Dedication
Debbie Chisnell~Thanks for the help and the distractions.
Chapter One
Bright light from the full moon glinted off the stainless-steel appliances in the immaculate kitchen. A scream echoed through the large space, drowning out the grunts and moans coming from the two men fighting near the center, arms locked in a combative embrace. The sickening thud of flesh on flesh was followed by a spurt of blood that showered the island countertop. The man dressed in black from head to toe took advantage, flinging them both to the ground with a bone-jarring crunch. He rolled, kneeling above the other man, who was wearing only boxers. With a snick, the man in black flicked open a switchblade. He swung it in an arc above his head, catching the moonlight, making the metal glow. The knife slashed through the air into the bare chest of the man below and another scream pierced the kitchen’s confines.
“Yoo-hoo.”
Aislinn Campbell sucked in a breath and shook her head, trying to ward off the last vestiges of the vision plaguing her yet again.
“Are you there, hon? Earth to Aislinn.” Christina Marshall, the closest friend Aislinn had—the only friend she had—waved a hand in front of her face.
Aislinn had tried more times than she could count not to get close to the uber-bubbly personality that was Chris, to no avail. Chris had insinuated herself in Aislinn’s life and never looked back.
Aislinn flushed with embarrassment. Of all the times for her to have a vision—at work in front of numerous coworkers. Great. She could probably count the minutes until word got around about her freakiness. Fighting the urge to cover her ears against the memories of past taunts, she fisted her hands on the arms of the ergonomic computer chair.
Her gaze traveled from one side of the room to the other, taking everything in. Mr. Turner liked the open work spaces instead of offices that shut everyone away. It was a fun atmosphere, which in turn led to lower turnover of employees and more production. No one seemed to be looking at her, not even Chris, who hopefully was too busy picking on her fingernail to notice Aislinn’s distress.
“So how late did he make you stay last night?” Chris’s focus remained on her nails but Aislinn heard the hint of amusement touching her voice.
Aislinn cleared her throat. “What?” Her friend wasn’t acting like she’d noticed her momentary space out. Well, except for the Earth to Aislinn comment.
Chris dropped her hand and propped a butt cheek on the corner of Aislinn’s desk. She looked her typical bored self, but Aislinn could see her attention was focused on something. Her gaze darted between the bank of elevators and Aislinn.
If she didn’t know better, Aislinn might be offended. Despite Chris’s protests, she was seriously interested in one of their boss’s bodyguards. Aislinn hadn’t figured out which one yet. And she didn’t care. No man would ever have that kind of hold over her again.
“You know,” Chris murmured. “Last night. The meeting. How long did he make you stay?”
“Oh. That. Not too late. Seven twenty-eight.”
Chris laughed. “Not too late, but late enough you noticed the exact minute you walked out the door? Were his groupies with him?” she sneered.
Aislinn straightened the paperwork on her desk. Not even eight o’clock in the morning and already Mr. Turner had four messages. Her mouth went dry thinking about Kyle Turner III. Somehow she had to warn him without drawing attention to herself. She’d left him an email, but who knew if he’d even open it. Most of the time he left the menial task to her.
So she’d have to open her own email and then tell him what it said without letting on that she’d been the one to send it.
And just how would she go about that? You got this strange email, Mr. Turner. It says, “Please watch yourself. I think someone’s going to kill you in a kitchen.”
She could see it now. He’d look up at her from beneath his mile long eyelashes with those gorgeous cornflower blue eyes, the corner of his mouth would quirk and he’d say, “Haven’t I told you to stop opening strange emails? You’re going to get our entire system infected with a virus.”
Not to mention he would consider her for a “whacko of the century” award. She could imagine the padded cell with her name on it. Either that or his groupies, as Chris referred to them, would call her an accomplice to whatever nefarious demise was planned for Mr. Turner and have her locked away in a different kind of cell. One with bars, a disgusting toilet, a bunk with grungy, paper-thin mattresses and a cellmate named Large Marge.
