Feel (Sovereign Book 3)

by BJ Harvey

  Moments later I stood in the tiled foyer of Aiden’s home, looking around in awe at his beautiful home. "This place is amazing,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything, instead he walked down a hallway with our bags. I stood stock still and took in the polished wooden floors and sleek black leather furniture in the living room. There was a gas fireplace in one corner with a large flat screen television hung on the wall above it. In the opposite corner there stood a granite slab kitchen counter, enclosing a large gourmet kitchen with dark wooden cupboards and stainless steel appliances.

  It was a house that one day would become a family home, the warm and welcoming atmosphere instantly relaxing me. I could tell I would be safe here, even at a time when the ground I found myself standing on was anything but steady.

  I was still in the same place when Aiden returned a few minutes later, his brows still furrowed and his lips tight. “Would you like a drink? Coffee, water . . .?” he asked, walking into his kitchen.

  “Wine, please,” I answered immediately. “Surely living so close to Napa, you’d have a bottle or two,” I joked, as I walked over to a barstool and sat down opposite where he was standing.

  “Something like that,” he replied deadpan, not looking at me. He opened up a cabinet in front of him and pulled out a wine glass before taking a step toward the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle of white. A few moments later, he turned around and placed the drink in front of me on the counter.

  Without a word, he returned the wine to the fridge and returned with a bottle of beer which he effortlessly opened and lifted to his mouth for a long swig.

  “Aiden, I—”

  He dropped the bottle down and braced his hands on the counter, pinning me with a glare. “Aly, I said I’d give you time, but I also said I’d fight for you. Two days . . . two days! And you were in his bed. Then I turn up today and you’re in his arms, kissing him. You’re supposed to be mine. You’re meant to be mine, and that asshole had his hands on you. His mouth on you.”

  “I don’t know what to say . . .” I replied softly.

  “There’s not much you could say that would make me feel any better. I know things about that man that you don’t.”

  It was then that I made the decision to get the answers I wanted and start the conversation I had put off earlier that morning. Taking a deep breath, I lifted my eyes to meet his and asked, “How do you know him?” My voice remained calm, hiding the confusion and anxiety swirling inside of me.

  He walked out of the kitchen and toward the two leather couches, taking a seat on the one farthest away. I decided distance would be best at that point so sat down on the couch opposite to the one on which he was seated.

  “We’ve known each other for two years, but there is a lot you don’t know about me, Aly.”

  “Like what?” I asked, before lifting my glass to my mouth and taking my first drink.

  “I started my training at Quantico . . .” he said, and I’d thankfully had time to swallow before I gasped.

  “You were in the FBI?”

  “I started out my career hoping to be but found it wasn’t for me, so I transferred to SFPD and worked my way up to detective.”

  “So Barrett?” I asked, my voice steady when in fact I felt anything but calm.

  Aiden stared at me, watching my reaction, but his expression remained blank as he continued, “I met Mark—or Barrett—during training. We were in the same class.”

  I bit my tongue as my anger—and blood pressure—began to rise. Aiden had lied to me. So had Barrett.

  It wasn’t overt, but a lie by omission was still a lie. When I’d seen Barrett at the airport, he could have told me then—or after we’d left—but he hadn’t. Worse still, Aiden avoided my questions about how he knew Barrett by changing the subject every time I’d asked him about it.

  Taking a slow, deep breath, I concentrated on the inhale and then steady exhale, trying to hold back the outburst waiting on the tip of my tongue.

  Before I could say anything, Aiden continued, “I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t put two and two together to begin with. I definitely didn’t see any connection between the man you knew as Barrett Matthews and the same man I knew of as Mark Lucas.”

  “But you knew at the airport,” I said.

  “Yes, but I didn’t know if you were involved in the case he was working on, or whether you were another conquest.”

  “Conquest?”

  “I hate that he’s touched you, but you’re not the first woman in my life that he’s hurt.”

  I’d opened my mouth to say something more, to defend the other man and berate Aiden for lying to me in the same way Barrett had done, but froze when his words sunk in. “What?” I whispered.

  Aiden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs, the beer bottle in his hand hanging slack in front of him. “Christy was in our class. Two months into our training, she and I started dating.” Aiden took another drink and swallowed hard before continuing. “It was intense, and I fell hard and fast.”

  Silence stretched between us. I was lost for words. How uncanny was it that Aiden and Barrett not only knew each other, but that by some serendipitous coincidence, they had also both become involved with me?

  “Lucas and I were friends. We shared a room and did pretty much everything together. What I didn’t know at the time was that he was sleeping with Christy.”

  Now that got a reaction from me.

  “No . . .” I said, my hand covering my mouth as it all started to make sense—Aiden’s anger towards Barrett, his staunch protection of me earlier today, and the distance he chose to put between us when he realized that Mark Lucas—Barrett Matthews—was the man I’d met in Vegas.

  “So, suffice to say, I don’t trust that man.”

  “Is that why you left the FBI?”

  “No, Aly. It wasn’t meant for me. Leaving Christy and Lucas behind was just an added bonus.”

  It was then that I placed my glass on the large wooden coffee table in front of me and walked over to sit beside him. I reached over and grabbed his beer, putting it down and entwining my fingers in his before pulling them into my lap. “I’m sorry,” I said. My words held more weight than I realized.

  His grip tightened and I looked up into his eyes, the depth of emotion I saw hitting me deep inside of my chest. “I’m sorry I lied,” he said softly. “But you mean more to me than she ever did, and I couldn’t bear to lose you to him. Not again.” He squeezed my hand one more time. “Not ever.”

  In that moment, I couldn’t reassure him. I could offer false promises that it wouldn’t happen because I was being torn in two directions.

  I stood up and pulled Aiden’s hand until he stood in front of me. Hooking my arms around his neck, I lifted up on my toes to kiss him. His hands gripped my hips and held me hard against him as he opened his mouth and drove his tongue inside with a groan.

  Then he cupped my ass and picked me up. Wrapping my legs around his back, I tangled my fingers into his hair and held his lips to mine as he carried me across the living room, down the hallway and into his bedroom.

  I wasn’t thinking clearly. He’d just pulled at my heart strings and without being able to keep my head – or emotions – in check, I followed my gut instinct and sought physical comfort from the man who always made me feel safe and grounded.

  At the back of my mind, I knew it was unfair to sleep with Aiden when I hadn’t made a decision about who I wanted to be with. The rational part of my brain was never available when I was with Barrett or Aiden. It wasn’t right to be sleeping with two men when there were feelings involved—raw, passionate emotions that I could neither control nor rationalize.

  “Stop thinking, Aly,” Aiden growled against my mouth before dragging his lips down over my jaw and covering my neck with wet open-mouthed kisses, setting my entire body ablaze. It was as if something had snapped, and we just had to have each other. When he sucked hard on the sensitive skin of my collarbone, I lost it.
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  He eased me down onto the bed, our teeth crashing together as we each tried to hold tighter and kiss deeper. I pulled his tee shirt up his body and over his head then he ripped my shirt open, ducking down suck my nipple through the thin lace of my bra.

  When we were skin to skin and a thin sheen of sweat covered our bodies, he rolled on a condom and slowly pushed inside me. I welcomed the intimacy, I relished the closeness, and I outwardly soared just as all of the emotional turmoil from the previous week collided and overwhelmed me. I didn’t hide my tears when they started falling down my face and Aiden didn’t say a word, just silently swept them away before dropping his forehead to mine and kissing me.

  Hours later, I lay awake in his bed as he slept beside me but I could not settle, my mind wouldn’t switch off, and I couldn’t clear my head.

