Strict Confidence

by Skye Warren

  “Wait until I’m finished,” he admonishes. “Or you won’t get your reward.”

  “What are you writing?”

  His fingers work inside, deft and merciless. “Pay attention. You tell me. You have to tell me what it says if you want me to let you come.”

  “Nooo,” I moan, moving my hips, restless and hungry.

  The message marches forward, letter by letter, an exquisite torture. It drives me closer to climax. I’m nearing the edge, fighting it. My heels dig into the bed as if I can stop the tumble. Then he finishes the last letter with a swirling flourish deep inside.

  I come so hard my vision turns as black as his eyes.

  Before I can fully recover, he flips me over so I’m face down. My body’s made of liquid, heavy with salt like the ocean, frothy and indistinct at the edges. His hands cover mine as he places them on the headboard. Those same palms on my hips, hauling them back to the angle he wants them. He spreads my thighs. I can’t catch my breath.

  “Hold on,” he says.

  I expect him to take me then. Brace for it, even.

  Instead I’m met with the flat of his tongue along my center. Wet, rough, heat. It’s so different from what I was expecting that I come on his tongue instantly. He groans at the taste. The sound turns off the part of me that was thinking at all anymore.

  Then he’s up on his knees behind me. “Hold on, hold on,” he says, and the thick head of him is at my opening.

  He doesn’t wait for me to find the right angle or work myself over him.

  He takes what he wants.

  And what he wants is to be inside me to the point of stretch. To the point of ache. I don’t have time to adjust to him and I don’t want it. He brushes against a spot deep inside that stops my breath, and my next taste of oxygen sends me spiraling out into thoughtless, mindless pleasure.

  Before I came here, I would have been embarrassed at the sounds I’m making. Animal whimpers and wordless begging. But it doesn’t matter, because Beau’s a match for me. He grunts in a way that reminds me of moonlit branches and carpets of moss. We aren’t people right now. We’ve been reduced to our primal selves.

  “What did you—” My voice breaks on a moan. I have to begin again. To beg for what I didn’t earn, because I came when I wasn’t supposed to. “What did you write before? Inside me?”

  His answer is a wordless snarl.

  “Please,” I say, breathless. “I want to know.”

  “Don’t leave,” he says on a growl. “Don’t ever leave me.”

  For a moment I think he’s refusing to tell me, but then I realize, this is the answer. That’s what he wrote inside me, fingers on my swollen, inner skin, making my orgasm.

  D O N T E V E R L E A V E M E

  I come again, and his natural rhythm starts to break apart like the ocean in the middle of a storm. He fucks me like the waves crash on the beach, one after the other, fast and hard.

  They don’t care about upsetting pristine sand.

  “This is mine,” Beau says. “This. Is. Mine.”

  The raw possession in his voice makes me clench around him again and he curses and then he’s coming too, all of him hot and hard and moving over me like I belong to him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jane Mendoza

  The interview with Joe Causey was terrible. Horrible. But afterward, with Beau—that was something we both needed. I needed him to be that way. He needed me to be that way. Pliant. Submissive. I gave myself to him with complete and utter trust. He wasn’t gentle with me. He didn’t treat me like porcelain, but then I’m not fine china. I’m forged in fire.

  He knew he could be rough with me.

  He knew I wouldn’t break.

  It’s early when I hear Paige’s footsteps outside my room. The bed feels empty without Beau, but he doesn’t feel as far away as he has. We’ve found a middle ground. We can do this. I push my hair back from my face and swing my legs over the side of the bed just as the doorknob turns.

  “Hey,” I tell her. “Are you ready for breakfast?”

  She nods, blue eyes bright.

  I pull on one of the crewneck sweaters Mateo brought from Nordstrom. It’s meant to be casual. It’s still a million times nicer than most of the dresses I’ve owned in my life. Still new and soft. I think it’ll be this soft even when it’s taken another fifty trips through the wash.

  A quick change out of sleep shorts into yoga pants, and I’m ready. We make a detour on the way downstairs to brush our teeth.