Either way she wouldn’t have to worry ever again about David. Her ex would have no access to her in jail. Huh. Maybe she should think on the possibility some more… Jail couldn’t be all that bad. Food cooked for her, exercise time, TV time—Good Lord! She was actually contemplating going to jail to get away from the man who should be there himself. What did that say about her?
Aislinn shook her head and forced herself to unclench the arms of the chair she’d taken hold of at some point for a second time.
“Man you are in another world today. What’s up, chickie?” Chris crossed her arms over her chest.
“Nothing,” Aislinn mumbled, rearranging her desk. Since when had she become OCD? “I’ve got a lot to do today and you’re sitting on my faxes.”
Chris lifted her butt and Aislinn yanked the papers out from under her.
“Were his groupies with him? Did they walk you to your car at least? Nothing about them seems at all civil. Do you think they ever leave Mr. Turner’s side, or do you think the three of them sleep together too?” Chris had a habit of pulling questions out of thin air just for the sake of speaking. She was a chatterbox. The quirk was probably one of the reasons Aislinn liked the woman so much. Chris reminded Aislinn of her mother. Darla Campbell could talk the ears off anyone.
Aislinn snickered. “Yes, yes, and I have a feeling none of those men have ever been near a bed at the same time. Well, a real bed anyway. Probably when they were in the military they spent a lot of time watching each other’s backs when they slept.” She paused and cocked her head, thinking about something she’d seen a few weeks ago involving a blonde bombshell of a model and her friend’s “groupies”. “On second thought, TJ and Jonathan might be in cahoots.” She winked at Chris. Talking about the two men was bound to raise Chris’s hackles.
“No way.”
Aislinn hid a smile at Chris’s outright denial. “I was kidding,” she consoled and watched Chris’s shoulders droop. A second later her friend’s back went ramrod straight.
“Speak of the devils.” Chris jumped from her seat on the desk and straightened her clothes. The woman was practically primping herself. It wouldn’t have surprised Aislinn if Chris ran her fingers through her hair too and dabbed on some lipstick.
Aislinn looked through the wall of glass at the three men making their way across the expansive lobby from the elevators. She fought the temptation to do some primping of her own. Her pulse sped up and her breath hitched the same way it did every time Kyle Turner III came near. Strange, considering she never wanted to be with a man again.
“Way too much testosterone right there if you ask me. Eighteen feet plus of packed muscle, tanned bods, gorgeous hair and enough charm to coax a snake to part from its skin. Throw in Jon’s clear blue eyes and TJ’s fathomless brown ones and what have you got? Sex on wheels,” Chris grunted. “They practically swagger. Can you see them in long dusters and cowboy hats? Picture an old western film and them moving across a dusty street in slow motion. It’s disgusting.”
Aislinn snorted. “Is that why you’re fixing yourself up?” Damn. The duster image was a nice one. She could see Kyle in one of those. And nothing else. Oh God.
“TJ will sleep with any woman who moves and Jonathan with anyone blonde and b
lue eyed. They both think they’re God’s gift and have egos the size of Texas.” Chris’s words wiped the vision from Aislinn’s mind.
“For someone who says they can’t stand TJ and Jonathan, you sure talk about them a lot. The color of their eyes, how sexy they are. Maybe you really want them.” Aislinn stood and gathered up the message slips, a memo pad and a pencil. Kyle was a creature of habit and liked to have her attention first thing in the morning.
She shrugged off the feeling he asked her to join him for coffee for more than just catching up on what she’d done in the hour before he arrived.
Chris’ mouth opened and closed and her cheeks turned red. “I do not,” she hissed, keeping her voice low as they drew nearer.
“Uh-huh,” Aislinn agreed, sarcastically.
“Morning, ladies,” Kyle said, sauntering up to them like he owned the place.
Oh yeah. He did. Anybody who employed two bodyguards on a ’round the clock basis certainly owned the business.
