Love Me (Trust Series #2)

by Mayer, Kristin

  “Done. You’ll have a new number this evening. They are just texts, Alli.”

  I lift my head, my irritation flaring. “Just texts? You can’t be serious. He just threatened the life of our potential child. How can you say they’re only texts? You spend all morning carrying on about stupid articles, and you can say these are just texts!”

  I know I shouldn’t be yelling at him, but this has me rattled on a whole new level.

  “Alli, do you want me to tell you how I really feel?” His voice is calm.

  I nod. I need to know if I’m alone with how freaked out I am feeling.

  “This motherfucker has me totally on edge as it is, and then he goes and threatens you and my future child. If I knew who it was, I would kill him.”

  I feel like I’m spiraling out of control. It’s like a damn has burst all of a sudden as I bury my face in his shirt and cry. “I’m so scared he’s going to get me.”

  Finally, I’m verbalizing my deep fear. It’s a terrifying thought that I’ve been trying to pretend isn’t there.

  “Alli, baby, that’s never going to happen. Do you want to go back to Texas? We can stay there for as long as you want.”

  As appealing as that seems, this psychopath would eventually catch up with us there. I prefer having some kind of haven that hasn’t been affected by this madman that I can go to when things get to be too much.

  “No, I just want to go home. I was okay until I got the last text. Just the thought…if I was…and he…” I can’t even say it as I start to cry again.

  “I know, baby. I think those texts struck a deep chord within us both because having a baby eventually is something we both want.”

  I just nod into his chest as I stain his shirt with my tears. We both know that a big part of my reasoning for suggesting we start trying in May is because this issue should be closed by then. At least I hope. I know that Damien is pissed-off because this wacko is keeping him from something he wants badly, and let’s face it, Mr. Wales is not a patient man.

  We pull up to the house, and we go inside.

  As we walk up the stairs, I say, “I’m going to take a shower.” Hopefully, it refreshes me a little.

  “Okay, baby.”

  We walk into the bathroom, and he starts the water as I strip down.

  “I’m going to talk to Bane. I’ll be right outside the door,” he says.

  As I walk into the shower, I respond, “Okay.”

  The warm cascade of water starts to ease the tenseness out of my muscles. It feels so good. I go to grab the shampoo when a familiar hand lands on top of mine and the other wraps around my body. Guilt begins to wash over me as I think about my earlier tone.

  “Damien, I’m sorry I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have.”

  He nuzzles the side of my neck. “Baby, it’s fine. If that’s the worst of your irritation with me, then I think we will be in good shape.”

  He grabs the shampoo, pours some out, and starts massaging it into my hair. Then, he methodically rinses it all away.

  The heat of the water and Damien’s steady massaging are relaxing, and I start telling him more of my feelings. “I got overwhelmed. With us talking seriously about kids this weekend, receiving that message just made me sick. I want a family with you so badly, but I’m scared. What if we don’t—”

  Before I have a chance to finish, Damien turns me around and brings me to him for a sensual kiss. It’s similar to the one on the football field, but it’s a hundred times more potent.

  He pulls away fractionally. “I will protect you and our family when that comes to fruition. We have a plan. Let’s not stress about it. May is a ways away. Let’s just focus on us, and when the time comes, if we’re ready, we will do what we talked about. There isn’t pressure for us to start a family. There’s no reason to stress yourself out over us having children. It should be an exciting time for us.”

  “But you want—”

  “Alli, I want you and you alone. When we are ready, we’ll know. Just knowing you want them badly, too, is good enough for me. You’re right though. We need a few months to ourselves, and then we can try. We are putting way too much pressure on ourselves, baby. If it happens before we’re ready, we’ll take it in stride. But rest assured, you both would be safe.”

  The amount of stress that leaves my body at his words is unreal. I know he means each and every one of them.

  “What about all the rumors?”

  He puts both hands around my face. “Hey, they’re just rumors. We’ll ignore them. We know the truth and what we want.”

  I stand up on my tiptoes and give him a kiss.

  He mumbles against my mouth, “I want to wash your body, too.”

  I nip him on the lips. “Oh, you can, but I’m about to get really dirty first, and then you can clean away.”

  And that seals the deal as he picks me up off the floor, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He drives himself into me. We stand there, underneath the shower, as he holds me up, repeatedly thrusting into me like a jackhammer.

  I’m so close when his head dips down and bites my nipple, which causes me to scream in pleasure, sending me flying high. Seeing me in the thralls of my own orgasm sends Damien into his own release as he says my name.

  He always knows exactly what we need and how we need it—slow, sensual teasing or animalistic, no-holds-barred sex.

  A few days have passed since returning from Texas. The pictures of us kissing are still running rampant in the news. Apparently, we’re making the late-night talk shows now.

  I just keep reminding Damien it’s the news, and the attention will die down. I have never watched a lot of T.V., but our infamous photo is making the sports highlight shows that Damien watches. My husband is cursing more than listening during that time. I really hate the attention I’m receiving over a kiss, but my ever-possessive husband is expressing himself enough for the two of us.

