by Liz Durano
“You stole the letters from their suite? Are you out of your mind? Did you anyone see you?”
“Charlene did,” I stammer. “She…she walked in and wanted me to sign papers. She thought I was Blythe, so—”
The quick rap on the door startles me into silence, and I bring my hands to my mouth. Heath pulls me towards the bedroom with Fred following right behind him. The curtains are still drawn, the room lit up only by the desk lamp.
"Don't come out until I tell you to," Heath says, handing me the letters before shutting the door. As I hear the knocking resume in the front room, I press my ear against the door, straining to listen.
"Charlene, what’s wrong? Is Ethan alright?” I hear Heath ask, his voice worried.
"Is Billie is with you?” Charlene asks.
"She's at the country club," Heath says, his voice calm, matter-of-fact almost. "Fred dropped her off an hour ago."
"Roughly an hour ago," Fred agrees.
“Strange,” Charlene says. “I could have sworn she was still in the hotel. I saw her. I even talked to her.”
“Then it wasn’t Billie. It was probably Blythe,” Heath says, chuckling. “Are you getting them both confused now?”
“I know who I talked to, Heath, and I’m sure it wasn’t Blythe. I just hope that this isn't any one of your schemes to get back at Ethan."
“I assure you, Charlene, I have no idea what you’re saying. If I wanted to get back at Ethan, I wouldn't send anyone else to do my dirty work, least of all Billie. Is there anything else you want to tell me?"
“No,” Charlene huffs, and I hear the door shut. I step away from the door, place the letters on the writing desk, and pull out my phone. I need to send Blythe a message. At least, let her know what I’d just done.
I was in your suite this morning and got what I needed. But I ran into Charlene.
As I click Send, the door to the bedroom bursts open and Heath enters with long, purposeful strides towards me. He's livid, and I back away from him, hiding the phone behind my back. He reaches behind me and snatches my phone from my fingers before the screen goes off.
As he reads the message, I hear the door in the receiving room open and close. Fred.
"Promise me you won't fire Fred and I'll tell you why I did it,” I say.
“It’s not as easy as you think, Billie.”
"Yes, it is, because you’re punishing the wrong person,” I say as he takes a step towards me and I move away. I remember how much he reminded me of a panther when I first saw him. His anger makes him more dangerous, making my heart thunder inside my chest and my knees weaken. “You should punish me.”
“And how do suggest I do that, Billie? You just risked your life for something that doesn’t concern you.”
“If you're talking about the letters, you're partly right. They don't.”
“And?” he asks, taking a step forward and as I take another step back, I feel the edge of the writing desk against my hip. “Since when do you risk your life for something that doesn't involve you?”
“I did it for my sister, so she wouldn’t find the letters and use it to barter for her passport. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but it’s done.”
Heath closes his eyes in frustration, shaking his head before he glares at me angrily. “When will you understand that this isn’t about the letters, Billie? Ethan stealing the letters is a distraction, just like Blythe’s alleged fraud is just another distraction—and in the end, a setup. My decision to delay its announcement to the Board for as long as I did is probably what they were after all along. I'd have been damned if I did bring it out in the open sooner, and damned if I didn't.”
He steps away from me. "But it doesn't change the fact that you could have gotten hurt, Billie. What if Jackson and Charlene both caught you in that room and realized you weren't Blythe? Would you have been able to talk your way out of it then? What do you think would have happened? If they’re behind the fraud, how far do you think they’d go to make sure no one would know about it?”
I stare at him, my mouth suddenly dry. Surely he isn't thinking what he's thinking. "You make it seem like they’d go as far as committing murder-”
"People have killed for way less than a million, Billie. How much more for four, six, or ten million, which is the estimated total amount that's been embezzled so far?”
This time, the realization of what he’s saying hits me hard, and if I weren’t leaning against the desk, I would have doubled over, my legs giving out from under me. But I grip the edges of the desk as Heath stands in front of me again.
“If anything would have happened to you—”
Heath is unable to continue. A ragged breath escapes his lips and dropping the letters on the floor, he pulls me towards him, enveloping me in an embrace. I can feel his heart beating through his shirt, and when he pushes me away to look at me, his hands on cradling my face, I see the tortured look in his eyes.
“But I’m alright, Heath. Can’t you see I’m okay?”
“I’m not okay,” he says as he kisses me hungrily, all tongue, teeth, and pressure as all breath and rational thought escape me. What happens next I can only blame on the adrenaline still coursing through our veins, the emotions that send us both desperately clinging to each other as Heath lifts me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. Carrying me in his arms, he turns away from the desk and pushes me up against the wall. Still kissing me hungrily, he lifts my dress up to my waist, and rips the delicate thong off me, tossing it to the floor.
When he unbuckles his belt and unbuttons the fly of his jeans, I bury my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne and him, all male—and all mine. I don’t know what’s taken over me, but I don’t care. I want him, just as badly as he wants me.
His name on my lips becomes a mark that will last a long time after this moment, and as I bury my mouth against the skin of his neck, sucking and tasting him, I feel him fumble for something then hear him rip the condom wrapper with his teeth. I feel my body shift against the wall, and then he’s deep inside me, so deep that I gasp from the sensations that hit me.
