by Mel Teshco
Chapter Eleven
‡
Claire had a bounce in her step the next morning as she walked up to her front door with Mackenzie by her side, his hand engulfing hers. She no longer cared who saw them together. She wasn’t going to hide her feelings anymore—unlike Mackenzie who’d been open and upfront with his affections from the very start.
If only she hadn’t gotten scared knowing how easily she could fall for him, then maybe she wouldn’t have lied and told him she didn’t return his feelings. Then maybe she could have been this happy eighteen months ago.
The sun warmed her scalp as she unlocked her front door before he turned her around to face him. He bent and kissed her with a lingering tenderness that left her aching for more. He smiled when he finally pulled free. “See you soon, Claire.”
Her heart almost burst with love. She would never get enough of hearing him say her name. Her real name. She reached up, and blotted a smear of lipstick from his mouth with her thumb. “Say hello to your sister for me.”
He nodded. “When she’s herself again, I’d really love you two to meet.”
Claire smiled. Could a man be any more amazing? A caring family man and an attentive lover all rolled into one. “I’d love that.” She cocked her head to the side. “Is it selfish of me to tell you to hurry back?”
He grinned. “Unless my sister is an emotional wreck, I don’t plan on staying too long.”
He bent his head and gave her one last kiss, before turning to stride back to his car. She waved as the engine growled into life, and then she stood and watched as he drove down her street and out of sight.
She touched her still tingling lips, aware her body and soul were awash with elation. She was totally, unequivocally in love with Mackenzie, and knew he felt the same in return. She only wished she’d trusted that things would work out from the very start. Trusted that she deserved to be loved and adored by someone like Mackenzie.
Her neighbor’s curtain twitched once again, and Claire lifted her hand once more to give her neighbor a jaunty wave. With an ear-splitting grin, she turned and walked inside.
Ten minutes later, her overnight bag unpacked and her excitement ceding to weariness, she ran a bath. Adding a splash of fragrant vanilla bath oil, she slid into the tub’s deep warmth with a ragged sigh.
She closed her eyes. How fortunate was she to have not only met Mackenzie, but have someone like him want her permanently in his life? She’d never expected to fall in love with him—with anyone—let alone fully trust a man. She’d instead allowed herself to believe all men were like her father. That all men imagined the grass was greener elsewhere.
Her lips twitched. It was safe to say she was happier and more relaxed now than she’d been in a very long time. Of course she still had to ring Maisey and tell her the news. The madam wouldn’t be happy, but then no-one in the sex industry lasted long term. Youth and good looks faded, even as the women became jaded and weary of the game.
But Maisey knew as well as anyone that Claire—Scarlet—was way too young to retire from the business. It wouldn’t go down well with the madam to lose yet another prime worker to a client.
Claire sank fully under the water, drowning out any bit of guilt. She didn’t owe Maisey anything. The madam had made more than enough money from her. Mackenzie had seen to that.
Her lungs were screaming for air by the time she resurfaced to a sharp rap on her front door. She sucked in a breath and climbed out of the tub with a silly grin on her face and butterflies dancing in her belly. When Mack had said he wouldn’t be long, she’d thought he’d meant at least a couple of hours!
She knotted a fluffy white towel around her and raced down the hallway. She threw open the door. “I wasn’t expecting you this—” She froze, eyes widening. Shit. “Bradley … what are you doing here?” she squeaked.
He looked her slowly up and down. “You were expecting another man?”
It was a barbed comment, his accusation clear. Not that he tried to hide his scorn. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t uncover just exactly what you are now, Scarlet?” He said her name like he’d fished it out of a sewer. “I looked up all the call agencies and found the VIP Desire Agency. One of their escorts called Scarlet perfectly matched your description.”
She gasped, moving to slam the door shut, but he put out an arm and easily kept it open. “I won’t be ignored this time, Scarlet.” He moved inside, shutting the front door behind him with one hand and clasping her upper arm with the other. “I only want what you give out to other men.”