  True to my word, I’ve kept a low profile. I got my new number, which only Sam’s parents, Sam, Damien, and Bane have. I guess Bane is monitoring my other number, but I want nothing to do with my old phone.

  I’m in the kitchen, sitting on a stool, as I look at changing the colors to something warm and inviting like my mom’s kitchen. A few times, Damien mentioned that I should make modifications to the house, so I’ve decided to update part of the kitchen to hopefully help distract me and appease Damien’s request. Currently, this room is a Southern contemporary style, which is not my thing. Well, actually the whole house is done in this style besides our bedroom, den, and my library. I’m lost in all the paint color choices.

  From behind me, Damien strides into the room on the phone. “Ben, let’s meet in town tomorrow. I appreciate your willingness to come here, but we’ll meet at ten at the office to go over the contracts.” And then, he disconnects the phone as he positions himself across from me at the bar, standing, looking at the spread of colors in front of me. “Are we having fun with all the color choices, my love?”

  “Yes, dear, we are.”

  He laughs at me. I’m sure it’s because I’ve been hesitant to do anything, and he probably knows this stresses me out even though my tone is so sweet.

  Damien starts looking at a few of the paint chips as I say, “I’m narrowing it down, but I’m afraid that I’m going to change the color scheme of the whole house, which is going to be more work than just the kitchen. I’m trying to find the color that will keep the changes to a minimum,” I say as I continue to look at the colors.

  “Why?”

  I lift my head to meet his gaze, and I arch my eyebrow. “It’s ridiculous to change the whole house. Your home is beautiful as it is.”

  He goes still at my words, and I have no idea why.

  “What did you just say?”

  “That the house is beautiful as is. There’s no need to make a lot of changes.” I proceed very cautiously here because something I’ve said caught his attention.

  “No, I believe you said your home. This is our h
ome, Alli.”

  If I could facepalm myself right now, I would. It has been forever since I’ve slipped on that. I do feel like it’s my house, too. With all the pressure to move in while we were dating, I just ingrained in me the thought of this being Damien’s home only in order to keep my identity separate until we were married. If I had slipped while we were dating, he would have pounced and been more insistent for me to move in. I can see I’ve hurt him a little.

  “I’m sorry. I know this is my place, too.”

  He arches his brow at me. “Do you? Because I’ve also heard you ask Dolores if what you suggest for the menu is okay. You asked the gardener if it was okay to trim back some of the hedges around the patio in order to see the stables. Whatever you want is fine. If you truly felt like this was your place, you wouldn’t ask for permission.”

  I don’t really know what to say to that. It’s true. He’s looking me square in the face, penetrating me with his gaze.

  He continues, “If it takes a complete gutting of this house to make you feel at home here, then do it, Alli. I don’t care. I love being wherever you are. I paid someone to come in and do all this. It means nothing to me.”

  I just nod. It seems like such a waste of money.

  “And before you start thinking about money, do not worry about it. If you had to pick a color for the kitchen without worrying about coordinating the rest of the house, what color would you pick?”

  Without hesitation, I respond, “Warm apple red.”

  “Then, do it, Alli. Take each room, and make it ours. Build us a home. If you want my input, I’ll give you my thoughts.”

  This is one of those give-and-take situations. As my mom said, Always pick your battles, Alli. When you decide on a battle worth fighting for, it will be a bigger statement if you’re selective.

  I can do this. I smile at him. He wants a family home and not just a show house, like what he’s had. My smile broadens.

  I push the warm apple red paint swatch his way. “What do you think?”

  “I like it. Are you going to change out some of the furniture?”

  Does he really want me to change it all out? That will be so expensive.

  “Alli…”

  I mentally take a deep breath and refuse to think about the dollar amount associated with what I’m about to do. “I think it would look better if we had some of it replaced. I like some of the pieces, but I’m not a fan of the art. I’d rather do some of my pictures that would work in here once we got everything else placed.”

  He smiles at me. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll point out the things that are family heirlooms, and I hope that you’ll bring some of your parents’ things into our house as you go through and remodel. We’ll have it started while we are in North Carolina for your photo shoot.”

  Internally, I’m jumping at the words photo shoot. The new PR lady, Monica, called yesterday, and we are going to do a promo shoot for the team in two weeks.

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll get all my thoughts together and go over them with you. I want you to like it, too.”

  “Baby, as long as you start calling this our house and mean it, I’ll love it regardless. Otherwise, we’ll get rid of this place and find something else.”

  That thought immediately saddens me. Damien and I spent our first night together here.

  “No, I like it here. It’s where we made love for the first time.”

  “Then, we’ll stay. I just want to be where you are.”

  It’s time for a subject change. I’m going to remodel, and the amount of money I’ll be spending has me in a nearly hyperventilated state. Definitely time to move on to something else.

  Pushing the paint chips aside, I ask, “Did I hear that you are going into the office tomorrow?”

  He looks at me, annoyed. “Yes, I need to sign some things. If it can be helped, I’d rather Ben not be at the house anymore after what he’s done with Cassandra.”

  “Totally agree. I hate having to be around him. Has Bane had any luck figuring out what Martin said about Rebecca?”

