Blackwood

by Celia Aaron

  The message had been delivered two years prior, and Mom had never shown it to me. She knew I’d dig.

  I slipped my hand into my pocket and ran my index finger along the small memory card I’d found under my father’s worn cap. Maybe it was nothing, but its placement on the top of the stack hinted at importance. Getting a look at it became imperative, but I’d have to wait until Garrett was out of the way.

  “You get your fill of snooping?” His stark voice made me jump.

  “I didn’t see you there.” I peered through the gloom to find him leaning in the doorway to the library. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard him. How long had he been there?

  “That’s because you’re sitting in the dark.”

  “Good point.” I tried to get to my feet, but my exploring and the shock of seeing my father’s hat seemed to have drained me. I faltered and gripped the banister.

  “Let me guess.” He sighed. “You need help getting up the stairs.”

  “No.” I refused to accept anything from him, especially not when he was sighing about it. “I just need a few more minutes.”

  “Sure you do.” His face was in shadow, but I could feel the smirk turning up the left side of his mouth.

  “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

  He stood straight and walked across the foyer, a few rays of moonlight striping across him as he approached.

  I glared up at him. “I said I got it.”

  “I think we’ve already cleared up that I don’t have a hearing problem.” He leaned down and easily scooped me into his arms.

  “You can’t just manhandle me.” My mind said to tell him to fuck off, but my body relaxed against his, welcoming the warm feel of his chest.

  “You think this is manhandling?” He shook his head, his unruly hair escaping from behind his ears.

  “Yes, and if you take the stairs two at a time, I’ll lose my shit like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind.”

  He laughed, the sound throaty. “One at a time, then.”

  We ascended slowly, his steps even and constant. He turned left at the top of the stairs.

  “Is your room the other way?”

  “Yes. Why, do you want to go to my room?” He arched a brow and stared down at me.

  My heart did a weird stutter step. “I was just curious.”

  “My door’s locked. So it should go without saying that my room is off limits.”

  “Why? You got some hookers tied up in there?”

  He grinned. “Not at the moment.”

  I canted my head and studied his face. Joking. He was joking. Surely.

  The overhead light in my room brightened his features as he carried me to my bed. The longer I stayed here, the more handsome he became. Was this how Stockholm syndrome started?

  He set me on the bed and backed away.

  I caught his eye. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Here we go.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. More ink peeked from his sleeves, and I wondered what he had tattooed on his upper arms. “I knew I should have left you sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring off all dreamy.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “How long were you watching me?”

  He shrugged. “Was that your question?”

  “No.” I scooted back in the bed and rested against the headboard. He catalogued every movement, his gaze darting down my body. “Why do you stay here by yourself?”

  “Because I like it.” He turned to the door. “Glad we had this chat.”

  “Wait!”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “Listen, I know a few things about you.” I needed to sprinkle the truth with some lies. “I looked you up on your laptop earlier. You were fired from your teaching position.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, his back flexing. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “You didn’t figure all that out, detective?” The bitterness in his voice cut, and his use of the word “detective” had me worried he knew more about me than he let on.

  “No. That’s why I’m asking. So, why?”

  He stayed silent for a while, then turned back to me. “Because I’m a bad man who does bad things.” His gaze flickered down my body again, lingering on my breasts and then lower. When he licked his lips, heat burst in my cheeks and a tingle rippled across my thighs.

  “You don’t seem so bad to me.”

  His eyes darkened, as if he didn’t appreciate what I’d said. “You don’t know me.”

  “I think I know enough.”

  He smiled, but it was cold. “Do you?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps raced across my skin. “You’ve been taking care of me. You’ve been kind.”

  He walked back to the bed and sat next to me, our hips touching. “I’ve been kind because I’ve had to be. Pete gave very clear instructions on how you were to be treated.”

  I swallowed hard as his steely blue eyes bored into me. “Would you have treated me differently if it weren’t for Pete?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation.

  “How?” My blood raged through my veins.

  He leaned closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I would have hurt you.”

  Why did his words shoot through me like a hit of a euphoric drug? “Why?”

  “I’ve seen you looking at me.” He brought a hand to my cheek, his touch soft. “I know what you think about. I’ve heard you in here at night when you think I’m asleep.”

  My cheeks burned red. He heard that? I feigned nonchalance. “So?”

  “So.” He slid his hand down to my neck. “You said you saw where I left my teaching job.”

  “You were fired.” I tried to lean back—his eyes were too intense—but his grip tightened at my throat.

  “But you don’t know why?” He stroked my neck with his thumb and rested his other hand on my knee.

  I wrapped my hands around his wrists. “No.”

  He massaged his long fingers along my thigh while keeping my neck in his large palm. Control. He had every bit of it.

  “I had an affair with the dean’s wife. But that wasn’t what led to my dismissal.” He smoothed his hand up my thigh and under the hem of my shorts. He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling my ear.

  My grip on his wrists faltered; I couldn’t decide if I was afraid or turned on. Maybe a bit of both, and wasn’t that all kinds of fucked up? When his fingertips brushed my panties, I jolted.

  “Are you wet, Red?” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and I shivered.

  “Don’t.” The quaver in my voice gave me away. I wanted him to touch me, wanted it more than I should have.

  He laughed, low and sinister. He pushed my panties to the side and ran his fingers along my wet flesh. “You are.”

  I whimpered and closed my eyes.

  “Fuck.” He bit my ear, and I grabbed his shoulders.

  Desire overwhelmed me and drowned out any logic. I wanted him, his wildness, and his veiled passion. If only for this single moment, maybe I could feel something other than loneliness and the burning need to know the truth.

  When he pressed a finger inside me, I moaned. I tried to press my thighs together, but his palm kept enough room between them so he could ease farther inside me. God, it felt good.

  “So wet and tight.” His voice was a growl as he fastened his lips right below my ear.

  Heat seethed inside me, and when he squeezed my throat, I moaned.

  “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” His voice shook, anger coating the words as he added another finger and slowly stroked me. “Couldn’t leave me alone.”

  I forced my breathy voice past his palm. “I just wanted to know—”

  “Some things are better left in the dark, Red.”

  “No.” I didn’t believe that. “It’s better to know.”

  “You want to know why I was fired and ordered to stay off all campus property?” He nipped at my jaw.

  Every nerve ending in my b
ody focused on his touch, but I had to hear the truth. “Yes, tell me what happened.”

  “Fucking the dean’s wife wouldn’t have been such a problem. But things didn’t go so well when he walked in on me raping her.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rape? My blood turned to ice, and I struggled to escape Garrett’s harsh grip. He was bigger, stronger, and I was still weak from the boar attack.

  “Let me go.” I dug my nails into his wrists.

  He kept his grip on my neck, but pulled his fingers from between my legs. Licking them clean, he kept his eyes locked on mine as my heart banged against my ribs. He groaned as his tongue snaked along his fingers, and I fought down the heat his erotic show created inside me. He’d said rape. I couldn’t trust him. Had to get away.

  “You’re a rapist.” I wrapped both my hands around his forearm, but he still kept a solid grip on my throat.

  “No. I’ve never taken a woman against her will.”

  My mind spun. “But you just said—”

  “I know what I said.” He finally released me, but didn’t rise, just sat and held my gaze.

  I swallowed, my skin missing the heat from his palm.

  “This.” He glanced to my throat. “Is just a sample, Red. My appetites would disgust you. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes they disgust me, but I can’t escape them.”

  I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “Like what?”

  “Haven’t you seen enough to know you should leave me alone?” He clasped his hands in his lap. “And get out of here as soon as you can?”

  “I need an explanation.” I’d never been able to let anything go. My career and the burning need to know what happened to my father weren’t choices. They were part of my makeup. Mysteries were meant to be solved, truths brought to light. “Did you rape the dean’s wife?”

  He shook his head. “No, but it certainly looked that way.” His expression soured. “And she preferred me leaving under a cloud of suspicion to giving up her position as the dean’s wife.”

  “What happened?”

  He stared at me, worry wrinkling the skin around his eyes, then rose and walked to the door. “I’ve fucked up enough people. You don’t deserve it.”

  For reasons I didn’t understand, I ached for him. He seemed so lonely, lost. Maybe even lonelier than I was. “You can talk to me.”

  “It would ruin you, and I don’t want that.”

  “I’m not some virgin in an antebellum flick.” I cocked my head at him. “You can’t ruin me, Garrett.”

  He growled with frustration and slammed his palm against the doorframe. “Don’t you get it? I’m the wolf. That day you showed up on my front porch in your red coat, if you’d known the thoughts I’d had, the things I’d wanted to do to you—you would never have come back here.” His muscles were drawn taut, as if he were straining to remain still.

  I swallowed hard. “I’m a grown woman, not a child in a red cloak. You’re a grown man, not a wolf. I’m not afraid of you.” Was that true? “Why can’t you just talk to me?”

  “Because if I did, then you would be afraid of me. And for once, I don’t want that. You being here is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt…” He sighed, as if the word he was searching for was floating just out of his reach. “Not so alone. I know you can’t stay. I won’t let you for a million different reasons. But what we have right now is the most I’ve had since—” He stopped himself and turned to face me again, his eyes sad. “Look, I just don’t want to ruin it.”

  “How is you telling me about your past ruining it?” I absentmindedly ran my fingertips along my ear where his lips had been, the sparks gone but the memory still singeing my skin.

  His tone was almost pleading. “Don’t push me, because if you do”—His expressive eyes pinned me with a look so hot I tensed—“I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it. Not a girl like you.”

  “Garrett, please…”

  He closed his eyes at my words, as if my begging was a delicious treat. “I said no. Don’t bring this up again.”

  Before I could resume my entreaty, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. His steps retreated down the hall, and I heard another door slam.

  I sat in shell-shocked silence and tried to digest everything he’d said, every emotion that had flitted across my mind. Something twisted lurked beneath his dark exterior. I should have been scared. Instead, I found myself more worried over the fact that every harsh word he uttered seemed to speak to a secret part of myself. One that wanted to revel in his darkness and sample every bitter promise in his words.

  Over the next few days, Garrett only visited to drop off my meals. No small talk or flirtation, just a quick hello and a heavenly meal from Bonnie or a hellish one he’d made. Two weeks after the boar attack, he sat at the end of my bed and removed my stitches with painstaking precision. My left leg sat in his lap, my right behind his back. I tried to ignore the buzz his hands on my legs created.

  Instead of imagining his hands roving higher, I focused on my new plan to survey his property. If he still wouldn’t give me permission, I’d decided I was going to do it anyway. He could call the sheriff on me all he wanted. I had a feeling, based on Sheriff Crow’s dislike of bad publicity, that all I’d get was a slap on the wrist for my trespassing ways.

  “Ow!” I tried to keep still.

  “Sorry. That one was probably the worst.” He pulled the thin wire from my skin and discarded it in a shallow dish on the bed. “I only have a few more to go.”

  I fisted the blanket as he snipped another one and then another. By the time he was done, I’d left ugly wrinkles in the flowery quilt.

  “All done.” He smoothed his hand over my calf. “Almost as good as new.”

  I stretched my leg slowly and smiled when I realized the tight pulling sensation was gone. “Feels so much better.”

  “I guess you’ll be taking off soon, then.” He rested his hand on my knee.

  “Yes. Lots of surveying to do.” And finding my father.

  He arched a brow at me. “On Blackwood property?”

  “Well, I do have a signed permission form and all.” I smiled.

  “I thought you might say that.” He sighed. “What happens when you run into another wild boar?”

  “I’ll shoot it.”

  “With what gun? I’ve been through your pack.”

  “Shit.” Sheriff Crow hadn’t gotten back to me about my car, which happened to have a gun in the glove box, and Garrett had a point. I frowned. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

  “I figured it was only fair since you did that walkabout downstairs.” He gripped my knee tighter and pegged me with a knowing look. “And I know you’ve been trying to get into my room while I’m working in the library.”

  How did he know? “I was just, um…”

  “Right.” He placed my foot flat on the bed and stood. “So I think I’m entitled to check your pack. You need more water, obviously, and a weapon.” The top few buttons of his shirt were open, the dark hair showing through.

  “I had a knife.”

  “Yeah, a lot of good that did you.”

  “I’ll pick up something else in town.” I shrugged and inspected his worn jeans, appreciating the way they sat on his lean hips. Even the way he stood seemed masculine somehow.

  “You don’t have to. I have a .45 you can borrow.”

  “Really?” That would speed along my surveying. One less thing to worry about.

  “Yeah, just don’t lose it. I’ll get it out of the safe once you’re ready to go back out there.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with my gratitude.

  “I think tomorrow I can do a little walking.”

  “Not yet.” He furrowed his brow. “You aren’t recovered enough.”

  “I won’t go far.” I grinned. “And what
’s this newfound love of my company?”

  He scowled. “Get over yourself. I just don’t want you getting hurt worse and then spending yet another two weeks here.”

  “Neither do I.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d probably die of starvation from your cooking.”

  His smirk appeared, and my heart warmed at our not-so-friendly banter.

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He turned to leave, then paused, as if unsure. “Red?”

  “Yeah?” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tested my calf.

  “I just…”

  I stared at his back. “Yeah?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you at dinner.” He strode away, his steps thundering down the stairs.

  I spent the rest of the day walking around the house and feeling pleased with my leg’s recovery. It was weaker, but having the stitches removed made every movement easier. Pausing in front of Garrett’s door, I stared at it, wondering what he kept inside. I wasn’t much of a lock pick, especially given that the door had an antique handle that took an actual key.

  Jiggling the handle, I found it locked yet again and sighed. This time, though, I noticed light through the keyhole. His room faced west, the afternoon sun pouring through. If the light could get out, maybe I could see in.

  I stopped and held my breath, listening for Garrett. Nothing moved in the house. I imagined him locked in his library, bent over a book, his dark locks tucked behind his ears as he concentrated on each precise stroke of ink. Kneeling, I hunched forward and looked through the keyhole. The light blinded me, so I had to sit back.

  “Shit,” I whispered to myself and decided to sit and wait until the sun’s angle was bearable. Every moment risked me being discovered, but I would hear Garrett coming. I listened intently and waited for the light to fade. After what felt like an eternity, the glare died enough for me to peek through. My eye adjusted after a short moment, and I got a glimpse of a large bed, the wide window, and something hanging on the wall. I squinted and leaned forward, my forehead pressing into the door handle. What was that?

  Angling to the side, I got a better view of the wall. Rope. He had various coils of rope hanging on some sort of rack. I couldn’t see the rest of it, just the edge. I sat back on my haunches. What the fuck?