by Dee Palmer
“In name only, and I promise there will be no wedding. Misty no more wants to marry me than I do her. She’s in love with a musician, but she’s struck the same deal with her family.”
“This is nuts.”
“This is how things work.”
“In the dark ages.”
“In the now ages. We will have a long engagement and once the few deals that are in play are finalised, we call it off. Her parents will be pissed, my mother will be pissed, but Misty and I will both get what we want.” He states this as if it is a done deal. My head is a mess, my heart just misses him, and I can feel it pulling me toward this dark place. It’s all wrong. Still, even my stupid heart needs some assurances.
“You don’t love her,” I mumble. He shakes his head like I’ve said something ridiculous when this whole situation is fucking ridiculous.
“I love you. There’s only ever been you, Tia, always and forever, remember?” His hand spears around my neck, and he pulls me so we are forehead to forehead. His eyes are my undoing, they always are. I don’t fall, I dive into them, and I’m so lost. I know with a sense of doomed inevitability, just like him, I have no choice.
“Heart and soul,” I whisper. His lips press against mine with painful urgency. The tingle I feel whenever he touches me ignites a fiery path of prickles across my skin, and I struggle to breathe. He will be the death of me. He breaks the kiss and waits expectantly, knowing I have more questions.
“Have you had sex with her?” He raises a brow, and I can feel my jaw pulse with tension. My stomach rolls, not from the lack of food for once, but the sick feeling and bad taste this question has left in my mouth.
“No, she has her boyfriend for that, not me.” He tilts his head in preparation for more questions.
“Have you had sex with anyone else?” I clearly don’t know him as well as I thought I did, that I even have to ask this question. His face is a mix of hurt and confusion.
“How could you ask that, Tia? I said I would wait for you, and I never lied.”
“You are engaged to another girl, Cass, and I’ve been legal for over a year. So excuse me if I think having sex with me may not have been a priority, since all evidence points to the fact that it’s not.” My cheeks heat with embarrassment and a little indignant rage.
“Trust me, you are my top priority, and making love with you for the first time is just about all I think of. It’s certainly all I thought about on the flight over. Tia, I know I’m asking too much, but I need you, and I need your understanding. Not everything is as it seems, and I’m risking more than you know just being here now.” His voice drops and the cold, serious tone makes me shiver.
“What do you mean you shouldn’t be here?”
“I’m just not supposed to be here, that’s all.” He tries to dismiss my concern, but I fix him with my unwavering stare. “I just have a lot going on in the States, and since you wouldn’t take my calls, and Grandpa decided to share before I could tell you myself, I had no choice but to come. I had to clear the air…is it clear, Tia?”
“I don’t know, Cass. I don’t know what to believe,” I answer honestly.
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” It’s always the same instant response; regardless of how confused I am right now, that is a constant.
“Then that’s all that matters.” He holds my gaze, and I see the truth in his eyes. He holds the contact for long seconds until he is satisfied I believe him, and I do. I hope that doesn’t make me a fool. I swear it will be more than his balls he needs to worry about if it does.
“You’ve really not had sex? You must be the only twenty-year-old in college that hasn’t!” I sniff and let out a snicker that lifts the solemn intensity of the air weighing us both down.
“It has been mentioned.” He barks out a deep laugh. “However, when I show pictures of you to those taking the piss, waiting is a no-brainer. And if you hadn’t kicked me in the balls, trust me, we wouldn’t be waiting one second more.” He quirks a sad smile, and years and years of pent-up sexual frustration, temptation, and Atticus’s imposed celibacy all turn around and bite me in my own arse. My damn foot.
“Oh, no!” My eyes dart to the heavily padded crotch of his blood soaked jeans and I just want to cry. “No, really?” It’s a stupid question. Of course, really. He’s in agony, and the last thing I want is our first time to be the stuff of nightmares.
“Yeah.” His tone mirrors my own regret.
“Maybe you’ll be better in a day or two?” I offer up some hope, but he shoots me down.
“Not going to help much. I have to leave tomorrow.”
