“You’re not though, are you?” he continued. “You actually appreciate stuff, see the value in things. Maybe it was your brush with death or maybe it’s that you’re such a genuine person but you give off these vibes, these wonderful pure vibes.”
I shot him a worried glance. He was starting to sound slightly crazy.
“That sounds nuts,” he said and scrunched up his face. “I’m sorry.”
Going silent, he stood up and walked over to the railing and looked down over the edge.
“This place is incredible,” I said, trying to change the subject. “Your family must be so proud of you.”
Even in the darkness from where I was sitting, I could see him tense up, the muscles of his back pulling themselves taught as he stiffened.
“Don’t have a family,” I thought he said, his voice fading away as it traveled over the mountains.
“Sorry?”
“I don’t have a family,” he said, this time with a ferocity that too me aback.
“I didn’t mean to offend-“
“Family is a word that worries me,” he said. “Families leave you. They betray you.”
His voice was becoming sinister and suddenly, as I looked at his dark figure, I wondered if it was really him anymore. Then he spun round and ran a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry. Fuck. I-I- didn’t have the best childhood. Don’t have great memories of family life.”
There was pain in his eyes, a desperate, infantile look of despair. I desperately wanted to jump up and hold him but something in his voice held me back.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” he said, his voice quivering as he flexed his hands into fists.
My stomach flipped. Something told me he was not about to impart joyful news.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he said, shaking his head and clenching his eyes closed.
For a fleeting second, I thought I saw the twinkle of a tear in the corner of his eye, but it soon disappeared as he turned his head.
“You’re a nurse. You understand things,” he said, sitting at the end of my recliner. “You’ve seen the worst that humans have to offer.”
I didn’t know what he would say next. Without knowing what to do, I held onto his hand.
“You can tell me anything,” I reassured him. “When you’re ready.”
“I shouldn’t…. Don’t wanna…” he stumbled for the right words.
Taking my own glass, he knocked back the last of the wine and slammed it down.
"Okay, I'll come right out with it. I don't know what it is about you but you get me and you don't judge. You'll understand. I know you will."
Now I was really worried. I squeezed his hand tighter as I tried to anticipate what he'd say.
"Please, just hit right out with it."
He gulped and looked at me with wide, terrified eyes.
"My dad... he did things to me... When I was a boy. After my mom died."
My stomach dropped. I could feel his hand becoming damp in mine. Flinging myself at him, I held him tight until my arms ached, squeezing him until the breath was knocked out of the both of us.
"Shhhh... I understand. You don't have to tell me anything else."
I could feel his body relax against mine.
"Thank you. Thank you."
He pushed me away and leaned against the wall looking ten years younger. His face had softened and the pain had dissipated from his eyes.
"I feel like the weight of the world has left me," he said.
My mind was reeling. How do you act when someone tells you such a thing?
"It explains why you're such an old, wise soul in a young person's body," I said in a futile attempt at comforting him.
"I'd be lying if I said it didn't propel me forward, the pain, the heartache, it makes you tough, makes you want to escape into the middle of nowhere."
Looking out across the balcony, it certainly seemed as though his life's work had involved fortifying himself out here.
"You know, Lincoln, sometimes people create labyrinths to stop people getting inside of us, to stop people getting too close, but more often than not it just means we become lost and can’t find our way out."
He flinched as though I'd hurt him.
"That's the truest thing anyone's said."
For a few minutes, we sat in silence with only the whistling of the wind filling the silence. He lay back down and wrapped his dressing gown tighter around him. Beside him, the wine bottle lay empty.
"Would you like me to make you a coffee?" I asked and felt ashamed. It seemed like such a hollow gesture for someone who needed so much more. "You look like you need to sober up a bit, get some color back in your cheeks.”
He turned to me with exhaustion in his face like he'd just run a marathon.
"You're a real doll," he said. "That would be amazing."
I tied the bedsheets around me into a makeshift toga and headed inside. He gripped my arm as I reached for the door.
"Could you also be a real sweetheart and get me my phone from the bedroom?"
"Sure."
I kissed the top of his head and ruffled his hair playfully.
"Hurry back," he said.
Once inside, the weight of what he said hit me. I struggled to catch my breath and leaned against the kitchen counter, shocked and horrified. The poor man. He had all the money the world could offer, the looks, the charm and charisma, the education, but he was destroyed inside by his memories. It explained why he wasn't the typical rich guy and explained how he was such a compassionate doctor.
I looked behind me and saw him still lying still with his face cast up to the stars. All I wanted to do was hold him until his pain faded.
Upstairs, I searched the room for his phone but saw it nowhere. With nowhere else to look, I picked his jacket off the floor that lay amongst the rest of the discarded clothes. Thrusting my hand into the inside pocket, I waited for the sensation of a sleek, smooth screen but instead something crinkled between my fingers.
"Eh?"