  Beau’s door is still shut. He’s been tense lately. Stressed. If he can sleep, I’ll let him.

  Marjorie’s already in the kitchen when we come in. It’s just past seven so she’s getting breakfast ready. She turns away from the countertop and smiles at Paige. “I’m making waffles,” she says. “Want some?”

  “With extra syrup,” Paige says, climbing onto one of the stools at the island.

  “Of course.” Marjorie winks at her, then turns back to a waffle iron perched next to the stove. “I’ll have bacon and eggs along with it, and coffee’s ready, too. I got this new creamer the other day that’s absolutely delicious if you like hazelnut.”

  I’m used to drinking my coffee black, which was always the cheapest way to have it when we could get it. There was a convenience store that Noah and I would stop at on the way home from school sometimes.

  The flavored coffee was always out of our budget.

  “I’d love some.” Especially since my eyelids are still weighted from last night. I slept deeply, but it’s early, and the last few weeks have been a lot.

  I find Marjorie’s new creamer in the fridge. It’s a boutique brand with a sleek logo and a list of accomplishments on the front. Organic. Hand pressed. Superfood. The last one makes me raise my eyebrow, but I pour into my mug anyway.

  The creamer turns the coffee a sandy color. It’s probably too much, but I’m already dressed in this new life. My new phone is in the pocket of my yoga pants. There should be no guilt in enjoying expensive coffee creamer.

  And it tastes really good. I must make some sound, because when I open my eyes again, Paige is making a face at me. “Coffee’s gross,” she says.

  “Not this coffee.” It’s scary how easy it is to get used to the good life. How will I go back to canisters of black powder in a Mr. Coffee we picked up at a garage sale?

  A thump at the front door of the inn makes Paige’s eyes go wide. “What was that?”

  Marjorie smiles over her shoulder at her. “The morning paper. I like to have one out for the guests. Do you want to go grab it, Paige?”

  Paige scrambles down from the stool, eager to be helpful.

  I lean my hip on the countertop and take another sip of coffee. God, it’s good. Sun slants gently through the window over the sink. A new day. Hopefully one without Joe Causey in it.

  Things did not end well with Joe yesterday, but there’s nothing more I can tell the police. I doubt Beau will let them come back. We should be able to breathe.

  At least for this one day.

  The waffle maker dings. Marjorie tilts the fresh waffle onto a plate with a spatula. “Have any plans for the day? Weather looks gorgeous so far.”

  “Maybe we’ll go to the beach.” It’s hard not to relish how easy this question is. This is what Marjorie would ask if we were really staying here for a vacation and not living here because of a house fire. If I were the version of myself who wore crewneck sweaters that cost seventy dollars and yoga pants that cost more than my clothes budget for entire years. If Beau was mine, the way I’m beginning to think I belong to him. “Maybe—”

  The scream from outside starts shrill, cuts off abruptly, and starts up again.

  Paige.

  I push my coffee onto the countertop so hard it tips over and run for the front door. She left it open. My heart beats high in my throat. My toe catches the doorjamb and I stumble out onto the porch, scanning for the woman in the nightgown, frantic that Paige is hurt. Footsteps behind me, heavy
and uneven on the stairs. Beau’s coming. “Jane—”

  “Sweetheart.”

  Paige stands in the middle of the porch, her shoulders hunched forward. She clutches the clear bag the newspaper came in, a spray of plastic rising from two fists that haven’t lost all their childhood chubbiness. Her chest heaves, and as I take the last step toward her, another scream tears out of her. “Jane,” she screams. “Jane, Jane.”

  I turn her into my side and pull her with me. Across the porch.

  Away from the thing that made her scream.

  Beau barrels out the door as soon as we’re out of the way and looks. “Christ.” He picks his head up and scans around us. There’s no one. There’s no one in sight. His eyes land on the two of us. Paige, her face pressed into my belly, her whole body shaking.

  “What was that?” Every word is interrupted with a sob. “What was it, Jane?”