  I knew it was wrong to give myself to him when half of my heart was back in Seattle. I knew it was unfair to let him make love to me when just one night earlier, it had been Barrett buried deep inside of me. Finally, I knew I was in way over my head, and in desperate need of distance from both men to ever have any hope of gaining some perspective.

  It troubled me that my mother had not returned my calls and that my company was now in the hands of a man who I didn’t like or trust. Whatever Gavin had over Mom or —worse still—might have done to her, terrified me.

  It hit me that somehow in the five weeks since Las Vegas, I’d stopped focusing on what was important and lost myself in the fallout of everything that was Barrett and Aiden. I’d become swept up in the romance of Aiden and the intense connection I had with Barrett, and had forgotten to look after the most important person—me.

  As if experiencing an epiphany, I quietly left Aiden’s bed and scrambled around the floor for my clothes. I dragged my bag into the hallway and silently dressed in his living room. I moved to the kitchen counter and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from my purse before writing Aiden a note.

  Aiden,

  I cannot ask you to wait for me. Just know that I have loved every moment I’ve spent with you. I need time to think about everything that’s happened. I hope that one day you will forgive me for what I need to do.

  Aly

  Placing the letter on the counter, I used my phone to order a town car and fifteen minutes later—for the second time in twenty-four hours—I was sneaking out of a man's house after sex.

  Guilt ravaged me as I fought against the opposing forces that tugged at my heart and threatened to pull me under. By leaving Aiden, I hoped to protect him from any further heartache.

  Hearing his story about Christy and Barrett made it clear that it was unfair to ask him to wait for me while I made a decision—the thought of which seemed all the more impossible in that moment.

  So I made the only choice I knew I could at the time—I chose me, my mother and my company, and doing everything in my power to protect them.

  An hour after leaving Aiden's bed, I stood at a ticket counter at the airport; three hours later, I landed in Las Vegas and went straight to my hotel.

  As soon as I woke up the next morning, I was in a cab on my way to my mother’s house—the same house that she shared with Gavin. I had no idea if he was back in Vegas already, or if he was still enjoying his takeover and my office back in Seattle.

  Unsurprisingly, Aiden had not tried to contact me. I knew that my leaving would have hurt him, but I hoped that eventually, he would realize that I’d done what was best—for everyone. Barrett had sent me a text asking me to call him as soon as I was able to. I knew he deserved an explanation as to why I left with Aiden the day before. I wanted to talk to him to find out his side of the story about Christy and Aiden but my priority was my mother and making sure she was safe.

  After pulling up outside my mother’s house, I paid the driver and walked up the circular driveway to the front door.

  I knew my mom, and I knew in my heart that she would never let Gavin take the company away from me. Out of everyone, she knew how dedicated I was to my job and the family business. There was no way that she would let anyone—even her husband—come between me and my father’s legacy. If she gave Gavin permission to do this, he must have done something to her or forced her hand. Even so, she would have called to tell me about it. My mother had never kept secrets from me, and I didn’t expect that she would start after thirty-one years.

  Knocking on the door, I pulled my phone out of my purse and tried to call her and yet again, it went straight to voicemail.

  “Mom, I’m standing outside your front door. If you get this message, please call me. I’m worried about you. I just need to know you’re okay. I don’t care when—day or night—please just call me.”

  I cupped my hand on the thin glass window next to the entryway, but unfortunately could not see any movement inside. I knocked on the door again, this time harder and more determined as I grew more and more anxious.

  “Miss?” I heard from my side. Jerking back in surprise, I turned toward the voice and saw a middle-aged man dressed in blue coveralls standing on my mother’s front lawn.

  “Shit. Sorry, you gave me a fright,” I said.

  “Are you looking for Mrs. Barnes?” he asked me, wiping a dirt-covered hand on his pant legs before holding it out in my direction.

  “I’m Alyssa, Mrs. Jacobs—I mean Barnes’s daughter,” I replied, shaking his hand.

  “I’m George; I do the landscaping here. Your mother talks about you all the time. Nice to meet you.”

