His grip tightened.
I tried to yank my arm free, which apparently pissed him off. He slammed me so hard against his chest, my teeth rattled. What in the world happened in the two minutes he was with Detective Waters?
The elevator door opened and we stepped inside. Or rather, he pulled me inside. Thank God it was empty, because I was about to unleash Hell’s wrath on his ass. Who did he think he was, manhandling me that way? My insides trembled with fury.
“Get your hands off me,” I shouted, shocked by the strength in my voice.
In a blink, I was pinned in the corner. Held silent by a set of pained and angry eyes. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
I couldn’t speak. I’d never seen him so enraged.
“That asshole followed you this morning?” He banged his hands against the wall panels on either side of my head. My stomach rolled and my heart relocated to my nether regions. “Why did I hear about it from that fuck of a detective?” he shouted.
I’m not sure where I found the courage, or what I would gain from violence, but I balled my fist and punched Franklin in the gut. That’s one thing I learned from my father. How to punch. I flat out refused to take self-defense and karate classes, mostly because I didn’t want to wear the stupid outfits. But Dad had let me play around with his punching bag. We had even sparred occasionally.
So, I punched Franklin. He made an oof sound and stepped away. That’s all I wanted, for him to back off. I couldn’t have hurt him. I had too little room to get a good jab in. Pissed that he’d acted the bully, I threw another punch the second I had ample clearance. I aimed for his face. My fist met his forearm. Damn, the man was fast.
Before I could yelp in shock, he managed to block my strike, twist my arm behind my back and pin me to the wall again.
“You were gonna hit me?” he asked, the gravel in his voice deeper than ever.
I turned my face from his, unable to bear the hurt lurking behind his angry expression. “You’re being a bully. What was I supposed to do?”
He released my arm. “Shit.” Tension rolled off his body and he backed away.
The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors slid open. Franklin stormed out and made a beeline for my car, fisting and stretching his fingers. He didn’t look back. I stayed a few paces behind on purpose. I hit the unlock button on my key fob, slid in, started the car, and tried to pull my door shut. Franklin held it open. I was too angry to look at him. What was that shit in the elevator about? Whatever his explanation, I sure as hell wasn’t about to put up with it.
He huffed. “Tate, baby. I’m—”
I raised my hand to stop him. “Not now. Not another word. Close my goddamned door and let me go home.”
He did.
As I drove away, I rolled my window down. “And don’t you dare think about following me.”
* * * *
I tossed my keys on the counter and got busy, and a smidge aggressive, with the coffee pot. My skin burned with anger so I splashed cold water on my face. While coffee brewed, I changed into my favorite new article of clothing—Franklin’s Pearl Jam T-shirt. It was long enough to cover my rear so I didn’t bother searching for bottoms. It’s not like I was going anywhere for the rest of the day. Why not be comfy? I ditched my bra, happy to be free of its binds. My room reeked of Gendarme and sex. Not what I needed to smell at the moment. I hightailed it out of there.
I filled my cup, doused it with extra cream, and nestled into the familiar cushions of my couch. It would’ve been a good time to call my mom, or a friend, but how could I explain what my life had become? Nobody would understand. Mom would worry herself sick and demand I move. My girlfriends would offer empty condolences and insist I spill the dirt on my new sex life. I’d be the gossip topic for the week, then they’d move on. Pissed as I was at him, I would not throw Franklin to the pack of she-wolves.
I wanted to talk to Lizzie. She seemed to get me. She knew Franklin, was fun, and definitely not a gossip whore. I should’ve asked for her number the other night. I’d have to remember to do that next time I saw her.
So I sat, alone on my couch, drinking coffee-flavored cream and pouting over Franklin Reed, the mystery man. I’d told him not to follow me, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t. Of that, I was pleased.
Okay, that wasn’t true. Was I happy? No. Abandoned. Vulnerable. Lonely. Not how I expected to feel in my moment of self-righteous indignation.