“Good morning, Mr. Turner.” Chris turned to Aislinn. “Lunch, Ais? Mexican?”
“Yes.” Where else would they go? Their chicken tortilla soup was to die for.
“Can we come too?”
Aislinn nearly laughed at the pitiful puppy-dog-eyes expression on Jon’s face.
Chris practically lifted her nose in the air. “No.”
“Can you feel the love, Teej?”
“I can feel it, Jon.” TJ put a hand over his heart in a wounded way.
“Stuff it, groupies. Later, Ais.” Chris walked away, but not before Aislinn saw how red her ears were.
Totally unaffected by TJ and Jonathan. And pigs could fly. The woman talked about them nonstop until one or both appeared and then she clammed up and threw them a cold shoulder. Her attitude reminded Aislinn of a high-school crush where you really liked a boy but you didn’t want him to know it so you were mean to him rather than telling him how you really felt. It was still a type of flirting in a roundabout way.
“Are you ready?” Kyle’s deep voice rolled through her body, giving her goose bumps and the insane thought he was talking about more than work.
“Absolutely.” Aislinn smiled and fought the temptation to lean into the warm hand he placed at the small of her back as he guided her to his office. She’d been there done that with David. Look what it had gotten her. A ton of bruises, a life in hiding and a lot of bottled-up secrets.
Aislinn looked fucking gorgeous this morning, as always. Freckles danced across her nose and cheeks. Kyle wanted to count them. With his lips. Her green eyes sparkled like brilliant emeralds from the laughter she’d been engaged in with Christina a minute ago. Sometime soon she’d laugh with him the same way. He was working on it, slowly but surely.
When she walked, the unruly red hair she had in its usual ponytail swished across the back of her neck, trickling over delicate skin. When he finally got her into bed, that space would be one of the first places he tasted. Aislinn never quite pulled the hair all the way through the band, but left the ends tucked in so the tail became a bun. Sort of, he guessed. Kyle had no clue what women called those particular things.
He only knew he couldn’t wait to strip the elastic out of her hair and feel all those glorious fire red strands sliding over his thighs as she sucked his cock.
His dick twitched inside his jeans, coming to life the way it had every day for the last six months. If her past was anything to go by—and he knew it was—he had very little time left to make her his before she bolted again. He wasn’t about to let that happen. It was time for her to stop running. And he was the man prepared to see to her safety.
She didn’t know it, but Kyle had been keeping a periodic eye on her since the moment he’d learned the reason she’d come to Turner Industries in the first place. Hell, she’d only been there for three days when his private investigator had come in with a background check on Aislinn—a background that included an abusive ex who had stalked and tormented the fiery redhead until she felt the need to get a restraining order.
The order had only succeeded in pissing the bastard off to the point of attack. According to the police reports, Aislinn had barely lived through the terrifying ordeal. Kyle fisted his hands, remembering the pictures he’d seen of her battered face. The fucker should be in jail. Instead he was out there somewhere, hiding like the little mole he was.
Where the urge to protect her so fiercely came from, Kyle had no idea. He only knew that from the second she’d walked into his office, he had to have her. The background check had given him pause and made him back off when he would have started in immediately trying to make her his. If he waited much longer, his cock was likely to shrivel up and fall off from lack of use. It knew Kyle’s hand in explicit detail, but it wanted the soft recesses it would find buried deep in Aislinn’s pussy.
He fully applauded her attempt to flee David Tarkell. She’d done an excellent job, moving from place to place, never staying in one location for more than eight months or so, never getting attached to the people she worked with. Except she had this time. He could tell how close she’d gotten to Christina. He even recognized her initial wariness to do so.
“Coffee, Mr. Turner?”
He growled low in his throat, loud enough for her to hear, if the way her spine stiffened was any indication. Kyle hated the way she said his name. Or rather, didn’t. No matter how many times he’d asked her to call him Kyle, she still refused. He guessed it was some sort of defense mechanism. If she didn’t get close to anyone, it was easier to move on.
“Coffee?”