  “Do you know where she might be?”

  “I’m sorry. I have not seen her in a long time.” Hearing his words made the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach uncurl and rise up my throat. The growing fear I had for my mother’s safety threatened to choke me.

  “Oh,” I replied, my voice despondent. “I really need to speak with her.”

  “Have you spoken to Mr. Barnes?” George asked curiously.

  “No, but I really do need to speak to my mother.” I wrung my hands together, racking my brain as to what my next move might be. Then, I had an idea. “George, you wouldn’t have a key to the house, would you?”

  “I don’t, sorry. Mr. Barnes doesn’t allow staff inside the house anymore.”

  “Oh. Do you know why?”

  He shook his head and lifted his arm to his forehead, wiping the beading sweat away from his eyes. “Things changed when he moved in.” He frowned before his eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I should not have spoken out of turn like that.”

  “You’re fine, George. I’m very worried about my mom.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a business card. “If you see her or find out anything that might help me, please call.”

  “I will, Ms. Jacobs.”

  “Call me Alyssa, and thank you.”

  He looked down the driveway and out to the road. “Mrs. King next door might know something. She’s always visiting your mother, and Mrs. Barnes is always going over for afternoon tea.” He pointed to the house one hundred yards south of where we were standing.

  “Thank you so much,” I said, walking backwards in the direction of the neighbor’s house. “And please, call if you hear anything. Even if Mr. Barnes comes home,” I added.

  “I will,” he replied in earnest, giving a small wave before disappearing around the side of the house.

  A few moments later, I knocked on the door of the neighbor’s house. A gorgeous woman answered the door, her blond cropped hair perfectly set in loose curls. “Oh my, you look exactly like Rosalie!” she exclaimed.

  “Um, Mrs. King?”

  “Oh darling, please call me Bridget. Come in,” she offered, stepping aside and sweeping her arm out.

  “I was hoping you might know where my mother is?”

  “I’m sorry, dear, I haven’t seen Rosalie since she left for her honeymoon. She came over the morning after the wedding, and I haven’t heard from her since. Is something wrong?”

  Tears prickled my eyes, and I had to swallow hard to keep my voice steady, which
I failed spectacularly at. “I . . . I think something might have . . . have happened to her. She . . . She isn’t answering her phone, she isn’t home, and she hasn’t returned any of my calls in two days.”

  Bridget wrapped her arms around me and held me tight as I lost the fight and started sobbing. “I know your mother, and I know that she would never not contact you, Alyssa. I think we need to call Gavin; he might—”

  “No!” I cried, wrenching myself free and stepping back. “If anything has happened to her, Gavin is the cause. Please, whatever you do, you can’t call him. Promise me.”

  She reached out and put her hand on my forearm, “Okay, Alyssa. We won’t call Gavin. But if you’re that worried, I think we should call the police.”

  My head snapped up. “You don’t think I’m being crazy?”

  “Not at all, dear. This is probably just a big misunderstanding. Maybe she has a new phone number or she’s gone to a spa retreat and forgot to tell us. But for peace of mind, mine and yours, I think we should get the police to investigate.”

  “I think you’re right,” I replied.

  “Do you have a car here?” Bridget asked me, walking over to a side table which held an oversized designer purse.

  “No, I caught a cab. I arrived late last night; I haven’t hired a car yet.”

  “I’ll take you, then.”

  “Thank you, Bridget. I’m sorry to land this on you.”

  “Don’t apologize. I’m worried now too. We need to get to the bottom of this, and the police are the best bet.”

  She shut the front door and I followed her down a small hallway into a large three-car garage. Moments later, we pulled out of her driveway on the way to the police precinct.

  I spent most of the afternoon with police. Early inquiries had shown that my mother had returned from her honeymoon four days earlier, on Sunday, but none of her credit cards or bank accounts had been touched, and her phone had not been turned back on.