I wasn’t about to call him. Yes, dammit, I wanted him near me, on top of me, in me, but he needed to apologize. He’d have to make the first move. I clung to my phone like a security blanket. He’d call. He better.
At some point during the day, I dug out the photo album I’d wrangled from Mom after Dad died. Flipping through the pages sparked a case of the heebie-jeebies, and reminded me why Wallace creeped me out as a child. In the majority of photos, he sat or stood off to the side, gaze glued to my father. His smiles insincere. His expression…perverted adoration?
Most of the photos were of Mom, Dad and Wallace together. My parents were always touching. Always happy.
I’d have to call my mother and let her know about Wallace. After all, they’d been friends, too. Better sooner than later. I picked up the phone and dialed.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hi honey. It’s so nice to hear from you.”
“Hi Mom.” My voice crackled.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her tone guarded.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Jeez, what was wrong with my tongue? “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I heard shuffling on her end then the click of a door closing. “What, darling? You’re scaring me.”
I needed to say it. No sense beating around the bush. “Wallace was murdered this morning.”
What came next was a long, uncomfortable silence, then a sniffle.
“Mom?”
Her voice wavered when she asked, “What happened?”
“They found him outside our office this morning.” I couldn’t give the gory details and left it at that.
“Are you all right, Tatum?” she asked. “I know you didn’t love the man, but he was like family.”
“Yes. I am. It feels weird, you know?”
“I’ll catch the first flight I can get.”
“No, Mom. That’s not necessary. Let’s wait. I’ll get back to you with funeral details as soon as I know anything.”
“You’re right. That will give me time to arrange a caretaker for Grandpa.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Chugging along. He keeps asking when you’re coming to visit.”
Well, since I was no longer employed, or at least, didn’t have an employer, that might be sooner than later. “Kiss him for me. Maybe I’ll plan a trip after the funeral.”
“Oh, Tatum,” her voice raised an octave. “That would be lovely. I miss you so much.”
“Miss you too, Mom. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Love you.” She made a kissing noise.
“Love you more, bye.”
Our conversations were always short and sweet. Mom wasn’t much of a talker. She showed her love and affection through actions more than words.
Dad, on the other hand, drowned you with it. A full-blown attack from every possible outlet. Physical, verbal, emotional. Nobody doubted Antonio Wood’s feelings for them, whether good or bad.
I pulled the photo that Detective Waters had given me from my purse. The one starring Dad, Jacob, and two beautiful women. Mom wasn’t in it. The photo must have been older than their marriage. Dad wouldn’t have cheated. He hadn’t been that kind of man. They’d celebrated their twenty-first wedding anniversary one month before Dad died. Could this photo be over twenty, twenty-five years old? I flipped it to check the back. No date printed. Damn.
I studied the faded image for answers. The woman snuggling next to my father had light ha
ir. Platinum, from what I could tell. Dad used to joke he liked his ladies buxom and blond. I couldn’t help but think she looked familiar somehow. Maybe I’d seen her growing up. Maybe she was a family friend? No. That couldn’t be right. She touched my father far too intimately for that to be true.
I slammed the photo down, stretched on the couch and pulled the afghan over myself. Franklin still hadn’t called. I sure wasn’t going to call him. No way. No how.
But Lordy, I was tempted.
Chapter 11
My heart pounded with the ferocity of a herd of cattle stampeding through a wide ravine. My limbs moved with the grace and agility of a ballerina dancing through waist-high wet cement.
Wallace called out, “Don’t run, Tatum. Come back.”
I tried to run, needed to hide. My legs ignored the commands to move. Wallace slammed me to the ground and held a knife to my throat. “Where’s the file? You’re lucky to have this job. I can find a better receptionist on the street corner.”
I performed a Jackie Chan, super ninja move and landed on top of my attacker. Straddling his waist, I sunk the blade of the knife in the soft spot at the crook if his neck, just above his collarbone. “You’re dead, dip-shit.”