“No, Cass, please,” I plead, and his face is the picture of remorse.
“I’m sorry, Tia, I can’t stay.”
“It’s my last exam on Friday. I’m actually going out with others to celebrate. Can’t you just stay until then?” I’m desperate to find a loophole, even if I can see in his face it’s futile.
“If I could, princess, you know I would.” He kisses my forehead, pressing his lips hard as if trying to brand my skin, savour my touch as much I need to do the same.
“This is so fucking hard, Cass, I hate the way I feel when you’re not here.” I bite my lip to stop it wobbling, and lower the pressure of the tears prickling behind my nose
“How about the way you feel when I am here.” He shifts to his side and lies down on my bed, his feet dangling over the edge, and his large frame filling the single space. He pulls on my arm to lie beside him, and he turns to face me. His eyes pierce right through me, and I can feel myself burning up from the inside at the way his gaze is slowly devouring every part of my body.
“I don’t remember that. It’s been so long.” The words are a barely audible whisper. His wicked smile is evidence enough he knows what he is doing to me. He draws in a deep breath through his nose. He can smell what he’s doing to me, and too late I squeeze my legs together to quell the ache. Oh, god.
“Then let me remind you.”
One Week after Cass’s visit.
Friday
“Are we ever going to see this boyfriend of yours?” Tiffany from my art class nudges me as we are pressed together, trying to get served at the local pub nearest to my school. Pretty much the whole of the year finished their final exams today, and we descended en masse to the Nags Head to celebrate. I smile wide and bright before I answer. I spoke to Cass last night and he gave me the best news ever.
“He’s coming back next month, for good.” I give a little bounce on my toes, because my body literally can’t contain the excitement. We’ve spoken at length, every day since he came over, and last night he told me he had sorted everything and had renegotiated his ‘situation’. He’d decided on the flight back that he wasn’t prepared to put me though the whole engagement charade, not even for a pretend moment. To say I was relieved would’ve been an understatement of the century. Tiffany pouts and huffs. “That’s no good. We’ve finished school now, Tia. It’s the summer holidays, work, and University. I’ll never get to see him now.”
“Yes, you will.” Tiffany’s boyfriend Carl leans over her shoulder having heard the best part of our conversation and offers his thoughts and suggestions. “When we collect the results in August, we’ll all head back to his castle for a big ol’ party, ain’t that right, Tia?”
“Oh, yeah, sure! Mrs Kruse would love to open up her ‘castle’ to me and my friends, and it’s not really a castle.” I shrug, because Tartarus Hall is probably actually bigger than most castles.
“Aw, you called us your friends.” Carl steps around Tiffany and hangs his heavy arm over my shoulder, pulling me in for a rough side-hug. He squeezes the breath from my lungs, it feels good, almost normal, and then his next comment reminds me I’m anything but. “We all thought you were allergic to friends.”
“Um, no…I’m not like that.” I can feel my cheeks flush with heat, where embarrassment is fighting with awkwardness. Fortunately, this time the general noise and crowd in the pub means no one is pay
ing me any attention, and Tiffany interrupts before I have to answer further.
“Here, Tia, have a pint.” She hands me a tall straight glass with a frothy white top. I start to shake my head, but she pushes the beer into my hand and scolds me with a lightly mocking tone.
“It’s a village pub, Tia. It’s practically in Middle Earth, we’re so far from the cops, and besides, you’re eighteen soon, and no one’s going to tell.” I smile and take a sip, foam coating my top lip.
“Thanks.” I’m not sure I like the taste, but I like the feeling of being included. That’s a first.
“That’s pretty, is that from him?” She waggles her dark brows playfully, her brow-piercing catches the light as it bounces with her facial excitement. She lifts the long sleeve of my school blouse and tugs on my very precious bracelet.
“Oh, no, it’s a gift from his grandfather, I’m only wearing it for the exams. Kind of hoping it’s going to bring me luck. I need straight A’s.” I pull the sleeve back down to cover it, not wanting to draw any unwelcome attention, not that I think there are any thieves or muggers in my year, but I am far from knowing everyone here to make that judgment, and if Oskar taught me anything, it’s a healthy distrust of everything.