I looked inside and saw a Ziploc bag with a small white cloth inside. As I looked closer I noticed the white lace trim and the department store label poking out the back.
"What the fuck?"
There was no denying what I was staring at. The panties were worn with a laundry name tag crudely sewn into the side. I recognized it immediately. Every girl in the house was given a stack of tags and a pen on arrival so our laundry wouldn't get mixed up. We were told to label everything, and this girl had even taken the time to scrawl her name into her G-strings. As I held the bag up toward the light, I squinted to see the scruffy handwriting and felt the anger swell in my chest when I saw the name, Isabel 'JET' Danziger.
Sea Of Secrets
Jewels And Panties Series
Book Three
Brooke Kinsley
© 2017 All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses per law
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
"Erotica is literature designed to be read with one hand.."-Brooke Kinsley
Description
ETTA
I should have known he was too good to be true. I should have guessed he’d never be interested in me. After discovering a pair of Jet’s panties in his jacket pocket, I go on a quest back to the Waters’ House to discover who she really is. She’s hiding a secret and everyone knows it and I’m sure she’s sleeping with Lincoln. Who else would have given her that ring?
Meanwh
ile, the rumors are spreading. I catch snippets here and there but none of it makes sense. All I know is that the house is at the center of an unspeakable scandal, one that’s seeing the girls being killed off one by one and somehow Lincoln’s involved. If only I could stop myself falling in love with him.
LINCOLN
I’m falling in love with her and she has to know. The only problem is that she found my secret and ran away back to the house, back to Phaedra’s lair where only the most wicked and evil acts take place.
If only she didn’t jump to conclusions.
If only she realized I’ve only ever been faithful to her!
On a crusade to get her back, I only have one choice. Go back to that house and reveal everything. Except she might be closer to the truth than she realizes.
Chapter One
Lincoln
Harold was sat in the lounge with his mouth dropped open, his lower jaw loose like it was made of rubber. I followed his line of vision and saw he was staring up at the television. Some cheesy show from the eighties played. It looked familiar and watched for a second as a gentleman with oversized shoulder pads made his way around a studio set covered in fake cobwebs and dusty, cardboard books.
"Hey, I remember this! Unexplained Mysteries, right?"
I sat down beside him and laughed.
"This used to be the scariest and the best thing about Wednesday night when I was a kid."
"Shhh..." Harold pressed a finger to his lips without turning his head.
I'd never seen him behave this way over anything that wasn't a donut.
"Buddy, you okay?"
He didn't answer at first, not until the show faded out as the modern commercials took its place.
"That shit is insane," he said at last and closed his mouth.
I screwed up my face not knowing whether to take him seriously or not.
"Eh?"
"The story just there. It blew my mind!” he exclaimed with his hand making a wild exploding gesture around his head like a halo made from his fingers.
I searched his eyes for signs that he was joking but by the tightness of the muscles on his face and the way he blinked over and over like a startled fawn, I knew he was being serious.
"I never took you as being someone who believed in all that stuff," I said.
He darted his eyes from side to side as though he was considering imparting a delectable secret.
"You're an intelligent man," he said and shifted closer to me.
He smelled like sweat and carbolic soap, a peculiar combination that stung my nostrils.
"And you're a nice guy aren't you? You wouldn't laugh at me," he continued, his fingers tugging at his short collar. “Would you?”
He looked over his shoulder as though he was terrified someone was listening but the only thing that accompanied us was the spitting and hissing coffee machine in the corner.
"I'm not going to laugh at you," I said. "Believe me, I've heard just about everything."
"That's what I thought," he replied and glanced out into the hall through the small window. A group of nursing students hurried past like a gaggle of geese, all pristine white uniforms and still unread books clutched to their chests.
"What's up with you, Harold? No one's listening."
As though he just realized how manic he looked, he took a deep breath and eased back into his seat.
"Sorry, yeah I was acting a bit mad there. Sorry, it's just that... fuck... Shut up Harold."
For a moment, I was terrified his mind was starting to unravel.
"Look, buddy, if there's something bothering you, you can tell me."
He picked at a loose piece of skin along the edge of his thumbnail.
"Jesus, you must think I'm a nut. It's just that I had this... this experience... recently. This weird thing happened."
He began nibbling on the edge of his thumb and as he pulled his hand away, I saw there was a trickle of blood pooling into his nail bed. Gently, I placed my hand on his and pressed it down into the seat before he hurt himself.
"Like... a paranormal experience?" I asked.
He nodded, his eyes cast down to the floor as though he was ashamed.
"I can't stop thinking about it! It's got me thinking, got me looking into things."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
Standing up, he strode over to the water cooler and filled a cup. Draining it in one before crushing it between his fingers and aiming it at the trash can. It bounced off the lid and tumbled to the floor but with his mind preoccupied he didn't notice and returned to his seat.
"Okay. So I was in the operating room the day before yesterday. You weren't here, remember? You were volunteering over at the Waters House."
Oh God, that place.
I'd been trying to forget all about it since I took Etta away from there in the middle of last night. I made a mental note to call her before I returned to surgery and I found myself smiling at the thought of her and the way she held me as I slept. I thought about the way her body had shaken when I touched her in the right place and how she'd listened to me when I'd confessed my deepest secret.
If only I was at home tucked up with her now. If only her soft hands were in my hair and she was lulling me to sleep.
"What are you smirking at?" Harold asked, annoyed.
Catching sight of my reflection in the window, I noticed just how wide my smile was.
"Sorry, it's nothing. Please, go on."
I put on my most serious, concerned face and leaned forward on my thighs. With my frown back in place, Harold continued.
"It was operating room eight," he said and reached up to massage his forehead as though the mere thought of the place gave him a migraine. "I was with a patient, Suzanne Atkins."
The name sounded familiar.
"The lawyer's wife who was in for reconstructive surgery after a ruptured breast implant?"
Surprisingly, we had quite a few of those.
"Yeah!" Harold erupted. "You remember her?"
"Sure! Her husband's Rory Atkins. Met him a few times. If I'm not mistaken he managed to get that ball player acquitted of murder. You know, the one who ran over a pregnant woman when he was high."
"Shit! That’s her husband."
He buried his head in his hands and made a strange whimpering noise. Breaking down and crying in front of me, he clenched his eyes closed and trembled. Instinctively, I reached over and touched his back. It felt strange like we were having an intimate yet improper moment when we should have refined our behavior to being professional and awkward.
"I didn't realize that's who she was married to," came his muffled voice from somewhere deep within his hands.
"So what if it is?" I asked. "Why does it matter?"
He peeled his fingers away from his face to reveal bloodshot eyes.
"Because she's dead, Bosworth. She's dead.”
Chapter Two
Etta
I’d waited until he left for the hospital before I pulled the Ziploc bag out from under the bed where I’d hidden it the night before. Holding it in my hand, I listened to the way the plastic crumpled and saw how the panties looked so small, too small almost as if they’d be better fitted to a child than an adult.
Of course, Jet wasn’t a child anymore but she wasn’t far off. The teenager was a real firecracker of a girl and last night she sure as shit had a bee in her bonnet about Lincoln and me. Meanwhile, I still hadn’t the faintest idea of what was going on.
Last night, after I found the panties, I’d slid them along the floor until they were safely tucked away beneath where we slept and I’d not said a word. I couldn’t, not after what he just told me. As I walked back out onto the balcony with his coffee, he seemed so vulnerable, so sad and demoralized.
Lying beside him, I’d stroked the top of his head and told him everything was going to be alright. I listened to the way his breathing slowed and how he fell asleep with his head on my bare breasts, thinking about Jet the entire time and how her soiled underw
ear was only a moment ago, hanging between my fingers.
As he slept, I wondered if everything he’d just revealed to me was a lie. Was the whole thing an act? A cover-up? I was too confused to set all my thoughts out in order and stared up at the sky as he snored softly, the stars sparkling above the forest as my mind became numb.
Soon, the wind picked up and I shivered, holding onto his body for warmth. He’d woken up as the sheets were picked up by the breeze and smiled when he noticed I was still in his arms.
“Let’s go to bed,” he said and I hesitated for a moment.
I couldn’t touch him like I’d done earlier, not now after what I’d found.
“I’m really tired,” I said, making him know I was in no mood to do anything.
“Me too,” he replied and led me up the stairs.
Once in the luxury of the bedroom, he’d fallen asleep easily like a man with a squeaky clean conscience. On the other hand, I’d done nothing but stare up at the ceiling looking for answers. Answers to everything, to what was happening between Lincoln and Jet, to why my mom as traveling around the world with her toyboy, to why Craig thought it would be okay to throw our life savings away. There was so much betrayal and confusion and not enough resolution.
This morning, as he jumped out of bed and headed for the shower, he smiled and kissed me as though nothing was wrong. There was no mention of what he told me, no inclination that something sinister was simmering inside that head of his, but there must have been. There was no way of explaining how Jet’s underwear was in his pocket only hours after she was apparently with him.
“Okay, sweety?” he asked as he pulled on his suit.
I so badly wanted to hurl the panties at him in a fit of rage and demand to know what was going on but I was so intimidated by how powerful he looked, how powerful the house was. It felt as though it was impossible to go against the splendor and wealth of the place, of its solitude, of its dominance, of its owner…
He may have been dashingly handsome and charming, so easy going and affectionate but I knew an empire like his came from a place of great genius, a place I could never touch upon even if I wanted to. Something told me there was no way I’d hear the truth even if I asked him for it. A man like him could outsmart me and buy me and sell me, discard me once he was bored and always leave me wanting more.
Jewels And Panties: (Book 1-15) Billionaire Romance Series Page 11
