let anyone in. But I want to be let in, and I think you’re thinking about it. I think you want to let me in. You’re just too scared to,” she concluded.
What had started out as a character assassination ended with her hitting the nail on the head. He’d not had a relationship with anyone since Carolyn died. He’d had sex often, whenever the opportunity had arisen, but there hadn’t even been small talk, and definitely no connection of any kind. He’d had the arousal, but none of the stomach-churning, mind-spinning he’d experienced with Autumn. What should he say? He didn’t trust himself to say anything.
There was a knock on the door, a
nd all thoughts of what came next were knocked into second place. He reached for his gun and went to the door. He checked the peephole and saw it was Tawanda.
She banged her fist on the door a second time. “Mr. Nathan, please, tell me Autumn is with you. She is not in her bed.”
“It’s okay, she’s here,” Nathan called.
“Oh, Lord, have mercy! Thank God!”
Nathan still didn’t open the door. “Do you want to order us some breakfast?”
“The service is at ten,” Tawanda stated.
“Yeah, I know.”
He heard Tawanda leave for the suite next door. He turned back to face Autumn.
“I suppose I’d better go and get changed,” she said, reaching for a hotel robe.
“Yeah,” he replied.
She tied the belt around her and moved toward him. “I’ll see you for breakfast?” she queried.
“Yeah.”
She went up on tip-toes and kissed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, fighting the desire to take her in his arms again. It was too difficult. It was too complicated. He couldn’t deal with the fall out.
She opened the door and left, closing it behind her.
He’d barely spoken to her over breakfast. In fact, he had barely spoken to Tawanda either. Tawanda had ordered a newspaper and had spent her time shouting out clues for the crossword over the croissants.
He’d had one cup of coffee and some toast, then he’d gone back to his room to get ready for the service. It was almost as if he had retreated back into himself, just when she’d thought he was about to trust her.
“So, your friend, Mr. Blu, he was a good man, yes?” Tawanda asked as she pinned Autumn’s hair up.
Autumn smiled. “Yes, he was a very good man. He used to make me laugh so much. It was a miracle we ever got any music made.”
“I know how you feel about his death, but you really must not blame yourself, child.”
“I do blame myself, Tawanda. If it wasn’t for me, he would be alive. It is my fault. I just have to live with that. Although that might not be for long. Perhaps I’ll get off lightly.”
“What you’re doing for your father is very brave.”
“I know I might not get to see him again, but...well...up until now...he’s the man that provided all my good memories. He was the one I thought of all the time, and all those good times comforted me during the dark moments,” Autumn admitted.
Tawanda picked up the can of hairspray and brandished it like a weapon. “A girl of your age should not have to have dark moments. Is criminal. You have such a beautiful talent. It should not make your life dark.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Autumn said with a sigh.
“Of course it matters. You have awards to win at the International show. I hear that song by prostitute. She sound like ill cat.”
Autumn let out a laugh then closed her mouth as Tawanda began to spray the hairspray on her hair.
“Now, you cannot speak. You let me tell you something. You and Mr. Nathan, perhaps I was wrong. I see how he is with you. I see how he looks at you when he thinks no one sees. I tell you before, he is a good man, but he has been through dark times, just like you. Be patient, child.”
“I don’t think we have that long,” Autumn said, getting a mouthful of spray as she talked.
“Have faith, child,” Tawanda insisted. “Have faith.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
There were probably two dozen paparazzi outside the church, together with film crews from various television stations. Blu-Daddy had been popular worldwide, and the extensive coverage of this memorial service proved that.
Autumn played with her fingers in her lap as she sat in the back of the cab with Tawanda and Nathan. She had never felt so nervous. She didn’t know if she could actually do it. She wasn’t concerned about the photographers. Her mind wasn’t even on the fact she could be kidnapped at any moment. It was facing Blu-Daddy’s widow and seeing his children that troubled her.
“There are a lot of people here,” Tawanda commented, looking out at the packed sidewalk where reporters jostled for the best position.
One...two...three...four…five. Autumn counted the parking meters, the trees lining the edge of the park opposite, the long-range lenses.
“You don’t have to do this,” Nathan reminded her.
“Yes I do.”
The reply was immediate. No matter how out of her comfort zone this was going to take her, she needed to do this, for Blu’s memory, for her own peace of mind.
“No one’s expecting you to be here,” he said.
