His to Love (Fireside #1)

by Stacey Lynn

  “Champagne?”

  “Please,” I whispered, pushing down the frustration. A part of me wanted to remind Malik what we spoke of earlier this week. This was not a night where he could try to seduce me into getting what he wanted. I wanted to remind him that I was with someone. That I would never be his. The other part wanted to just get through this evening with as little conflict as possible. Once I refused to marry him, and revealed everything to my father, I would never attend an event of this magnitude again. And while I wouldn’t miss it, I did want to enjoy the evening and the hard work that Simone and I had finally pulled off.

  I took the glass of champagne from Malik when he pointed a flute in my direction, taking care that our fingers didn’t brush, and quickly brought it to my lips. The bubbles simmered on my tongue, warming my mouth and my throat as I swallowed.

  “This is delicious,” I told him honestly.

  His reaction was pleased, and his smile was light as he watched me take another sip.

  “Tell me how your job is going. Are you enjoying being at DPA?”

  I glanced at him to find he looked genuinely curious as he leaned back in his seat, champagne glass held gingerly in his large hands.

  “I don’t think the week before a party like this was probably the best time to start,” I admitted, thinking back to all the fires Simone had to put out and all the issues I had helped her solve. “And yet, it was probably the best way, too. I’ve learned a lot in a short amount of time.”

  Malik nodded his understanding. “Baptism by fire, you might say.”

  I grinned into my champagne glass. “Yes. It’s been exactly like that.”

  “You don’t have to be nervous with me, Gabriella,” Malik stated after a moment of a silence. “I intend to keep my word with you.”

  I swallowed thickly, not realizing that my nerves and doubt were written so plainly on my face. Sucking my bottom lip into my mouth, I whispered, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “That being said,” he began and leaned forward. As he did, his eyes darkened and his lips pulled into a straight line. “There is a conversation that we must have.”

  I jerked in my seat, startled at the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What is it?”

  “We’ll save it for after the party. I don’t wish to ruin our fun or the evening for you.”

  While that was nice, polite even, that same tense feeling that had been in my father’s house all week began to fill the car, thickening the air between us.

  “Malik—”

  “Later.” He pressed the tip of his champagne glass to his mouth, signaling to me that he wasn’t going to discuss it further. “For now, let’s enjoy the evening, each other’s company, and do the jobs we’re supposed to be doing.”

  His suggestion was more like a warning—one I didn’t fully understand. My brow crinkled in confusion, but then I nodded, because I had no other choice. “Okay,” I whispered, glancing down at my own champagne glass. “I won’t like this conversation we’re going to have later, will I?”

  “Do you ever enjoy anything that has to do with your father’s business or your family?”

  “I think that’s my answer,” I muttered, lips pulling into a frown.

  He chuckled and I felt my own lips twitch. At least he found me humorous.

  “I can guarantee you an evening of seeing your work on display, excellent food…” He paused, and I lifted my eyes to see his lips twitching, fighting a smile. “And perhaps, semi-decent company.”

  While I didn’t appreciate the warning of what would occur later, I did appreciate his attempts to lighten the mood in the car.

  To show him, I raised my champagne glass to his and give him a wink. “To semi-decent company this evening.”

  His eyes crinkled at the outer edges as his smile widened. “Cheers.”

  —

  Dinner was incredibly fabulous. I dined on delicious rack of lamb and roasted vegetables. Waiters appeared on a well-timed schedule changing the courses, from a palate cleanser to a soup, a brief salad, and then the main course, followed by a beautiful dessert mousse that tasted like my favorite, french silk pie, except a thousand times better.

  And as we had discussed in the limo, the company was decent. Better than semi-decent, truly. Malik was nothing less than a gentleman at every opportunity, and he kept our physical space appropriate except for when he placed his hand on my back to guide me wherever he wanted to go. And there was a lot of guiding and leading. The number of politicians in the gorgeous dining hall at the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit was astounding. There were even more wealthy business leaders. There was a smattering of famous athletes and models. A few celebrity musicians also joined together to raise millions of dollars for breast cancer research.

  A part of me knew it was all for show. The room was filled with powerful men and women. As they figuratively opened their wallets to donate funds or bid on silent auction items that included expensive jewels and glorious vacations, I could practically see the men’s hard-ons when they realized they had more money than their adversaries.

  Despite that, I still appreciated the monetary donations as well as the support for my mom that many people came to give me in hushed tones and whispers. It was not lost on me that people in this crowd loved my mother. Their pain and sincerity when they realized I was her daughter, and that neither of my parents were in attendance at their own benefit, was clear. I was moved to tears several times throughout the evening, and it was always when I began to fear that I would lose control of those emotions that Malik quickly, yet also with sympathy, led me to a private space, slid a glass of champagne into my hands, and gave me the quiet moment I needed to get myself under control.

  I was in awe of not only his understanding of me, but also his ability to quickly take control in a kind way.