She stared up at him, her hair dripping, her throat dry and her belly twisting with both dread and denial. “This isn’t you, Bradley. I know you better than—”
“Shut up!” he roared, as though all his pent-up emotions were released in the flick of a switch. He was no longer the boy she used to know, not even close.
She didn’t see his backhand coming until it was too late. She dropped to the floor, pain lighting through her cheekbone and humiliation searing deep into her soul. She looked up, but there was no kindness in the man she’d thought she knew. Bradley was a stranger, whose lust burned like a cold flame in his stare.
“Don’t do this, Bradley,” she whispered.
She’d had a couple of frightening experiences in the past with other men, but she’d never known this kind of cold violence from a man who’d always treated her with respect and kindness.
His eyes flashed. “Take off your towel.”
She pushed to her feet, and lifted her chin. “No.” She wouldn’t be intimidated, wouldn’t let her one-time friend imagine she was wicked and immoral when he was guilty of far worse.
“What did you say?” Bradley snarled.
Her chin tilted higher. “I said no. I won’t go naked in front of you.”
He stepped forward, his eyes flashing raw fury and lust. “You want my money, is that it?” He dragged his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a bill her way. “Consider me a client.”
She shook her head, feeling sorry for the man she thought had everything. But maybe growing up with his loving grandmother hadn’t been enough for him. Maybe underneath all his charm had been a resentful little boy with deep emotional issues. She pointed to the front door. “Get out, Bradley.”
Indecision for a moment held him still, but then he closed the distance between them in one step. It took him one more second to wrench off her towel before he clamped his mouth over hers in a brutal kiss that was all about his own needs.
She tried to pull away, but he splayed one hand behind her nape while his other mauled her breast, pinching and squeezing her nipple. She cried out, but he only mashed his lips harder against hers, making it impossible to breathe, to even think.
But she wasn’t some impotent female; she’d watched her mother die, had brought up her sisters, and had dealt with men far meaner than Bradley. She opened her mouth and, as he shoved his tongue inside, she bit down hard.
The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth even as he jerked away from her with a roar. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, smearing blood. He grinned maniacally. “I was going to make it good for you too, but I guess you like it rough.”
She stepped back and he followed, his eyes glittering as he drank in her nudity. He unzipped his jeans, the rasp magnified in the thick silence of the room. Her breath hitched, coldness pinching her insides. She might sleep with men for money, but it’d always been on her own terms, with men who’d stayed strangers … until Mackenzie.
She spun on her heel and ran, but got no further than three or four steps before Bradley caught her and dragged her around to face him, his grip crushing her forearm.
“Don’t go now, Scarlet, the fun has only started.”
He slammed her against the wall and pinned her there with more strength than she’d imagined he possessed. But he didn’t kiss her this time, instead he sucked and then bit her shoulder, his fingers digging into her breasts, groping and squeezing.
She closed her eyes agains
t his assault, against the reality of her friend committing such an offense. “Stop, Bradley. Stop it now!”
When the pressure eased the smallest amount, she knew it was now or never to catch him by surprise, and knee him hard in the groin. But suddenly his weight left her. She opened her eyes to Mackenzie throwing Bradley against the opposite wall. Plaster crumbled and Bradley’s face paled at his opposition’s strength and obvious rage.
Bradley put his hands up in supplication. “Easy, man. I thought you were her client, that’s all. Easy mistake to make.”
Mackenzie’s expression hardened and he lifted his fist and drove it into Bradley’s face. “Shut your damn mouth.” Blood gushed from Bradley’s nose, and he whimpered in pain and fear. A vein in Mackenzie’s jaw throbbed even as he grabbed a handful of Bradley’s shirt and lifted him high. “You go near my woman again, and I will not be responsible for my actions.”
Bradley nodded. “Of course.” He turned panicked eyes Claire’s way. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”
Her vision blurred, a hot tear rolling down her cheek. She retrieved her towel and wrapped her body from Bradley’s eyes. “Yes, you did, you bastard,” she choked out. He’d uncovered what she did for a living and he’d hated her for it. Hated that she’d slept with strangers and never once slept with him.
He’d wanted to hurt her as much as he imagined she’d hurt him.
Despite his obvious lack of air flow, Bradley’s face reddened as much from foolish rage. “You knew how I felt! I could have had anyone but I only ever wanted you! And then I come home to find out you’re a goddamned whore!”
Mackenzie threw Bradley across the room. She gaped. She’d never seen such power, such raw violence. Mackenzie was the epitome of control, but going by his clenched fists, his flared nostrils and rigid shoulders, right then nothing reined him back. He looked ready to pulverize the other man.
Bradley rolled, and then scrambled to his feet. But it was the look of abject fear on his face as Mackenzie stalked toward him that sent Claire running to stop any more violence.
Mackenzie lifted a fist and she stood between it and Bradley. “Mack, don’t,” she said quietly, searching his face, his hard and uncompromising stare, until a flicker of something close to calm signaled he hadn’t tipped right over the edge. Yet.
She barely noticed Bradley staggering for the front door. Barely heard his retreating footsteps as he made a quick getaway. Instead all her attention stayed on Mackenzie, waiting as his bleak rage settled into something close to composure.
He lifted an unsteady hand, touching her swollen cheek, the top of her bruised breast and the imprinted teeth marks on her shoulder. “I’ll send for my doctor,” he said hoarsely.
She shook her head and drew in a shuddering breath. “There’s no need. I’m fine. But what about you? Are you okay? You looked like you lost it for a minute.”
Mackenzie peered at his knuckles, which were smeared with Bradley’s blood. His face blanched, his eyes going dark before he dropped his arm and looked away. Holy shit, he acted as though the sins were all his.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he said brokenly. “It seems I’m like my father after all.”
You’re nothing like your father! Except no words made it past the ever-growing lump in her throat.
He shook his head, and echoed, “I’m so very sorry.”
He turned and walked to the front door. Panic filled her, more even than when Bradley had attacked her. The reality of loving a woman like her was clearly hitting him hard. She swallowed, and said hoarsely, “That sounds like goodbye.”
Mackenzie stopped, and then half turned. He nodded. “You’re better off without me.”
She stared, trying hard not to let her emotions spill free, when all she wanted was to sob and beg him to stay. Never leave her. “I think what you’re trying to say is that you are better off without me,” she said softly.
He shook his head, his voice cracking. “You know that’s not true.”
“Maybe Bradley is right. I’m a whore. No decent man would want me, knowing that.”
He spun and faced her fully, before he strode back to her. “Don’t ever let anyone make you think that. There’s not a man on the planet who wouldn’t wish you were his.”
“And yet you’re leaving,” she said quietly, even as her heart was breaking into a hundred little pieces. She wouldn’t beg. Not for anything. Her mother had begged and Claire had seen her father’s disgust and rejection as clearly as she’d seen his desperation to leave all the quicker.
Mackenzie glanced down at his bloodied hands. “You’ll thank me one day.” He stared at her one last time, as though imprinting her on his mind. Then he swung away and stalked out of her opened front door, with not even a last, backward glance.
It was only when she heard the distant sound of his engine start up that she sank to her knees and let her tears fall free.
Chapter Twelve
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Mackenzie sat in his office chair brooding about everything but the task at hand. His business, the one thing that had been his mainstay in life, couldn’t now hold his attention.
It’d been ten days since he’d walked out on Claire. He flicked a glance at his gold Cartier watch. Ten days and seven hours to be more precise. And he’d never been more miserable or discontent.
Not when those ten days had been spent imagining her with other clients. Ten days of mentally hearing her little gasps as someone else pleasured her, or worse, as she pleasured them. Even imagining her smiling at another man, her sexy little laugh reserved for the client paying for her time, ate him up inside.
But he’d stayed away from her because he feared he no longer had control of his seesawing emotions, and that maybe he had inherited the explosive temper gene from his father after all.
But it was proving an impossible task when he also had to be a mental rock for his sister while she went through her grieving crisis. Lord help him, all he’d wanted was to share in her tears. The pain in his chest was growing worse each day, not dulling to the ache he’d hoped.
His hands fisted. Better grief than anger. The last thing he wanted or needed was another fit of jealousy to boil over into rage.
He swore, swiping at the neatly stacked reams of paperwork and getting minimal satisfaction in watching them fan into the air, before they scattered in a mess across the floor. Fuck. He needed to get the hell out of here. Go for a run. Have a strong drink. Anything but sit numbly in his office.
He had enough execs who’d do cartwheels over the added responsibility of running his varied businesses. Regan and Terry were young go-getters. In fact, it might prove interesting to see how they handled the challenge.
He blew out a heavy breath and pushed out of his chair to stand at the huge windows overlooking the harbor. Late afternoon sunlight glinted on a dozen yachts lazily sailing through the turquoise waters, a pristine picture that, right then, irritated the hell out of him.
What was the point of money and prestige, not to mention power, if inside he was desolate? Not even his sister’s slow return to physical and mental good health could distract him from all-consuming thoughts of Claire. Without her in his life, everything had become colorless and grey.
But if being without her was his biggest worry, then unstoppable fury was a close second. He’d witnessed his father’s violence, and never wanted to emulate him in any way. Yet savagery had erupted inside him at seeing Bradley hurting Claire, an unquenchable urge to ensure the motherfucker never hurt her ever again.
A tap on the door snapped his train of thought, and he swung around to face his middle-aged secretary with a growled. “What now, Matilda?” He dragged a hand over his face and said, “Bloody hell. Tell me I haven’t been a complete and utter bastard these last few days.”
“You have been a complete and utter bastard, sir,” Matilda said blandly. “But it’s nice to know you’re human.”
His chuckle held no warmth. “Does everyone imagine I’m not?”
“I believe most of us see you as a machine without any mortal weakness.” She smiled. “It will reassure your staff to know you’re not infallible … sir.”
“Well, thank you for your insight, Matilda. Your honesty is, as always, refreshing.” He blew out a slow breath. “So, what is on my agenda for today?” He’d barely glanced at his schedule the last few days.
“You have an appointment with the head chef from Canterberry 89. He’s waiting for you now.”
Mackenzie nodded, recalling the talented chef who wanted to move the menu of the restaurant in a whole new direction. “Send him in.” As she turned to do as he asked, he added, “And send Regan and Terry to me right after.” He grinned, suddenly energized. “Their workload is about to get serious.”
She arched a knowing brow. “As you wish.”
His secretary was again about to leave when he called out, “One last thing.” She turned back, and he said, “My apologies for everything I’ve put you through these last few days.”
If he’d learned nothing else from his relationship with Claire, it was just how easily a man could trample over a woman’s self-esteem.
Matilda’s brow arched even higher. “You really have fallen hard … sir.”
As his secretary walked out the door, his chuckle this time was almost amused when he murmured to himself, “Yes, I most certainly have.”
He stepped back toward his desk. Picking up his platinum pen, he rolled it through his fingers. He’d never been a violent man, had instinctively fought even the slightest compulsion. Surely all those even-tempered years had to count for something. He’d never in a million years hit a woman, and he sure as shit wouldn’t hit a woman he loved.
The pen dug into his palm. He’d been a damn fool letting his father’s failures become his own. For letting his father’s sins dictate his own life. If he was lucky he hadn’t left it too late to make amends with Claire. Because, although rejection was exactly what he deserved, he couldn’t face one more night—one more minute—without her by his side.