“Well, if you can’t get an A in Art, what hope do the rest of us have?” Tiffany groans and rolls her eyes with exasperation. She’s an excellent seamstress and designer, and she will no doubt get an A in Fashion, but straight Art is not her forte.
“Come on, join me outside for a smoke.” She tips her head toward the front door, and I follow where she clears a path through the crowd to the seating area out front. An excess of students have spilled out of the pub in search of some elbow room and fresh air. The latter is unlikely as the number of people smoking fills the small car park; a soft cloud seems to rest just above our heads, and there is an odd mix of aromas that I don’t recognise as tobacco. Tiffany offers me a hand rolled cigarette and snickers when I raise my brow with suspicion. Weed, really?
“Just to take the edge off.” She winks conspiratorially, and I am just about to brave my first puff of anything, when I freeze.
In the distance, I can hear the sirens, and the guilt of a crime not yet committed hits me, and I shake my head. Tiffany taps the end of her joint out in the nearest ashtray and pockets the evidence. As the convoy of cars screeches to a halt in the small pub car park I am also glad I don’t actually have the pint of beer in my hand, although the number of officers would indicate a much more serious crime than underage drinking. There are three police cars and a blacked out Range Rover that I recognise from the number plate as Mrs Kruse’s car, strange.
“There she is!” Mrs Kruse points her finger directly at me, and the crowd of students gathered outside on this late afternoon all stop what they’re doing and turn to face me. Tiffany’s jaw drops, and she takes a step back like I am suddenly infectious. I shrug and shake my head with confusion. Stunned into silence, I manage to walk toward the police officer as he approaches. It’s very obviously me he’s after.
“Are you Tia Parker?” The officer flips his pocket book open and shut before I reply.
“Yes.” I look over at Mrs Kruse who now is laughing lightly with one of the officers and what looks like a plain clothes detective. Her hand rests on his arm like they are more than familiar, and he is standing very much in her personal space, with a protective arm hovering close to her shoulders.
“Where did you get that?” He points to the bracelet peeking below my cuff. My other hand instantly flies to cover it.
“This?” I ask, although he can no longer see the piece of jewellery, as my hand is hiding it from view.
“It belongs to you?” His tone is disbelieving, and he smirks.
“Yes, of course.” My affronted tone causes a knowing grin to distort his impassive face. He sniffs out and tuts, like he’s just heard a tired joke for the hundredth time.
“Then may I ask where you bought it from?” He sounds so bored I wonder if he will even hear my reply so I speak very clearly, slowly, and just shy of shouting.
“I didn’t buy it; it was a gift.” I bite my lips into a tight line. His accusatory tone is like a slap to the face.
“There is no need to patronise me, Miss Parker. It’s a simple question that doesn’t require attitude,” he retorts. I wasn’t even trying for patronising. “That’s a rather expensive gift for a housekeeper’s daughter, wouldn’t you say?” I don’t like the way he emphasises the word gift, but I have to agree with the sentiment.
“Yes, it is, and that’s why I was reluctant to accept it at first. However, Oskar insisted. May I ask what’s this about?” I try to adjust my tone, but it has no effect. The officer steps forward, handcuffs in hand and spins me on the spot so I am facing away from him. He snatches my hands one at a time and secures the handcuffs behind my back.
“You’re under arrest for the theft of that piece jewellery to start with, but from what Mrs Kruse claims, theft isn’t the only crime we will be investigating.” He pulls me away from the students silently staring at me, roughly leading me to the first police car.
“What the hell!” I struggle out from his hold and step away. I turn back to face him, rage boiling my blood and all I can see is red. I scream out. “Oskar gave this to me! I didn’t steal shit! Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me!” My voice is pitched with fury, and even to my own ears I sound more than a little hysterical, but this is ridiculous.
“He’s dead.” The police officer states, and I can feel all the blood drain from my body. Agony rushes through my veins as whatever blood remains chills to ice with this revelation.