A thick bulge rose between my legs, rubbing with perfect pressure. I looked down. It wasn’t Wallace Cruise looking up, but Franklin. He licked his lips and thrust his hips. The friction made my thighs clench.
Wallace’s shrill voice damaged my auditory system. “Where’s the file, Tatum? I don’t have all day. Bring more coffee. Not too much sugar. You shouldn’t wear your hair like that.”
“I have to go.” I pushed off Franklin and ran to Wallace’s office.
He stood at the window, twirling a rose between his thumb and forefinger. His beady, soulless eyes twinkled. “Get back to work.” he cackled.
I dove and tackled him to the ground. “You died. Why won’t you stay dead?” I stabbed the weapon into his chest. It sunk and disappeared. I fell forward and groped his chest to catch myself. His wrinkled skin nauseated me.
“Killer. You’re so fucking hot.” Wallace groaned, his voice suddenly rich and husky. “Do you want me?”
“Hell no.” Franklin was beneath me again. He didn’t make a peep, but thrust and rubbed against me with glorious skill, drawing me closer and closer to a magnificent release. My hips flexed, seeking more pressure.
“Where’s Wallace? We have to make him go away.” I wanted to roll off him, but was so close to exploding, I hadn’t the wits to move. I arched my back and let Franklin have his way with me.
“Baby. Yeah. Come for me. Shit.” Franklin’s voice boomed from above. Then he penetrated me. Oh, God.
“Killer.”
My eyes snapped open. Franklin claimed my mouth with a kiss so possessive, it wiped the vision of Wallace clean out of my head. He palmed my sex, pressed two fingers inside me and held me steady while I shuddered through the aftershocks of my release.
What a filthy, disturbing dream. What a naughty, glorious way to be woken.
“That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” He wore the cockiest grin I’d ever witnessed. “I let myself in, baby. I’m so goddamned sorry about earlier.” He nibbled my ear and trailed his wet fingers under my shirt and up my torso. “Can you forgive me?” he asked in a sensual whisper. He cupped a breast and teased his thumb over my nipple.
I’d already forgiven him. Hours ago. “What took you so long?” I asked.
“I had to pack my things,” he mumbled against my lips.
Panic’s wretched tentacles wrapped around my heart and squeezed. “Pack? Where are you going?”
“I’m going to bury my cock so deep inside you, it’ll take an archeological dig to get me out.” Franklin crawled onto the couch, guided my knees farther apart and nestled between my thighs.
I heard the drag of a zipper, my new favorite sound, and then he filled me. My back arched, my heels dug into his buttocks, and I choked back a sob. Shit. Why did people ever leave the house when they could spend their days doing this?
Franklin still wore his suit. The gray brought out flecks of brilliant silver in his irises—and damn if that wasn’t more potent than any love potion.
“Where are you going?” I asked, afraid of the answer. Anywhere away from me was too far.
“I’m already there.”
I smacked his arm. “Stop being vague.”
“Here is where I’m going, Killer.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t be serious. “Franklin, I—”
“Shhh. Don’t talk,” he interrupted. “Let me finish apologizing first.”
“You did already,” I reminded him.
“I’m not finished.” He pulled out of me and slid down to bury his head in the apex of my thighs. With that skilled tongue of his, he licked, delved, sucked, and brought me to the brink of another release, only to leave me hanging on the edge.
With a wicked smile, he rose, sat back on his heels and pulled me against him, so that my butt rested on his thighs. With one stroke, he stretched and filled me. When fully sheathed, he stared down at me. “You do things to me. I’m out of my fucking mind around you. Have no sense of right or wrong. Only you. I lost my head when that damn detective told me you’d been followed this morning. If anything happened….”
“It didn’t.” I moaned. Damn, he was deep. I was so full of him, so greedy for more, I could barely speak.
“I know, and it won’t happen again. I’m moving in.”
“What if I say no?” I asked with zero conviction.
“No isn’t an option.” He fell forward, caught himself on his hands, brought his nose to mine, and pushed deeper. “Silly girl. Haven’t you figured it out?”