  I wanted to believe that I had been wrong about him, that if I chose to make a life with him, I would become more than a showpiece on his arm at events like this. Yet beneath the kindness, a cunningness lingered in his eyes that made me quickly toss away that notion. It was clear from his mannerisms that he spent the night calculating and planning, regardless of whom he was speaking to. His own conversations in hushed but firm whispers didn’t go unnoticed by me, and several times he walked away from men that he didn’t bother to introduce me to with a muscle jumping in his cheek.

  Which was exactly what he was doing now. He left me five minutes ago and stepped outside with a gentleman I had never met. But their meeting seemed urgent, and when Malik told me “I’ll be back. Stay here,” I did exactly what he said.

  My eyes had stayed trained on the door across the room that he had gone through, so I wasn’t surprised when he entered the ballroom and prowled across the dance floor toward me, with heads snapping in his direction as he passed them, as if I was the one who had clearly pissed him off.

  “We’re leaving,” he snapped as soon as he reached me.

  I glanced at the women I’d been speaking with; two of them were the governor’s wife and daughter, the women I had promised I would pass the florist’s name to. The governor’s wife looked at me with wide eyes as I stepped away immediately.

  “Okaaay,” I said, drawing out the word.

  I set my full glass of champagne down on the nearest table and turned to follow Malik as quickly as I could. As we reached the exit to the ballroom, his hand clasped around my elbow with such force I tried to jerk out of his touch.

  “What is it?” I glanced at his hard features and watched another muscle tic.

  “That talking I said we’d do later?” His eyes met mine, and I saw nothing but chilling coolness. They turned black as onyx. “I’ve recently received news that means we can no longer wait.”

  “I don’t think you need to hurt me,” I said, still refusing to follow him.

  He glanced down at his hand on my elbow and loosened his grip.

  “My apologies.”

  Blood flow began to return to my lower arm, and I brush
ed my hands down the sides of my dress. “Okay, then.”

  I followed Malik out to the waiting limo, hesitating only briefly while he opened the door for me, gesturing to his driver to stay in the car.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “No,” he snapped. His lips were pressed into a straight line and he gestured toward the car with a dip of his chin. “Get in the car.”

  Coiling sensations tightened in my gut when I chose to obey his order. It was clear I wasn’t being given an option, anyway. He followed me into the car and slid onto the bench on the other side. He barely had time to situate himself in his seat, picking up a file folder that was placed next to him, before the car was moving.

  “I told you that regardless of your decision to marry me, that your protection is still my prerogative.”

  My stomach tightened further and I nodded once, clasping my hands together in my lap. “You did. Although I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I had a man following you this week.”

  My eyes widened. “You what?” I asked, as my pulse began to thrum quicker and harder in my veins.

  “It appears you’re not keeping good company.”

  I shook my head. This had to be a joke. Of all the bullshit things for Malik to do. Anger boiled inside me.

  “You have got to be fucking joking with me right now.”

  “I never joke when it comes to business.”

  “And I am not your business,” I snapped, leaning forward. My dress suddenly felt too tight. Too heavy.

  Malik picked up the folder next to him and flicked it outward.

  “I’m not talking about you,” he sneered, finally losing a semblance of control. “I’m talking about my business. Your father’s business. Fuck, Gabriella, I’m talking about your family.”

  “And I’m telling you I don’t understand.”

  “Read the file.” His hand shook the file, and I watched as pages inside flickered with the sudden movement. “Take the damn file.”

  I hesitantly reached for it, taking it from him as if it was a snake that might attack at any moment. When it was in my hands, I frowned at Malik. His lips were white and pulled tight. His jaw was clenched shut. His eyes shot daggers out toward me as if I had somehow betrayed him.

  I set the file in my lap, my stomach dipping and flipping with nerves. I had no clue what he was talking about, I could only assume it had to do with Tyson.

  I opened the file and I gasped as I learned my instinct was correct.

  “What is this?” I asked, slowly flipping through pages of photos. Hand-scribbled notes were next to the photographs with names of people when Tyson was talking to someone and places when he was walking into a building. I looked up at Malik and saw his anger clear in his black eyes. “My father has tried this once before, telling me Tyson was dating me to gain family secrets. Last time, it was all a lie.”

  “This time it’s not.”

  I didn’t want to believe him, but I couldn’t help but be curious as to what else was inside. I looked further into the file, reading all the scribbled and typed notes. None of them made sense, and my frown dipped deeper until I got to the third page. My world began spinning and spinning until I felt it begin to crumble.

  FBI.

  “No.” I inhaled, unable to exhale. My fingers trailed over the photo of Tyson walking into a tan building with curved windows on the ground level. Just above the main doors were the stamped words, “Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  “What does this mean?” I asked, lifting my shocked eyes to Malik.

  His eyes roamed my face and then dropped to the file in my hands. “It means that the man you’re fucking is working for the FBI.”

  I jolted at the term fucking. He was so much more than that.

  Wasn’t he?

  “He c-can’t be,” I stuttered, unable to look back down at the photos. I didn’t need to. Malik wasted no time taking the file out of my lap and began flipping through notes and photos and God knows what else.

  “Tyson Blackwell, age twenty-eight. Graduated from Detroit East High in 2005. Attended Central University where he was believed to be an easy first-round draft pick by the Philadelphia Eagles until a knee injury ended his career before it began. Graduated with a degree in criminal justice.”