It's all wrong, the way Heath takes me as I cling to him, gasping for breath as his mouth descends on the skin between my neck and shoulder, leaving his mark while my teeth mark him just below his ear, tasting salty sweat and musk. It's all wrong, but it also feels so right. But nothing so wrong in my life has ever felt this right either. It's the only thing that makes sense—the way Heath holds me like he's never letting me go, claiming me like I've always been his and I know for sure that I've lost myself, and I can't even begin to find my way back.
There's desperation in the way he takes me, even as his hand cradles the back of my head against the wall with each thrust that sends me to the brink and back. It's a delicious mingling of pleasure and pain that I welcome. It’s so primal, with no words needed to be said, not when our bodies are saying the things we can never say—that we need each other.
And when my first orgasm hits me, I cry out his name again and again as he watches me shatter in front of him. There is no shame anymore, just the disarming of every defense against him. Heath buries his face in the crook of my neck, driving into me as he nears his release, his gasps echoing in my ear as it claims him, sending me back to the edge and keeping me there till another orgasm shatters through me.
It’s all I want now, just Heath and this, being held in his arms. It’s a high I can’t let go of—and I don’t want to.
22
Illkay Oyjay
"I'm giving you till today to convince Blythe to leave with you," Heath says when I emerge from the bathroom. I’ve just taken a quick shower, my face without a trace of makeup.
“Today? But the tournament isn’t until tomorrow. What if I can’t convince Blythe to leave with me?”
“Then you’re still leaving tonight, Billie,” Heath says, his face solemn.
I stare at him. “You won’t even ask me what I think about all this? You’re
just going to ship me out, just like that?”
“After the stunt you pulled this morning, I can’t afford any more distractions, Billie,” he says. “Someone called for an emergency Board meeting tomorrow, and I can only assume it’s the formal announcement of Blythe’s alleged fraud.”
“Did Tyler call for the meeting?”
“Not Tyler. Daniel, my brother-in-law.”
“Jessica’s husband,” I whisper. “I met him at the shop after you left that day. But can he just call for a meeting just like that, without you there?”
“The President or two members can call for an emergency meeting,” Heath replies. “The other person is Harris.”
So much for Harris’ grandfatherly act. “So Harris flew out already?”
“He should get to New York later today. In the meantime, we’re wasting our time trying to get to Blythe when it’s clear she doesn’t want to listen to reason.”
“I can’t do much about Blythe. You’re right, we’re wasting our time there, but why can’t I fly out with you to New York?”
Heath stands in front of me, his hand caressing my cheek. “Because I cannot remain objective around you, Billie, and definitely with you involved. So I’ll need to get you home first and then I’ll come back for you.”
“Heath, I’m not leaving with my sister.”
He exhales. “I’m out of time, Billie. Besides, I thought we were in this together, that we trusted each other. Instead, what happens but you take a risk right under my nose with two people who could have possibly hurt you if they considered you a threat.”
"I'm sorry. It won’t happen again, Heath. I promise. Next time-”
"There is no next time, Billie,” he says and reaches for my hand. “But before anything else, we need to talk about us."
“No, we don’t, because there is no us," I snap. "That should make things easier, Heath—there is no us, alright? That way, you can do what you need to do without having to worry about me, or worry about not being objective."
"That's not what I was going to say, Billie."
"It doesn't matter what you were going to say. You've said enough as it is," I tell him, stepping away from him. "I made a huge mistake, and now I've put Blythe in danger, too. That's why I'm here for her, not to have a good time with you—because that's all it’s been between you and me, Heath, a good time. And the sooner we get that through our heads, the better this will go for all of us."
“Billie, that’s not what I mean.”
“It’s what I mean, and I’ll get her out, I promise," I continue. "I know it won't stop the Feds from charging her but if what you say is right—that this is a grab for power, then they might as well come for her back home, rather than here. After all, just like you said, we're the most expendable ones."
"I will do whatever I can—"
"No, Heath. You've done enough, and you don't have to do anymore."
My phone beeps then, as if on cue, and it's a message from Blythe.
Halibut. An hour. Alone.
Heath sees the message, and before I can say anything, he repeats through gritted teeth. "Not alone."
"You have to trust me-"
"I did and look what happened. I don't care what you plan to tell her, but you're not speaking to her alone. If she refuses to believe you no matter what you say or show her, then as far as I'm concerned, she deserves whatever happens to her. If it's jail time, then it's jail time."
Heath is all hard now, any softness he'd shown me earlier gone.
I'll be there, I text back, my heart racing as I brush past Heath to dressed. Even if she ends up still refusing to believe me, I just want to see her. She's still my twin sister, no matter her choices in life—not like mine are shaping up to be any better.
As we head to Stearns Wharf, the place our dad taught Blythe and me how to fish for halibut, I can’t believe it’s all ending so soon, that by nightfall, whether I manage to convince Blythe or not, I’ll be back home.
My head is reeling. I find myself wondering if my actions that morning set the wheels in motion, from Charlene’s realization that I wasn’t Blythe, the emergency meeting, and finally, Heath’s decision to send me home where he believes I’ll be safer than being with him.