“What?” I arched against him, craving the friction.
“You gave yourself to me, remember?” he asked with hitched breaths.
“How could I forget?”
“You’re my angel,” he groaned, pulled out and slammed back into me. “I protect what’s mine. At any cost.”
Caged between his arms, captivated by the fierce conviction crackling in his baby blues, something in me shifted, on a metaphysical level, and I knew this man was created for me, and I for him.
Silly as it sounded, he would die for me. His gaze held that promise every time our eyes met. I could see that now.
What a beautiful, terrifying revelation.
* * * *
Franklin’s too-expensive suit lay rumpled on my bathroom floor. Instead of picking it up, I marveled at the sight behind my glass shower door. That virile, beautiful man wanted to be with me. Me! What had I done in my short existence on planet earth to deserve his attentions? Did it matter? Hell no.
Over the years, I’d watched my friends fall in and out of love. Sat with them, dabbed tears born of broken hearts, celebrated engagements, listened to endless ramblings about new love interests. I’d never been one to seek it out, though. Romance. Dating. The emotional rollercoaster. It wasn’t for me.
I’d given up on that fantasy years ago. It was too painful to get excited over a guy, to enjoy a date, get my hopes up, then sit by the phone for days and days, waiting for the call that would never come.
One-Date Tate.
Nope. Wasn’t for me.
Not until Franklin Reed.
Through the foggy glass, I admired his form, watched him lather-up from neck to knees. My cheeks warmed when he reached down to wash his privates. Heat rolled under my skin when he fisted his sex and stroked the full length, then lifted it against his tight belly to clean the boys underneath. Who knew such a common act could be so titillating to witness?
“Are you enjoying the show?” he asked. His words bounced off the tiled walls, vibrating every cell of my body.
Oh shoot. Busted.
I bent to pick up his disheveled shirt. “Um, I’m picking up your clothes. Don’t want them to get wrinkled.” Jeez. Could I have sounded any more ridiculous?
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A deep, throaty laugh boomed inside the glass enclosure.
I jetted out of there and searched for space in my closet to hang his things. Wow. Did I put them in mine or the guest bedroom? How would this work? I’d never had a roommate, let alone a live-in lover.
When he dropped the bomb he’d be here on a permanent basis, I didn’t protest for a few reasons. One—because his magic wand cast a seductive spell deep inside my womb, rendering me dependent on his touch. Two—after spending two seconds with Franklin, you want him permanently attached to your side. And three—he was right. It would be safer, at least until the stalker was caught and people stopped kicking the bucket.
Poor Wallace. What had his final moments been like? Was he scared? Did he beg and plead for his life? It wasn’t a secret that I despised the man, but despite the fact that I fantasy-killed him on a daily basis, I didn’t believe he deserved such a cruel exit from the greedy, selfish world he’d created for himself.
I hung the fine wool suit in my closet and tidied up the bedroom. Franklin came out wearing a towel and toe-curling grin. “You okay?” he asked, dropping the cloth to the floor. “Your cheeks are red.”
I threw a pillow at him. “I hate you.”
He chuckled and tugged a pair of boxer briefs over his thighs. “No, you don’t.”
“But I do. I really do.” I studied him one more time, from pecs to toes, and bit my lip to keep from grinning. “So much, in fact, that I cleaned out that dresser for you,” I teased and pointed to the antique chest of drawers in the corner of my room. I wanted to tear my clothes off and tackle him to the floor. My skin tingled just thinking about it. I’d become a sex fiend. Shaking my head, I drew a mind-clearing breath and headed for the kitchen.
Franklin appeared a few minutes later, buffed and shined. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch. “If you’re serious about doing this, we need to talk.”
He sat and yanked me into his lap. “You’re worried?”
I nodded. Was it that obvious?
“That we won’t get along?” he asked, with a cocky smirk and a playful twinkle in his eyes.
How to Kill Your Boss Page 12
