Latvis Security Services

by Lexie Ray

  She allowed him to keep the last shreds of his dignity by letting him enter the bathroom on his own. Mads longed for a shower but, after the difficulty he had with the simple task of removing his boxer briefs, he didn’t trust himself to stand on slick tiles. The compromise was a bath consisting of cold water and a washcloth. The battle to get into his long pajama pants robbed him of any desire to struggle into the matching shirt. Gargling and tending to the other basics took up the last of his remaining energy, and by the time he opened the door he had to stagger against the frame for support.

  Surprise kept him silent. Willow hadn’t left. Instead, she was tucking the fresh top sheet into place and fixing up the pillows. She was changing his sheets. Relief flooded through him even as disappointment settled into his stomach. On one hand, the very idea of cool, fresh sheets was appealing. On the other, he couldn’t deny that he would miss that they didn’t smell like her. He couldn’t remember their night together. The scents she had left lingering on his pillows had been the only thing making it real to him. And now those sheets were being dumped unceremoniously into the hamper.

  His only comfort was the view. Willow wore one of his more comfortable T-shirts. It was loose on him, but fit on her like a short dress. Every so often, as she tucked and fluffed and smoothed, the shirt would ride up. There was something oddly pleasing in knowing that she was wearing a pair of his boxer shorts. Willow didn’t often take a great deal of care in her appearance. As a florist, anything she wore was covered with dirt and grime by the end of the day. Mads gathered she would have chosen comfort over fashion, regardless of her occupation. Still, no matter how Willow tried to downplay it, her natural beauty was undeniable. She had never been as breathtaking as she was in this moment.

  Straightening the blankets, she turned down the bed and stopped to review her work. One hand on her hips, she used her other to brush some stray tendrils of hair from her forehead. Had Mads had the chance to run his fingers through her curls? He probed every last corner of his mind but couldn’t dredge an answer up from his fractured memories. Surely he must have. It was the desire from which all of his other fantasies had grown. He would not have given up the opportunity. How many of his fantasies had she helped him bring to life? And how many of hers had he done the same for?

  Despite the untameable pain that assailed every cell of his being, Mads could feel himself beginning to stir. Desire smouldered like embers under his skin. The heat within him was stoked into a pleasant flame when she turned to him with an easy smile. Her brow furrowed at his silence, but he was in no mood to break it. He hurt, and it was an immeasurable comfort to simply stand and watch her being there. In his room. His personal space. Moving about with an easy air, as if she belonged there just as much as he did.

  She had placed a tall glass of water and painkillers on the bedside table and gestured to them now.

  “Are you going to them, or are they coming to you?” she whispered.

  Mads forced a small smile and trudged forward. Willow waited for him at the bedside and gently coaxed him to sit. Medicine taken, she insisted that he finish the whole glass. Having that much water on his empty but still volatile stomach made him groan. But he couldn’t deny he felt better with it than without.

  Willow took the glass from him and, with one hand on each shoulder, inched Mads back onto the bed. He didn’t put up a fight but instead melted into the sheets with a sigh of relief. For a moment he could just relax and let the earthquake in his head gently fade away. His moment of peace was shattered when Willow’s hands left him. She quickly folded the blankets over him, took the empty glass, and started to walk away. He didn’t hesitate to reach for her.

  “I’m just getting you some more water,” she said, still keeping her voice at that perfect level that didn’t leave him whimpering in pain. “I’ll be right back. Go to sleep.”

  He obediently closed his eyes and snugged deeper into the soft, yielding layers of his pillows. Sleep crept closer, clouding his mind just enough to ease his pain. If he stayed absolutely still, he almost felt human again.

  Mads only became aware of Willow’s return when the glass softly clicked against his bedside table. He didn’t open his eyes, but instead reached out blindly, drifting his hand through the air until he was able to find her. Probably it was more correct to say that she had taken pity on him and wrapped her fingers around his hand.

  “Stay.” He was barely able to form the word as more than a whisper. Once it was out, he recalled that there was something the statement had lacked. “Please.”

  “Sure.” She squeezed his hand. “Just let me call the boys and tell them you won’t be in.”

  “Dwayne will want to run your store,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, we had that conversation already. I did not give him the keys.”

  Mads didn’t say anything but settled for a hum. He hoped that his assertion that Dwayne could find a way came across in the sound. Exhausted, he curled himself into a ball. Breathing without being sick was demanding a lot more of his concentration than it really should have. Time drifted and shortened. Before he even had time to register that Willow had left to make a call, the mattress was shifting as she climbed onto the bed behind him.

  “Do you want to be a little spoon again?” she asked in a teasing tone.

  Forgoing a verbal response, he reached back and grabbed her hand. She didn’t resist his insistent tugs. Instead, she shuffled closer, looped an arm around his chest, and squeezed him with the most delightful amount of pressure. Silence stretched out between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable or embarrassing. It was a balm to Mads’ raw pain and bruised pride. Lacing his fingers with hers, he tightened his grip, ensuring she couldn’t pull away as he mumbled,

  “I am sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Mads. I might not know everything you’re going through, but I know how badly he can mess with your head.”

  There was no need to define who he was. Mads knew quite enough about the relationship Willow had shared with the man who was taunting him with information about his parents. The man was a manipulative, sociopathic, cult leader. How he had managed to weave his way into Willow’s mind wasn’t exactly a surprise. It was what charismatic leaders such as him did. But Mads couldn’t deny that the idea of such scum actually gaining Willow’s affection was too much. He couldn’t stand to talk about him now.

  “I did not mean him.” His voice came out with a sharper edge than he had intended.

  “You lost me.”

  He tightened his hold again. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her. Was it better to let her believe what he remembered, to preserve this moment? Or would his silence render all of this a lie? Would she forgive him if she found out on her own? Steeling himself, he wet his lips and placed his free hand on her forearm. The skin was beautiful. An indulgence to have against his fingertips. He didn’t want to lose it. He didn’t want to lose her.

  “I am having trouble remembering last night.”

  “That’s not surprising.” Her laughter rattled though his own chest. “You were really indulging.”

  “What I mean to say,” he stammered. “That is. I do not recall our night together.”

  Silence settled over them once more, but it had lost its comfortable ease.

  “Are you kidding me?” she asked in a wounded tone that tore at his insides.

  “Willow—”

  “You don’t remember making love? You said you loved me.” Tears laced her words.

  “Willow, I—”

  “So I’m guessing the wedding’s off.”

  Mads flung himself around to face her. The shock that wanted his eyes to bulge couldn’t fight the sledgehammer to his forehead that his headache became. His groan of pain cut off all of the words that begged to spill from his lips. Willow was laughing. She cupped his temples like she could somehow keep his skull whole.

  “Calm down, I’m kidding,” she giggled.

  He summoned the energy to glare at her. “Pardon?”

  I
t was hard to maintain his anger when her fingertips curled around the shells of his ears.

  “I was kidding. You were drunk. I tucked you in. You wanted my company, so I hung around. That’s it. Don’t worry. You don’t have to buy a tux.”

  “I already own a tuxedo.”

  “You do? A proper tux?”

  “Of course. I am not a child.”

  He allowed her to continue toying her nails against his ears until the pain eased.

  “I remember kissing you,” he whispered. “Touching.”

  Willow was quick in her response. “That was just a misunderstanding.”

  “How so?”

  “I suggested taking you to bed and you thought that there were going to be activities beyond sleeping when we got there.”

  “I see.” He swallowed thickly. “Well, I deeply apologize for any of my actions that caused you discomfort.”

  “Mads, you’re hungover. Just go to sleep.”

  “But I …”

  “Look, if we’re being completely honest, I should be apologizing to you.”

  Mads furrowed his brow but couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. It was easier talking in the dark, and the steady motion of her fingers was heaven, pushing out all other thoughts and making it hard to keep track of the conversation.

  “I do not understand. Was I not the one who initiated the unwanted contact?”

  “It wasn’t exactly unwanted,” she muttered, almost too low for him to hear. “Yes, you made a move. But I wasn’t exactly quick to push you off. I don’t even have an excuse. Although I can explain it quite easily.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re a really good kisser.”

  Mads’ lips tipped into a smile. “I was inebriated.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “You should see what I can do sober.”

  “Tell you what,” she said. “When you’re not a half a second away from vomiting, we can discuss you giving me an example.”

  His smile grew sleepy and lax. “A private performance.”

  “If that’s how you want to see it. But for now, get some sleep.”

  The last traces of Mads’ waking mind told him that there was something important that he need to ask. Something he had to know. He slid his hands around her waist, relishing the feel of her skin separated from his questing hand only by the thin material of his own shirt. She allowed him to pull her closer, came willingly, and tucked his head under her chin. Her heartbeat thumped against his cheek. He sighed. The question bubbled to the forefront of his mind an instant later.

  “Will you stay?”

  “I’m not going anywhere. Now sleep.” Her lips pressed softly against the top of his head as her arm pulled him closer to the warm, yielding flesh of her body. The scent of flowers filled Mads’ head once more, dulling the constant pounding and leaving him adrift. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  The assurance was all that he really needed. The softly spoken words followed him as he tumbled, helplessly and swiftly, back down into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Four

  The day passed in much the same way. They would wake reluctantly, tend to the necessities of comfort, and return to sleep as quickly as possible. On one such occasion, Willow noted that a light snow had begun to fall. It was a soft flurry, the flakes steady but barely big enough to cast shadows across the room. Since the curtains were only open a sliver, just enough for her to keep a vague track on the time of day, it took her a moment to notice them. But Mads, as much as he seemed to be actively ignoring everything around him, noticed it almost instantly.

  She could see it in the evening of his breaths. The tension that eased from his shoulders. The way the deep lines between his eyebrows began to smooth. Mads had a thing for precipitation. Snow, rain, sleet. Even fog got a reaction positive reaction out of him. It wasn’t so much that it put him in a good mood. It was more that it eased something within him that was always tightly crammed into one of the numerous hidden places in his mind.

  A few years had passed since Willow had first noticed this behavior, but she had never asked him about it. Knowing Mads, he wouldn’t take the question as an opportunity to open up or bond. Instead, he’d be mortified that he had let such a solid tell slip past his carefully constructed persona. And then he’d find a way to hide it. There seemed to be few things that Mads truly enjoyed and Willow couldn’t bring herself to take this one from him. So she never brought it up. She just held her tongue and speculated.

  Maybe he just liked the cold. After all, Mads did like to dress in layers, specifically finely tailored three-piece suits. Before she met him, Willow had been seen men wearing similar suits in the summer, although admittedly her vest was a singular addition. What was the constant with other men, however, was that they didn’t seem comfortable, and the second they had a chance to, they were peeling off the suit jackets with a relieved sigh. Mads refused to give any sign of discomfort. He probably thought it undignified.

  Over the years, Willow and Dwayne had taking to marking the change of the season by the shift in Mads’ wardrobe. It had become their own version of Groundhog Day, complete with celebratory drinks and party poppers. On February 2nd, if Mads turned up to work in a light suit, spring was on its way. If he didn’t, it was six more weeks of winter. He was oddly accurate. Sometimes, Willow suspected that he knew what they were doing. Very little ever got past him, after all, but he never made any attempt to ruin their fun. Of course, that meant the celebration had grown to include the others. Willow always made sure to splurge on at least one snack that Mads would like, even though it was ridiculously expensive and sometimes a little gross, to help ease any annoyance the might have caused.

  Lying next to him, she nestled down deeper into the warmth of the sheets as the room’s temperature began to drop. Mads was too far gone to actually wake up at the shift, but he did shiver and release a contented sigh. For Willow, it seemed like another important piece in the Mads Latvis puzzle. He liked the cold. But that brought up a multitude of other questions.

  Willow had been with him when he and the boys had headed back to Mads’ childhood castle. Her mind still stumbled over that. Mads had grown up in a traditional caste, made of stone, right off a cliff face overlooking the ocean. Willow had been there. She had walked the halls and had seen some of Mads’ more beloved items within the numerous rooms, but despite the evidence her mind couldn’t believe the fact. Mads had grown up in a damn castle. But all of that was beside the point.

  The castle, The Mermaid, as his relatives called it, was bitterly cold. Mads referred to his time there as a banishment. A cruelty inflicted upon him after his parents had been kidnapped and most likely murdered. So why was it that those two horrible parts of his life weren’t irrevocably linked? Why didn’t any sharp chill bring back a flood of dark memories better left alone?

  A frigid breeze tried to bring a few flecks of snow in through the half-open window. It made the curtains billow and, despite the warm layers that protected her, coaxed a shiver out of Willow. A few stray stands of Mads’ hair drifted in the wind and slipped across his face. He always kept his hair styled so perfectly that she had never realized how long his bangs actually were. He twitched as they tickled his nose. It was an adorable sight and a rather good impression of a rabbit, but Willow decided to take pity on him.

  Gently brushing his hair aside, she wondered if he had some good memories connected to the cold. After all, his Christmas parties were apparently the talk of high society. Pictures of them always ended up in newspapers or magazines. They looked like classy, refined affairs with massive, tastefully decorated trees and people in suits and evening dresses. Willow had never been invited to one. Actually, she was pretty sure that he never invited his closest friends.

  Every year there was always a separate celebration, normally out of town, with plenty of outdoor activities to keep Jamie occupied. A smile crossed Willow’s face as she remembered the time she had secured an invite to the ‘comp
any Christmas party,’ which Mads had insisted be held at Lake Louise in Canada. Five star hotel rooms and ice skating on an open lake. Come to think of it, she had more than a few good memories of the cold too.

  Mads had fallen asleep with his hand on her lower spine and that was where it had remained ever since. His fingers twitched against her as he shifted closer. Willow had to lean back as the limited distance that had separated them was shortened by half. Mads had six pillows on his bed, three of which were large enough to be used as couch cushions, but somehow they had ended up sharing the same one.

  His eyelids fluttered open, blinking like he was trying to clear his vision. But the effort was half-hearted and he seemed completely happy to lose the battle.

  “What time is it?” he mumbled.

  Even though it made him a lot more difficult to understand, Willow found that she loved the way sleep made his accent thicker.

  “About four.”

  He hummed at that, eyes still closed, and absently hooked one leg around her ankle as if to prevent her from getting up. She wasn’t in any rush.

  “Brahms?”

  “The musician or the dog?”

  Mads lowered his face to shield his jaw-cracking yawn, but didn’t bother removing his hand from her back to cover his mouth. When the hangover passed, Willow would have endless enjoyment teasing him over his lapse in manners.

  “Our dog.”

  Was that a verbal slip? His fractured mind finding a substitute for an English word temporary forgotten? Or did he actually think that Brahms was something they shared?

  She had learned a few years back that Mads had a soft spot for animals. It turned out that a large amount of horrible people had pets. Ones that Mads took into his care after he had sent their owners to prison. With that in mind, Willow had assumed that Brahms was one of the pets that he was having difficulty finding a good home for. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might have been signing up for joint custody. The thought lodged in her mind and brought a dozen instances to mind that, if she had been paying attention, might have given her a hint.