  She already saw it, so I won’t lie. “It was a… an animal.”

  A dead rat. And not a rat that had crawled up from the ground and died of natural causes. Not a rat that had been brought to us as a gift from the kitten.

  A murdered rat in its own pool of blood.

  I meet Beau’s eyes across the porch. There’s fury in his expression. And fear. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice rough. He sounds worried. More worried than I’ve ever heard him.

  Because it wasn’t just the rat. There was a note. It said Jane.

  It was for me. It was meant for me to find and to see.

  It was meant to make me afraid. And it’s working.

  I’m definitely not okay. I rub a hand down Paige’s back, between her little shoulder blades. “We’re going to be fine,” I tell Beau in a level voice. “It was scary, but we’re going to be fine.”

  The look on his face scares me more than the rat. I can see him pulling away, building that wall between us. Here on the porch, with his body blocking the horrific sight from view. “It’s time to go in.” It sounds final, in that tone. As if we’ve finally come to the end of something. “We need to go inside. Right the fuck now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Beau Rochester

  Jane takes Paige inside.

  They take the first step through the front door and Paige starts to wail. It’s worse than the screaming she did when we first arrived here. It’s worse than the terrified screams that brought me running down the stairs. It reminds me of the way she cried after the wake, sobs consuming her whole body. Marjorie is there, her face white. The three of them go into the living room and Jane falls onto the couch, pulling Paige along with her.

  What the fuck.

  A dead rat. Out on the porch. For Jane.

  Why?

  The hair on the back of my neck pulls so tight it hurts. I can feel eyes on me from every angle but I can’t see a damn person. Paige’s howling slashes through the morning breeze again and again. It starts to taper off but the storm in my own head doesn’t.

  Joe Causey did this.

  That’s the logical conclusion. Causey did this. He put the rat there to terrify Jane into confessing something. He wants her to break down and admit she set the fire at the house. Or hell, he would probably be satisfied driving her away from me.

  I can’t even call the police. Causey is the police. Even if another officer takes the call, he’ll be the one investigating his own damn crime.

  Mateo meets me outside, quiet and calming in that way of his. “What can I do?” he asks.

  “Bury it,” I say, gritting my teeth against what I have to do. It will be a hell of a lot harder than digging a hole, but I can’t put it off any longer.

  “I checked the camera. Whoever it was concealed head to toe. They knew the doorbell was a camera, and they did it when it was dark out.”

  “Don’t act as if it’s a mystery,” I say. “Joe Causey knows we have surveillance at the inn. He was pissed when he found out we recorded him.”

  A pause. “I’ll handle this. What are you going to do about Jane?”

  I haven’t had any illusions about Jane. I’m dangerous to her. The boss who couldn’t stay away from her. Even now, I don’t want to stay away from her.

  I want her in my house, in my bed.

  “I’ll do what I have to do,” I say, though the words feel like shards of glass inside my throat. “Whatever it takes to keep her safe.”

  “You’ll send her home.” Mateo’s staring at me, his jaw set.

  “No, I won’t.” My leg feels like it’s crumbling from being out here. My thigh bone could snap in half. I ignore it. “How the hell would that help anything? I can’t protect her in Houston.”

  Mateo’s eyes widen. “You’re shitting me. You have to send her home.”

  “She’s not safe on her own.”

  “She’s not safe with you,” he bursts out, barely managing to keep his voice low. “You’re playing games with her. She’s already your employee. And a decade younger than you. Now things are getting dangerous, and you’re going keep her around so you can fuck her?”

  The words land like a goddamn arrow. Right in the center. Bullseye. No, she’s not safe with me. It doesn’t mean I can let her go. “I can’t do a damn thing for her if I send her out of here.”

  “That’s all you can do for her. Damn it, Beau. That’s all you can do. Give Jane her life back. Stop stealing it from her. Don’t be a selfish asshole about this.”

  I square off with him. “Don’t tell me what’s good for her.”