  He’s twirling the warm apple red paint swatch on the counter. “Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll have it ironed out in the next day or so. He’s given me the list of accusations the paper claimed as to the reason Rebecca was killed. It’s extensive, so he’s taking them all and researching. His hands are somewhat tied from having to keep this all under the radar. I think us going to North Carolina will help speed things along.”

  “What kind of stuff was in the paper?”

  He rolls his shoulders, trying to relieve some of his stress. “Things like, she was a drug addict, she had a mystery lover, she was pregnant, she was a hooker, and she was kidnapped at birth. The usual bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry, Damien.”

  I know the kidnapped-at-birth theory is impossible because of how much Damien and her favor each other. There’s just no way. Desperate bloodsucking reporters.

  He looks down at his hands. “It kills me that I wasn’t the one she felt like she could talk to when all this was happening in her life.”

  I immediately get down off the stool and move to stand behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his back. “You have to stop beating yourself up. It wasn’t your fault. You both were going through a rough time. You would have found your way back to each other eventually.”

  We just stand there for a while, and I can feel his breath relaxing as he calms down.

  His hands move to be on top of mine. “I know. She would have loved you.”

  Squeezing him tighter, I imagine a different outcome for her and what it would have been like. “And I, her. You know, we should go visit her grave when we go up there and do what we did with my parents. I think it would do us both some good.”

  He turns around and faces me. “I don’t think—”

  I lean up to give him a kiss to silence his unspoken thoughts. “Shh, it was just a suggestion. Would you like some lunch?”

  “Mmm, what are you making?”

  At least, we are able to recover from that potential downward spiral. He needs to go see his sister’s grave. He just doesn’t realize it yet.

  We’ll tackle that another day.

  “Subs for lunch, but dessert is going to be out of this world. I have chocolate sauce.”

  He quirks his eyebrow up at me, and his mouth turns into a sexy grin. “You’re going to throw that out there and expect me to eat subs? I say dessert first.”

  Before I have a chance to respond, Damien has thrown me over his shoulder. He grabs the chocolate sauce from the fridge. I squeal with excitement because I know what’s coming, and it’s going to be delicious in every sense of the word.

  Damien left early this morning for his meeting with Ben. It’s late afternoon, and I’m in the library. My phone pings.

  Damien: I’ll be leaving in the next thirty minutes. Had some unforeseen work issues.

  Me: No worries. Working on the house remodel stuff. Can’t wait to show you.

  Damien: Can’t wait to see it, baby. Love you.

  Me: Love you, too.

  After pressing Send, I confirm my order with the jeweler that I’ve ordered for Damien’s belated wedding present. Shit, I used my old credit card again. He’s probably going to flip when he realizes I’ve been using my old credit cards and bank account to pay for things. It’s out of habit more than anything. I really need to combine our assets before he reads more into it. Gah, it’s going to be such a hassle to change everything.

  I continue to change out different tones of paint swatches. This morning, I started pulling together a plan to remodel the entire house. The first initial step is taking the monotone taupe walls and giving the house life. Some of the rooms are like a mausoleum, and I just feel intimidated when I’m in them. I want to have a warm, inviting house where we use all the rooms instead of only about three or four. Some of the furniture I’m good with. It’s the uncomfortable, super formal pieces that I’m not a fan of. I want the
Southern feel to envelop this house and welcome all who come in, like our ranch in Texas.

  My phone pings. Since my number just changed, it’s either Damien or Sam. I hit the View Message button without looking, and a video starts to load. Odd. It takes me a second to realize what’s going on. I don’t recognize the room, but I immediately zero in on the man in bed with a woman.

  My stomach immediately drops when my brain catches up to what my heart and eyes already know. It’s Damien and Cassandra in this video. I know I should shut off the video, but I can’t. I just can’t.

  He pleases her as she lies beneath him. I can only see his muscled back, black hair, and a few glimpses of his side profile. I wish I could see his eyes, so I could verify if he’s looking at her like he looks at me. I know the answer, but seeing this is like a knife in the gut.

  She smiles up at the camera repeatedly, and then she throws her head back as he hits some spot she likes. It feels as if my world is frozen, and I can’t get through this video fast enough.

  I wish I could shut it off. There’s nothing positive that is going to come from this. When he goes to her navel, like he has done to me so many different times, I literally sink to the floor from the chair, realizing that he has used the same moves on me that he did with other women. I know I should have realized this, but seeing it all in Technicolor glory brings it home.

  The next thing I see is him pushing into her, and then they start going at it like rabbits before they both scream out in their release. Seeing someone else bring him pleasure is the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. He collapses on top of her, and then he immediately disengages, leaves the bed, and removes his condom. The screen goes black, and then words flash across the screen.

  He doesn’t love you like I do. He loves her.

  I’m going to be sick. I throw my phone down and run to our bedroom right down the hall. I lock myself in the bathroom. The tears start to fall silently regardless of how I try to command them to stop. Faster and faster, they flow. I feel nauseous, and I’m trying not to get sick as I slowly breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth.