Confer, Lorelei - Deadly Deception (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Deadly Deception (lit)

The bright moonlight shining through the big windows made the room appear as if a soft light had been turned on. He hadn’t heard the water running for a while nor had he seen or heard her come down the stairs. He decided it was time to investigate her whereabouts on his own.

  Tiptoeing up the stairs, he walked into his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt. The moonlight streaming in through the open French doors illuminated the room, spreading its light across the bed, spotlighting where she lay. The sight took his breath away, her appearance ethereal, chaste, and virtuous.

  She lay on her back with her arms flung aside. She had put on his robe after her shower and it had ridden up, showing her beautiful, shapely legs. He could see her soft feminine curls between her legs where the robe had slid open. She was beautiful, and with her tussled dark hair a contrast on the white pillow case, and her soft, now-clean milky skin she reverberated sexy. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to do so much more: he simply wanted her. He couldn’t believe the feelings coming to the surface, feelings he hadn’t had in too long, feelings only a man can feel for a woman he desired, feelings he couldn’t and didn’t want to hide.

  Trying not to disturb her, he gently lay down on the bed beside her. She shifted onto her side toward him and put her hand on his chest. Expecting a response, he lifted his head to look at her, but her eyes remained closed in sleep. He stared at her fingers splayed across his chest, it felt good, somehow right. He laid his head back down, put his hand on top of hers, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 12

  The effectiveness of the aroma of coffee permeating the bedroom roused Isabella from her sleep. Before opening her eyes she languished in the comfort of the bed, thinking she had spent the night at her mom’s, planning to spend a leisurely day shopping and girl-talking. She heard the birds chirping as a cool breeze drifted across her bare legs. It must be a windy day for so much air to be coming in the small opening of my bedroom window.

  She stretched her arms over her head, groaning from the aches in her sore leg muscles. She half opened her tired eyes and peered around the room. Finding it barely light outside, she was surprised to see the open French doors. She looked out onto the pretty landscaped yard and caught her breath. All the memories of the past few days or weeks came rushing back. Her heart stuck in her throat, strangling her. How could this be happening to me?

  Sitting up and glancing around the room, she noticed the indentation in the top of the pillow beside her, which suggested Wyatt must have come to bed sometime during the night.

  As she heard footsteps on the stairs nearing the bedroom door, she pulled the bed covers up to her neck just as Wyatt walked into the room carrying two cups of steaming coffee.

  His presence filled the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off his bare chest, the hardened muscles rippling as he moved, the V-shaped chest hair leading to a point below the waistband of his well-worn jeans that fit his butt perfectly. She tightened her hold on the covers as he moved toward the bed.

  “Wasn’t sure what you took in your coffee so I brought one with cream and sugar and one black,” he said with a smile as he held them both out to her.

  She looked at him in awe wondering if he were real. If I were in his shoes, I don’t think I’d be treating a stranger to coffee in bed.

  “Th-th-thanks, cream and sugar, please,” she managed to say as she accepted the mug he offered her. She took a careful sip. It tasted good.

  She watched Wyatt’s powerful, corded muscles as he walked to the open French doors and stood, drinking his coffee. He appeared in deep thought. She became speechless. After a few more sips of her coffee, she set her cup on the table beside the bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for the deluge of questions she knew would be coming.

  With her eyes, she followed Wyatt as he walked back and forth in front of the French doors. He stopped pacing and stood still with his back to her as he looked out at the luscious backyard, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet in agitation. He turned to her when he heard her put the cup on the table.

  “We have to talk,” he snapped.

  In hopes of delaying the inevitable, she picked up her cup and took another sip of her coffee. When she looked into his magnetic eyes, fear returned to clutch her chest, constricting her breathing, and most-unladylike droplets of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She studied his face, his perfectly formed lips, and her thoughts turned to her dream of him kissing her. She could feel his lips on hers and the heat. So-hot heat he left as he trailed her lips along her neck, nibbled her ear lobes. She quivered, weak, and dizzy.

  “Isabella, Isabella.”

  She heard Wyatt repeating her name. She realized she had been staring at him, lost in his eyes and her memories. She shook her head to clear her mind of any lingering reflections.

  “I’d like to help you.” Wyatt said, motioning with his coffee cup as he spoke. “But, I can’t unless you tell me the truth, so no more bullshit.”

  She sat, staring at him, not sure how to respond.

  “I told you everything I remembered,” she whispered.

  “I did some research last night after you fell asleep on my couch. There’s no such person with that name in the Commonwealth of Virginia. And, the street address you gave me doesn’t exist in Stoney Creek or anywhere else in the Commonwealth of Virginia. You lied to me. You gave me a fictitious name and address. Why? What are you trying to hide?” His voice rose with agitation.

  Astonished! Stunned! Speechless! Stoney Creek? Virginia? Where? Her jaw dropped open in disbelief as she looked away from him, out the open doors, down at her clenched hands. Her gaze darted back to Wyatt, who peered at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes with his one hand on his hip, his other holding his coffee.

  “Well?” he asked.

  She was filled with turmoil and bewilderment, and her heart hammered in her chest so loudly that she thought he would see it thumping in her chest. Her face flushed with annoyance of idiocy as a burst of anger surged through her. Her hands turned into fists as she pursed her lips. The bed covers fell as she raised herself onto her knees. Her anger gave her the strength to meet his intense stare.

  “I don’t have anything to hide.” Her words came out in bursts of fury. She lifted her outstretched arms toward him, palms open. “And of course I’m not listed anywhere in Stoney-whatever. In fact, I’ve never even heard of the place. Or been in Virginia. I live in a small town outside of Denver, Colorado. Why would you be looking for me in Virginia?”

  “Because that’s where you are. Stoney Creek, Virginia,” he said as he turned to her and eyed her with suspicion, his head tilted to one side. “Now come clean, damn it, and tell me who you really are and what you want from me.”

  The hair on the back of her neck bristled as she heard the anger in his voice. Panic raced through her, as goose bumps broke out on her arms, and dread drowned her ability to think. Despair flooded her mind, her thoughts in turmoil. Her body shuddered when she inhaled. The tears threatened, then spilled over, streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. She couldn’t stop them. They were tears of fright, of anger, of disbelief.

  How? How could I have gotten from Denver, Colorado, to Stoney Creek, Virginia? Who would want to do this to me and why? Why would anyone want to torture me like this?

  Chapter 13

  Wyatt sat down on the bed across from Isabella, his face drawn tight, his eyes glittering with anger.

  “You have to be honest with me. You need to give me some reason why I should believe anything you say. Why should I trust you or believe you?” he said, as though talking to a small child, firm but gentle.

  When he released a long, deep pent-up sigh Isabella realized his waning patience. He didn’t appear to be the sort of man to play games. Good thing!

  When he looked at her, she felt that he could see through her, into her, read her thoughts, know her feelings. He left her tongue-tied and weak. A no-nonsense kind of man, Wyatt expected a straight and honest answer for a direct
question.

  Isabella answered with trembling lips, her voice shaking as she tried to get her breath, gulping big swallows of air.

  “I’m the victim here, okay? I’ve told you the truth, everything. I’m a second grade teacher, for God’s sake. I’m not out for some ill-gotten money or any notoriety.” She paused, catching her taking a deep breath to relieve some of the anger.

  “I live in Cameron Lakes, a suburb of Denver, Colorado. My street address is

  Thirteen Twenty-one Cameron Lake Dr

  , Apartment One-oh-one. I work nearby at Lakes Elementary School. Check me out anyway you want. It’s all true,” she shouted, pulling the comforter with her as she stood. “If all you say is true, how in the world did you get here? How? Why? And who? Why would someone bring you all this way, and for what purpose?” Wyatt asked, looking down the end of his nose at her, tilting his head backward.

  His condescending tone set her off. She lost control of her trying-to-be-stalwart front and started to cry in earnest, choking between sobs. “I’ve been asking myself the same questions. I don’t know why or how or even when I got here, but I swear I’m telling you the truth. I have no reason, no reason at all, to lie to you.”

  Wyatt examined her face for a few more minutes, and then walked into the bathroom. He came back with a box of tissues and handed them to her.

  She looked up at him. “Please, will you help me try to figure this out?” She took the tissues from him and loudly blew her nose. “I swear, on my father’s grave, I’m telling you the truth.”

  He began pacing again, back and forth at the foot of the bed, his fingers strumming on his lips, his eyes looking at the floor in front of his feet, deep in thought.

  He turned toward her suddenly, making her jump. “Okay, I’ll help you but you have to play by my rules. I’m in charge. You follow my directions at all times and all places, no ifs, ands or buts.”

  She started to protest, but he put up his hand, halting her by giving her a look that said “any objections would not be considered.”

  “It’s the only way I work. Otherwise, I call the cops and I’ll let them handle it however they choose. So which is it, them or me?”

  She sat on the bed, her arms locked across her chest, her mouth in a pout, thinking of her choices and any alternatives she might have. Did this mean he would help her? Duh! Not that I have any choice in the matter. She could always agree with him now, but at the first opportunity, she could make a break for it and be out of here.

  Nodding her head in agreement, she said, “Okay, we play by your rules, but only for as long as I like. I control my own life. Nobody else does.”

  “Fine. I wouldn’t have it any other way. First, I think you need to get dressed. I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear,” he said as he walked out of the room. She heard him open a door down the hall, open and close a couple of drawers.

  He came back into the room carrying some clothes. He laid them on her lap. “These are some of my sister’s things. You’re both about the same size so they should fit you. Why don’t you get dressed while I see what I can rustle up for breakfast?”

  Without waiting for a response, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

  * * * *

  Dave Miller had always been an early riser and had his daily workout finished usually before daylight. He was at the gym when he heard his cell phone ring under the towel he tossed down nearby. He received calls at all hours of the day and night but decided to ignore this one, early Sunday morning, at least until he was done with his workout. He soon heard the beep indicating a new voice message.

  After a quick shower, he checked his messages while he dressed. Wyatt had called. That’s odd! I was just thinking about him. I hope he doesn’t want to get together to work out. If he does, he’s on his own. Ha! Ha!

  He hadn’t talked to him in a few days so as soon as he got into his car he dialed Wyatt’s cell number. After a lengthy conversation, he backed out of his parking space and set off toward Wyatt’s house.

  * * * *

  Isabella sat on the bed running her hands up and down her arms wrapped around herself seeking comfort, staring straight ahead. She ran her fingers over the clothes in her lap. When she finally looked at the clothes Wyatt had given her to wear, she saw a pair of blue jeans, a pair of not-what-she-wore-at-home sexy-looking bikini underwear and a long-sleeve T-shirt—no bra. She looked through the stack again, still no bra. She always wore a bra. Always! She needed to confine her large breasts, and she felt more comfortable with less jiggle and wiggle. Damn these big boobs!

  She walked to the bathroom, tightening the robe around her waist taking the clothes with her. She washed her face, dressed, and returned the robe to the back of the door where she found it. She did a quick perusal of the bathroom to make sure everything was in order, poking around for the clothes she left there during the night to find her worn-out, now-wireless-but-better-than-nothing bra, but she didn’t see anything remaining.

  She glanced in the mirror and noticed her hair standing up every which way. She wet her hands and ran them through her hair to fluff and straighten where needed. The jeans fit rather well in the waist and hips but needed shortened about two inches so she rolled them up to avoid tripping. The top wouldn’t work at all. It fit well enough, a little tight across her breasts, revealing her nipples and the darker areolas through the lightweight fabric.

  She held her arms across her chest as she left the bathroom to tidy up the bed. She picked up the pillow when she saw the indentation from Wyatt’s head. Sitting on the bed sniffing the pillow, his scent of man and woodsy, exotic cologne sent a chill down her spine, a quickening in her stomach, even lower. Her knees began quivering. Her heart lurched in her chest as if missing a beat. She remembered his scent, his intense heat, as he hid her from her captors, and felt a tingling deep within the pit of her being. Something she had never felt before.

  What’s wrong with me? These emotions, feelings had never been stirred before, not even with Michael, whom she had planned to marry. She and Michael had known each other since high school. They had hung out with the same group of friends, even though he was about ten years older. While in college, she heard from a mutual friend that Michael traveled often and was even out of the country for a few years.

  Shortly after returning to the States from Central America, he had run into her at a coffee bar near the school where she worked. He had made her laugh. They started to see each other on a regular basis, and their relationship soon had become serious. He invited her to move into his townhouse with him. She happily accepted.

  They shared all their dreams and lifetime desires. She thought they were in love with each other. A marriage she had dreamed of all her life could be the next step in their relationship.

  They’d been happy living together for the first few months, but then Michael changed, taking on an unfamiliar persona she didn’t like. Out of the blue, with no notice or discussion with her, he quit his job, which made a hardship for her to support them both on her teaching salary. He started leaving early in the morning and staying out late at night. He stopped talking to her the few hours he was home. When she asked him about this change, “I’m working,” was his only explanation, and that “it isn’t any of your business.” He wouldn’t talk to her about his job, telling her very clearly that her responsibilities did not include “keeping tabs on him every minute of the day or night.” Paying the bills and servicing all his needs, especially sexually, were what she needed to be concerned about. And it didn’t matter whether day or night, tired, in the mood or not. He basically had become a sex addict with perversions beyond her greatest imaginations.

  She despaired over what to do, not sure she had the strength to walk away from her lifetime dreams. Then she came home from work that night. She remembered it as if it were yesterday.

  * * * *

  The ringing of the doorbell stirred her from her nightmarish daydream. She tiptoed to the door, opening it just
enough to see out. Over the stair railing, she could see Wyatt, who now had on a shirt, walking toward the door. As he opened the front door, he motioned with his hand for a nice-looking healthy, fit man to come in.

  “Hi, Dave, come on in. Coffee’s fresh and hot, just like you like it,” Wyatt said in greeting.

  “Good! I can use a cup.”

  Dave laughed as they shook hands and patted each other on the back.

  “Come on in the kitchen. We can talk there,” Wyatt motioned for Dave to follow him.

  Once they reached the kitchen, she could only hear the rumbling of male voices but nothing she could decipher.

  She closed the door and sat on the bed wondering who he might be, hoping he wasn’t a cop. Damn! Had Wyatt called the police to have her arrested like he had threatened? They couldn’t help her; they would only muddle everything up. She couldn’t believe it had happened to her herself. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs, jumped off the bed, and scurried behind the door.

  Wyatt knocked while asking, “Isabella, are you dressed? Breakfast is ready, and I have someone downstairs I’d like you to meet.”

  She groaned, gradually moved her hand toward the doorknob. Unlocking and opening the door slightly, she became mesmerized as she looked into his bright blue eyes. As if frozen in time, she couldn’t move.

  He grabbed her hand and gently pulled her toward him, breaking the spell. “Come downstairs with me. You need to eat breakfast, and I have someone I want you to meet. I promise it will be worth it.”

  She started to back away, trying to find some excuse not to go with him. The strength, power, and masculinity emanating from him both alarmed and thrilled her.

  “I don’t have to go anywhere with you. Besides, I don’t have any shoes to wear.” Isabella pouted like a reticent child.

  “We made an agreement, remember?”

  “But what about shoes? I don’t have any to wear.”

  “That’s fine. I usually don’t wear shoes around the house anyway. You need something to eat to build up your strength. Trust me!”