  “How dare you risk her?” He looks pained to say it. “How dare you drag her into your shit? I always knew you had baggage, and I accepted it. I also accepted that Emily knew what she was doing with you, but this is different. Jane is innocent. She’s young.”

  “She’s—”

  “She’s too goddamn young to be embroiled in this.” Mateo’s voice softens. “I know it blows. But you have to send her back home. Anything else happens to her, and you’ll be on the hook for it. Maybe not legally, but morally. You won’t be able to live with yourself.”

  “I—” He’s right. That’s what hurts more than everything else. That’s what’s stopping my goddamn heart. “I know. Yes. You’re right.”

  Mateo nods. “I’ll take her to the airport. You have to go tell her.”

  I go back through the door and into the living room.

  Paige is quiet now, but it’s only because she’s cried herself to sleep in Jane’s lap. Her arms cradle the morning paper in its plastic bag. Jane leans against the back of the couch and runs her fingers through Paige’s hair. She swallows hard. “Do you think we should call—”

  “We’re not calling anyone.” We can’t. Joe Causey did this, and Joe Causey will know if we call the police. What good would it do? I have to resolve this on my own. “Jane.”

  “Yeah?” She glances down at Paige in her lap. A dead rat left for her, and she’s more worried for Paige than herself. God, what have I been thinking, letting her stay here? I should have known better than that. I should have known from the first night she walked into my house that it wouldn’t be simple. My love is dangerous. That’s been proven today.

  “It’s time to go.”

  Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t stop stroking Paige’s hair. “What do you mean?”

  “You need to leave.”

  Causey wouldn’t come after a child. He wouldn’t come after his own niece. He doesn’t realize that he’s hurting Paige anyway. He has no idea the pain this will cause. He’s blinded by spite, and something has pushed him over the edge. I don’t care to analyze it now. All I know is that I have to get her away from this place. When Jane’s somewhere safe, I can make Joe believe I don’t care about her. I’ll make sure the investigation finds the real arsonist here in Maine.

  Jane shakes her head. She doesn’t understand. “Go upstairs? Is someone coming to take care of the rat?”

  “No. You’re going home. Back to Houston. You need to pack your things and get ready to go. Mateo will take you to the airport.”


  “Beau.” A shocked whisper. “What are you saying? I’m not leaving.”

  It’s a struggle to keep my voice in check. I don’t want to startle Paige out of her sleep. Enough has happened to that girl to last several lifetimes. I’m about to make it worse. Paige might never forgive me for sending Jane away. I had no other choice won’t be a good enough explanation. It hardly sounds like one in my own head.

  But it’s the only way I can keep her safe.

  “You’re going on the first flight out.”

  A tear slips down Jane’s cheek, but she doesn’t sob. She barely moves. “You wouldn’t do this. I know you care about me. I know you love me.”

  “I do love you.” It’s a knife to the throat to say the words to her like this. Damn you, Rochester. Damn you for letting it get so out of control. “That doesn’t change anything.”

  Jane’s mouth drops open. “It’s everything.”

  “It doesn’t.” I’m an asshole, standing over her to say this. I should get down on my knees and hold her hand. I should beg. But if Jane sees that kind of softness from me, she won’t leave. And she has to leave. She has to leave today. Before this goes any further. I take out my phone. “People who love each other don’t always end up together.”

  Jane blinks and another tear falls down her cheek. She shakes her head. Christ, I can see it in her eyes. What she’s thinking. She’s thinking this is about Emily, and the fact that I didn’t get what I wanted from that relationship.

  She’s wrong. This isn’t about Emily, and can’t be about Emily. I was never going to get what I wanted from any relationship with Emily because what I want is Jane. I just didn’t know it yet. She hadn’t walked into my life yet. I couldn’t have known.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m booking you a flight.”

  Jane allows herself one single, stifled sob, but then she swallows hard and makes the rest of them disappear. “I’m not leaving you,” she says, her eyes on the ceiling. But then she brings them back to me. “I’m not leaving Paige.”

  “You are.” My only consideration for the flight is how quickly it can get her back to Houston. “Because you don’t work for me anymore.”