Then there was us—or the fact that I told him that there wasn’t any us, which is a lie because I want there to be us. I can’t stop remembering the way he made love to me, gently during the night and roughly, just an hour earlier. Heath is a study of contradictions that make my belly clench even as I steal a glance at him as he sits next to me in the car, only to catch him watching me.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I whisper. Though Heath has agreed to let me have some privacy with Blythe, he says that he won't be too far away. It’s funny because from here on, there is no privacy. Bodyguards are everywhere, and our car is flanked by one going ahead in front of us and another behind us.
"Why do I suddenly feel like a prisoner, Heath? Just two days ago, it was just us, and now, it’s like I can’t sneeze without having a bodyguard ask me I need anything,” I say, glancing at Wally who is driving before my gaze lands on the empty front passenger seat where Fred would have been sitting.
"Let's just say my life is back to normal," Heath says as he pulls out his buzzing phone from his jeans pocket and checks his new messages.
Normal is an understatement, at least for me. For if Heath had been low-key about his wealth since I first met him, it's no longer the case now. Gone is the Escalade that took us to Hope Ranch, or the laxest security that accompanied him. Even Wally is flanked by more stern-looking men who make him seem like a teddy bear.
And if I had wanted to arrive at Stearns Wharf unnoticed, forget that thought. The drive to the wharf is in a Rolls-Royce with lambswool floor mats and seat-back TVs, even tons of leg room. It's one of two cars Kheiron Industries keeps in LA for their executives, driven to Santa Barbara by the two scowling men who make up his security detail though Fred is nowhere in sight.
"Did you really fire Fred?" I ask. "It wasn't his fault, Heath. I wish you'd reconsider.”
“I wouldn’t worry about Fred, Billie. Babysitting young women was never part of his job description."
When I look away from him, unable to hide how distraught I am, Heath continues. “Fred’s what you’d call the old guard. He served in Vietnam before he set up his security company and began guarding the Kheiron family."
“So he went from one generation to the next, and here I am, conveniently getting him fired because I did something stupid,” I say. "He should have just retired before he had to deal with the likes of me."
"He did retire, about two years ago, though his company still handles my security,” Heath replies. "But old habits die hard. He got bored and returned, if only for light duty. So I had him assigned to my mother. After all, he’d been assigned to watch her a long time ago, and she remembers him still.”
“He didn’t mind that?”
Heath shakes his head. “Boring job sometimes, but with so many visitors going in and out of the house, it kept him busy enough.”
"So he was there when Ethan stole the letters."
Heath shakes his head. "No, Fred was with me. I had to fly to Argentina for business, and I needed a bodyguard who was more fluent in Spanish than I was. But I don't want to talk any more about Fred. I have enough security people coming out of my ears, and now Kheiron Industries’ security is in town as well.”
Still, if the men are guarding Heath, it doesn't look like it. Though they seem to blend seamlessly into the crowd on the wharf, I can feel their eyes watching me as I leave Heath at the bait and tackle shop and hurry to the end of the pier where Blythe is already waiting for me. She's alone, and she's wearing jeans and a plain pink t-shirt. Surprisingly, she's also without make-up, wearing her prescription glasses instead of her contact lenses, and her hair tied in a ponytail. Her face is half-hidden in the baseball cap that she's wearing. And with me wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, the fact that
we're identical twins don't escape some of the people around us. Only our clothes differentiate one twin from the other.
"You didn't come alone," she hisses as I reach for her. "I told you to come alone."
"I'm alone now. It's just us," I say as I ignore her moving away from me and pull her into my arms in a deep embrace. I don't care. It may only have been five days since I last saw her at that bar in New York, but it feels like a lifetime. "I don't care what's happened between us, Blythe. Right now, I'm just happy to see you again. I'm so proud of you. I wish you’d told me you were launching your fashion line.”
"It was supposed to be a surprise, Bee," she says, and I'm grateful that she doesn't push me away. "I still can't believe you went through all that trouble to pretend to be me."
"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Blythe, and I’m desperate.”
"I had to hide in the restroom at the country club the entire time after I got your text until I was able to take a cab home," she says. "Charlene was pissed, and so was Jackson. At least, that's what Ethan said.”
"I'm sorry. I hope he didn't take it out on you."
"Why would he do that?" Blythe asks, surprised. "But why did you take them when you asked me to trade them for my driver's license and passport?"
“Because I can’t let you leave for Geneva, Blythe. Don’t you get it?” I pull a slip of paper, folded so many times it's now an eighth of its size, and hand it to her. It's one of the pages from the file that Heath had me review on the plane, the one that had all of the activity related to Blythe and the money that's waiting for her in Geneva.
“Someone’s setting you up, Blythe,” I say as she unfolds the paper and look at the figures on the page, and a copy of her signature. She's shaking her head as she studies the paper, turning it over to check if there are any writings at the back, too. Except for Heath's notes about the dates and a breakdown of the amounts, there's nothing else.
"And I can't believe you sign things without reading them, Blythe," I mutter under my breath.