Kyle cleared his throat. “Please.”
She moved past him, carefully skirting his body even as he crowded her between himself and the desk. Her sharp, white teeth bit on the full lower lip he couldn’t wait to taste.
He inhaled her scent as she came within inches of him—a combination of something fruity from whatever shampoo she washed her hair with and all woman. Based on the fact he could smell her sweet essence, she sure as hell wasn’t as immune to him as she would like to believe. He would bet anything she was wet under the shapeless black slacks.
He snorted. If she thought she was hiding anything from him, she was sadly mistaken. She could wear a potato sack and he’d still be able to see her great body. The only thing left to do was strip the material from her so he could actually feel the perfect skin he knew he would find beneath.
“Do you have a duster?” she blurted, rolling the words together.
Kyle jerked his gaze from her ass to her face as she turned around, coffee in one shaky hand, eyes wide, lip still being worried by those teeth.
Fuck. At the rate she was going, she’d have a hole in that lip by noon. He moved to her slowly, an eyebrow quirked. She’d thrown him for a loop for sure.
“As in…feather?” he asked, getting closer and not even beginning to imagine where she was headed with the question. He knew what he’d like to do with a feather duster and a whole lot of her gorgeous, bare skin.
She swallowed and two spots of red graced her pale cheeks.
“Oh God.” Her cheeks got impossibly redder and he bit back a smile.
“And just why is it you want to know if I have a feather duster?” he whispered, running his knuckles up the arm holding out the mug. Beneath the white blouse she wore, her nipples puckered. He wondered if she even noticed how her body responded to him because he sure the hell did. She tensed and sucked in a breath, but he didn’t let up. It was time for her to stop running.
Aislinn cringed and croaked, “Not feather.” She stepped back, out of reach, but the counter stopped her and he moved in again.
“No?”
She shook her head vigorously enough to slosh hot coffee over the rim and onto her delicate skin.
“Shit.” Kyle jerked the mug from her hand as she squeaked in pain, and he turned her to face the sink.
He plunked the coffee down, ignoring the spill of more dark liquid, and flipped on the faucet. Grabbing her wrist, Kyle guided her
hand under the cold water and held it there. His heart thumped against her upper back right between her shoulder blades as he held her snugly against his chest. Her bottom cradled his erection and he bit back a curse. The damn thing should have gone bye-bye the second he’d seen her injured, instead it grew bigger at her nearness.
She hissed at the cool against the burn and Kyle rubbed his thumb over the pink area just above her thumb. It wouldn’t even blister, he didn’t think. He pulled her hand from the stream and looked closer at the damage. What he saw made his temper explode.
“What the fuck is this, Aislinn?”
She gasped and yanked her hand from his hold, burying it behind the other at her belly.
Kyle jerked her around to face him, cursing under his breath when he saw the panicked look. He eased her hands apart and recaptured the injured one to inspect it again.
Why the fuck hadn’t he seen the fading white scars gracing her hand before? Because he hadn’t been looking at her hands, that’s why.
Rage flared to life. If he ever caught the mother fucker who’d done this to her, he’d kill the bastard himself. And since he knew exactly who’d done it, he was one step away from murder.
“It’s nothing,” she cried and tried to pull away.
This time, Kyle held fast. “Bullshit,” he spat and turned her hand over. The healed scars covered her palm too. In his book they were clearly defensive wounds. He smoothed over all of them and fought the desire to punch something for the injustice done to her.
“Who did it?” he rasped, knowing full well who the culprit was. If Aislinn had any chance of getting over David Tarkell she would have to talk to someone.
“No one,” she insisted, tugging harder.
Kyle whipped his gaze to her startled one. “You did this to yourself?” He didn’t believe it for a second but Jesus, he’d heard of people who hurt themselves when they felt they had no other outlet. Cutters, he thought they were called. He closed his eyes against the pain threatening to seize him. Please God, don’t let her be that far gone.
“No, I…”
Two Sighted Page 1