“What?” I mouth out along with a silent sob that buckles me over. I raise my head to look over at Mrs Kruse for confirmation. Her face is plastered with a sneer that leaves me cold, sick, and devastated. She walks over to me, looking down her nose, and from her most favourite view, she speaks.
“You are a liar and a thief,” she states as a matter of fact, then with a performance worthy of any Academy Award, she crushes her hand to her chest and wails, sobs bursting from her as she wobbles on her feet only to be steadied by the officers at her side. “You are very likely the reason my dear father-in-law passed away so unexpectedly last night.” She buries her head in the chest of the plain clothes officer, only even from here I can see her lips tip in a cruel smile.
“Where were you last night, Miss…Miss?” I don’t hear the rest of his questions. I close my eyes, my ears rush with blood, and I can feel myself falling, and I can’t stop. I know I won’t stop until I hit the very bottom. Until I’m in Hell.
Present Day
I can’t stop sucking my swollen lips into my mouth. They tingle, and I can still taste Logan. I close my eyes because I want to savour him for as long as I can. I don’t know when I’m going to see him again, and right now, my body is thrumming to learn what he meant when he said this was the beginning. The attraction and desire have always been there; I just felt I had too much to lose, and I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t just freak at the first real intimate contact. I just didn’t think my mind would ever let my body just feel without some sort of hideous recall. His touch was beyond intimate. That kiss was full-on feral and off the charts scorching hot. My body responded like it never has, well, not since…
“Penny for them?” Atticus’s deep gravelly voice travels the length of the stretch limo. The silence was palpable but preferable to speaking. I don’t trust myself when I can feel my emotions are already frayed, because this is Atticus and a riot of God knows what because of Logan. The limousine carrying us across the city is huge, and I am wedged on the opposite end of the bench from him. Atticus is lounging along the rear seat, his long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. His suit barely has a wrinkle, and the only concession to him being an off-duty CEO is that his navy silk tie is loose, and his top button is open. One arm rests along the back, and his long fingers are tapping out a beat that, when I close my eyes, I can feel my own heart is m
atching the steady rhythm.
I tucked myself at the farthest edge of the bench as soon as I got in, turned my back on Atticus, and have stared out of the window the entire time the car has crawled like a luxurious snail across the city. Taking me away from my home, my safety, from Logan. However, it’s also taking me to where I need to be. He coughs too loudly and manages to infuse the sound with his obvious irritation. I snap my head around, narrow my gaze, and pinch my lips into a tight humourless smile.
“You sure, Atticus? Because according to the charges you brought against me, shouldn’t you be asking for pounds, lots and lots of pounds?” He barks out a flat laugh and folds his lean body over so his elbows are resting on his knees, his fingertips pointed and pressed together under his chin. His crystal blue eyes couldn’t be any darker and still retain their captivating colour, and I find myself struggling to swallow. All the time he holds my gaze with such intensity, I can feel my heart squeeze painfully with the memory of him, of us.
“You did always know how to make me laugh, Tia, but this isn’t fucking funny.” His harsh tone pulls me back to the stark reality, and his scowl just adds to the fury dancing across his features. His jaw is clenched, and he drags his hand roughly through his hair, pulling the ice blond strands free from his eyes, his gaze staring right through me when he speaks. “I could lose the company if—” He snaps his mouth shut just as I interrupt.
“No, you’re damn right!” My voice is pitched high as, with considerable effort, I try and calm my rocketing rage. It’s bubbling in the pit of my stomach like molten acid, eroding my resolve from the inside, and I’m not sure how the hell I am going to last this car journey, let alone six months. I let out a calming breath, losing the hysterical edge but keeping all the animosity and hatred. “It isn’t remotely funny, and I hope you do lose the company.” I watch his eyes narrow and his back straighten. His lips curl slowly with misunderstanding, as if my words were an actual confession of the theft. He is so damn certain of my guilt, it turns my already fragile stomach. I sniff back an acrid laugh and continue to speak.