  “I know all this,” I whispered. My voice was hoarse from dryness. I could feel the blood drain from my face with every word he spoke.

  “But what you don’t know—” He stopped and snapped the folder closed. My eyes flickered to Malik’s immediately. My mind was swirling with confusion and anger and…betrayal? His hands clasped together and his elbows dropped to his knees. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost patronizing. “What you don’t know is that after he left college, he immediately joined the FBI. He’s been an agent with them for the last four years.”

  I shook my head, unable to stop. “No. He wouldn’t.”

  “The man whose bed you’ve been sharing is currently working on taking down your family.”

  “Impossible,” I said, but my lip was trembling.

  “And he’s using you to do it.”

  My chin trembled as I fought the urge to look away from Malik.

  This was so similar to ten years ago. Tyson wouldn’t do this to me. I refused to believe it. But this time, I had proof in photos. It was the same…but so different. My father had lied before to get his way, and he could have been doing it now. Although I would have expected him to use a new trick.

  “What have you told him?” he asked, his voice hardening.

  “Nothing. I haven’t said anything.”

  “You’re sure? You haven’t mentioned a single thing about your father? About me? About anything that your father is involved in?”

  “I don’t even know anything, Malik! And he already knew,” I said, memories quickly flickering into my mind. “He knew things, but I thought—”

  “That could probably be debated,” he interrupted, clearly thinking I was an idiot.

  I had never felt more like that could very well be the case.

  “I only knew that my father had Tyson’s father killed several years after I was already in Colorado. His dad was in the DPD and investigating my father.”

  “And did you ever stop and think that he might want vengeance for that?” Malik roared, leaning forward. His voice was so loud, so completely furious, that I jolted back into my seat and wiped tears from my eyes.

  “Fucking Christ, Gabriella. You’re a goddamned Galecki and you’ve literally been in bed with our fucking enemy! How could you be so damned stupid?”

  “I’m not!” I shouted, losing the grip I had been maintaining. “I’m not stupid and I’m not an idiot. It’s Tyson. I’ve loved him since I was fifteen years old. He was the first person I saw when I came back to town and I thought…”

  “What? That it was all coincidence?” His look of disgust slashed right through me and I looked away, down to my lap. Admitting that yes, that’s exactly what I thought, or maybe worse—that it was fate—would make me sound more like a moron.

  “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “This is shit I don’t need. It’s shit your father definitely doesn’t need right now. Do you know how much he’s going to fucking flip out when I tell him?”

  “You can’t,” I gasped, snapping my head to his. “He’ll kill him.”

  “And he’d deserve it.”

  My jaw dropped in shock.

  But this was Tyson. He wouldn’t betray me like this. There was no way.

  Malik and I stared at each other, the fury pulsing off him making it difficult for him to breathe. But even as I looked at his heaving chest, and a vein thumping at his temple, I wasn’t really seeing him.

  I was remembering Tyson and the things he’d said to me.

  The things I’d overheard from phone calls.

  The way the man in his office glared at me earlier this week, and the tidbits of their conversation I had heard.

&n
bsp; How he’d said he wanted to wait to be inside me until there was nothing between us.

  How he told someone on the phone that he was working on it. A case, he had told me later.

  Pieces clicked into place at the very time my heart broke in two.

  Because I was that case. And he was working.

  On me.

  “Holy shit,” I gasped, and my hand flew to my throat. I bit my bottom lip to keep my emotions at bay, but it was futile. “Holy shit, he used me.” I shook my head and remembered the promise I had made to him. “I need to talk to him.”

  Malik’s eyes flew wide open. “What?”

  “I promised him.” My breath came in short pants. “You have to take me to his place, Malik. He made me promise.”

  “He’s lied to you.”

  “He made me promise!” I shouted, leaning forward. My skin burned. Everything felt suffocating. “He made me promise to talk to him tonight. Told me to go to him after the benefit. I need to find out why.”

  “No way in hell are you going there.” He leaned back, face stern.

  “Please.” My eyes began to sting. “You can wait for me. If what you say is true, it won’t take long, but a decade ago, I allowed my father to send me away when he gave me this same story. I believed it then. This time, I need the truth. I need to look into his eyes.”

  His lips pulled to one side and after several, heart-wrenching moments, he finally nodded.

  Without removing his eyes from me, he reached over and pressed a button. “Change of plans. Take us to Latham Hills.”

  He arched a brow at me and I quickly rattled off Tyson’s address. As soon as I was done, he let go of the button and faced me.

  I felt small.

  I felt stupid.

  If Tyson really had betrayed me, lied to me in this way, I should have been smart enough to suspect something wasn’t right. Looking back, he had certainly left enough clues, I had just been too blind, too naïve and hopeful to see them.

  —

  The trip probably took twenty minutes.

  It felt like hours.

  Silence filled the car. It seemed as if Malik hadn’t moved an inch while I repeatedly tapped my fingernail to my tooth. By the time we pulled up in front of Tyson’s house, I still had no idea what I was going to say to him.