“You mean, that tiny article I’m assuming my mother got in the Daily Mail, about how I’m grief stricken and in hiding? What was that supposed to do?” Autumn snapped. “Make less photographers for the kidnappers to navigate through on their way to grab me?”
She opened and shut her purse and tried to hide her trembling hands.
The cab stopped outside the entrance, and immediately, the cameras were trained on the car, and reporters shouted and screamed.
Autumn took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to summon up energy she didn’t really have in her. She grabbed the door handle and opened it.
Nathan put his hand over her and stopped her. “Wait, hang on. You can’t just get out. I’ll get out first,” he said.
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I just need to do this, now, before I change my mind.”
He nodded and leaned across her, opening the door and stepping down onto the side of the road.
“I’ll be right behind you, child,” Tawanda assured her.
Nathan held his hand out and she took it, holding on as she descended from the cab. She tried to ignore the shouts and clicking cameras.
Fine drizzle met them, and Nathan shielded Autumn protectively, not just from the rain, but from the pack of reporters. Each tried to elbow their way to the front, teeth bared, drool hanging from their lips, waiting for that exclusive quote or premium snapshot.
“Autumn! A tough day for you! How do you feel?”
The question was yelled into the air, and she heard it, but she barely understood why it needed to be asked. Wasn’t it written all over her face? She felt like a murderess. She felt guilty and ashamed and desperately sad.
“Head up, walk on,” Nathan whispered to her.
“Has Mr. Regan been a support to you? We hear you’re getting engaged. Can you confirm that, Autumn?”
Autumn gritted her teeth and clutched Nathan’s arm. “I can’t bear this,” she said.
Nathan hissed at the reporters. “Miss Raine has nothing to say. Have some respect, will you? This is a memorial service, not a fucking album launch.”
His comments and look of fury were captured for tabloid use, and the questions stopped.
“Can we just sit at the back?” Autumn asked. “I want to be here, but I don’t know whether I can speak to anyone. Not yet. Not Kara, Blu’s wife.”
“I will go in, see what seats are free,” Tawanda suggested, moving ahead of them.
Nathan nodded at her. “Thanks, Tawanda.”
She looked so young and fragile, all dressed in black like the first time they’d met, yet so different. It wasn’t a designer outfit. It was a knee-length cotton and lace dress, and instead of high-heels, she wore black pumps.
“Listen, now probably isn’t the best time, but...what you said earlier about...” he began.
He didn’t really know what he was going to say, but he felt he had to say something. He didn’t want her to think what they’d done together hadn’t meant anything. He really needed to word it right.
“It doesn’t matter. I was being emotional. And you were being practical and sensible. And you were...”
“Wrong.” He took a breath and watched her look up at him. Those soulful eyes, tear-filled and sore from crying, met his, and he just wanted to pull her into him, keep her close.
“Excuse me,” a tall, olive-skinned man in a black suit said. “Here is an
Order of Service. Would you like to follow me this way? You have seats reserved.”
The man passed a pamphlet to Autumn then one to Nathan and headed off down the hall to the left of the main door.
The moment was lost, but what concerned Nathan more was the accent of the usher. The man beckoned them forward, and Autumn stepped toward him.
Nathan caught her arm and drew her back. His heart thumped in his chest as he looked at her. He swallowed and tried to compose himself.
“Are you ready?” he asked her.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“You’re not going to make the service, Autumn. This is it...he is it,” Nathan whispered, indicating the man waiting for them to follow his lead.
“As-Wana,” Autumn mouthed almost silently.
He gripped her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to make them take me, too,” he assured her.
“This way, Miss Raine,” the usher called.
“But what if...” Autumn started, her voice weak.
“I’m going to make them take me, too,” Nathan repeated.
Her legs were shaking, but she tried not to show any sign that she knew what was about to happen. Besides, Nathan didn’t really know. It wasn’t as if he knew the man. He could be wrong. Just because the man looked Asian didn’t mean he was a terrorist. You couldn’t make a judgment about a person like that. In fact, she was pretty sure you could be fined heavily for making a judgment like that.
And the man was smiling, now, and not in a particularly creepy way. Did terrorists only smile in a creepy way? The only pictures she had seen on television had terrorists snarling as they carried RPGs. She only knew that abbreviation because she’d watched The Hurt Locker.
The man opened a door to a room on their left. “This way, Miss Raine,” he said.
