“Sure,” I said, grabbing the yellow cord and walking it across the patchy lawn. It was neatly trimmed—Toby undoubtedly had someone mowing it for him—but in a fairly decent looking suburb, this place was quite the eyesore.
"Flip the switch on the charger for me?" he asked from where his head was still under the bonnet when I returned from the house.
I did as he asked, waiting until the lights changed to show the battery was now charging. "Now what?" I turned to face him.
"Now we wait."
"How long do you think?"
He shrugged. “We’ll give it an hour? It needs enough charge to get us started, the alternator will do the rest on the drive.”
“And what do we do with my car in the meantime?”
“There’s a canvas tarp in the cabinet. We can cover it up so it's out of sight. We'll get rid of it when it's dark.”
I stood on the other side of my car as we unrolled the tarp over the car. “Just because I keep doing the things you ask doesn't mean you're in charge,” I said, securing the fabric by tucking it behind the numberplate.
He walked back over to the Datsun and grinned. “You wanna be in charge?” he asked, checking the oil and coolant levels.
“I'm always in charge.”
With a shake of his head, he pointed to the small toolbox he had out. “Chuck me that rag?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
His eyes dropped a little, and a smirk kicked up half of his mouth. “Which do you prefer?”
With a smile, I slapped the rag into his upturned hand. “Hmm, depends on what we’re doing.”
He continued smiling as he used the rag to clean the grease from his hands. “I can see I’ll have to watch you.”
“You can watch me do whatever you like.” I grinned as he shook his head, amused. “You got anything to drink in there?”
“Should be something in the fridge. Beer and water.”
“Anything stronger?”
“Cabinet under the sink.” He dropped the rag on the edge of the car then ran his hands through his hair, pushing the long strands out of his eyes. “Pour two. I fucking need it after today.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A GENTLEMAN TOO
“WELL, there goes forty thousand down the drain,” I said, taking a seat on the creaky green vinyl chair in the kitchen with a sigh. It wasn’t easy watching my car go up in flames. All I could think about was the hard-earned money that had gone into paying for it.
“More like fifteen with depreciation.” Toby opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, placing one in front of me.
“This isn’t gonna cut it,” I said, touching the slim neck.
Within seconds, he whisked the beer away, a tumbler taking its place with amber liquid poured inside to match the width of the four fingers I held up.
“Thank you.” Taking a gulp of the scotch, I blew out a raspberry as I placed the glass back on the Formica table. “Who needs a nice car, anyway?”
Opening a bag of nuts, Toby poured some in a bowl and sat it in the table's centre. “I’ll make food, but it might be an idea to eat before you get all maudlin.”
“I don’t get maudlin when I drink. I get hyper then I get exhausted.”
“Can’t wait,” he said as he rummaged through the cupboards and came out with two tins of chicken soup. “This is about as exciting as it gets.”
“Soup is good.” I popped a few cashews in my mouth, watching him rinse a small saucepan then dump the contents of both cans inside before turning on the stove. I liked the way he moved, such grace for a man of his size. My favourite part was when he bent over to find a wooden spoon inside one of the drawers.
Toby had a great arse.
“This place is well appointed for a safe house. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was your grandma’s,” I said to his back as he stirred. “There’s even a spoon collection on the wall.”
He glanced over his shoulder to where the wooden fixture was, decorated with a layer of dust and a few cobwebs, filled with hanging spoons. “You’d be right in thinking that way. She wasn’t my grandmother, but she was someone’s. I bought this in an estate sale.”
“Wooden spoons and all, huh?”
He nodded. “The entire contents of the house and shed.”
“So that Datsun was hers?”
“Sure was.”
“Low kilometres because she only took it shopping?”
“Thirty thousand on the clock. It’s perfect.” He grinned my way as he lifted the saucepan and divided it between two off-white ceramic bowls.
“And what name did you buy this place under? Dan Brown?”
He chuckled as he set the bowls on the table and found spoons. “Todd Smith.”
“Do you always use T names?”
“Makes it easier in case someone from my past runs into someone from my present. If the name sounds similar, I can explain it away.”
“Smart,” I said.
“And for the record, Tom Clancy wasn’t my choice. Lucy’s mother came up with it off the cuff one day. Luc was asking about me and she lifted the name right off the spine of a book. She wasn’t super imaginative when she was put on the spot.”
Stirring my spoon through the milky-looking soup, I blew amused air out of my nose. “What was she like?”
“She was kind, understanding, patient.”
She sounded like a saint. “What did she look like?”
“Lucy.”
“Lucy looks like you.”
“You think?”
“Very much. How did she die?”
“Bowel cancer. Around eighteen months ago.”
“That must have been hard for you. To mourn someone you weren’t supposed to know.”
“To be honest with you, I didn’t really know her. Not completely, anyway. I mean, we were in touch for nearly twenty years, spent the odd month together here and there, but we were on our best behaviour, you know? There was never any time to discover our flaws. I think that’s the part that hit me the hardest. She died, and suddenly there was no more time for anything.”
“Did you love her?”
He shook his head and wiped a hand across his stubble. “No. I was in love with what I imagined my life could be with her though.”
“Did she know about your real life?”
“A little.”
“She sounds like she was a good woman.”
With a nod, he smiled with half his mouth then stirred his spoon inside his soup. “I need to apologise to you for some things I’ve said during the last twenty-four hours,” he started, surprising me with the sudden change of subject.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said as I lifted my spoon to my mouth. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
“Still, I was angry, and I attacked you on a personal level when I had no right.”
Swallowing the salty liquid, I lowered my utensil and lifted my glass. “Listen, I pride myself on being unflappable, and I’ll admit you were very successful at hitting my buttons with little effort. So, I take my hat off to you, sir, for that. Still, I’m not holding it against you, I said plenty of shitty stuff in return.”
“I called you a hole to fuck, Blair. That’s pretty fucking low, and you didn’t deserve it.”
I took a sip of my scotch then inhaled slowly as I placed it back on the table with little sound. “Maybe I did. I get that I can come on a little too strong for some people.”
“You really didn’t,” he replied before I held my hand up.
“Let me finish, because I know I do. And luring men into bed has never been a part of my job, so I took offence to that. I sleep with whom I want, when I want to. It’s my choice. I think the best thing that god gave us humans was the ability to orgasm. It trumps free choice in my opinion. And I’ve had more than a few men try to damage my ability to find sex an enjoyable activity with their words or their abuse. But I refuse to allow anyone to take the most basal human enjoyment away from me.
I love sex. I have fought hard to continue loving sex, and no one—man or woman—will ever make me feel ashamed of that.” I downed the rest of my scotch and pushed away my soup as I stood from the table.
“I have a huge amount of respect for you, Blair. It wouldn’t have been easy finding me, I made it hard on purpose. It’s why I was shocked when you called me by my real name. It’s no excuse, and I can’t apologise enough for my behaviour or my words, but I do need you to know I regret them. I don’t really think of you that way.”
The sincerity in his eyes tugged gently at my heartstrings. It took a big man to admit his failings, and Toby was the embodiment of that both in size and action. I was coming to respect him myself, which was a big thing for me. Especially since I’d only known him for twenty-four hours.
“I need to take a shower,” I said, clearing my throat. “I smell like soot.” I stepped away, our conversation feeling heavy and unfinished. “Thanks for the food, and… I accept your apology.” The last part came out in a rush before I turned towards the bathroom and practically scurried away. He was softer than I’d expected him to be. Far more open and possibly… good. I rarely felt bad for tracking people down and sending them back to their lives, but with Toby, I wished he’d been left alone. Seemed to me he’d spent his life trying to do the right thing by others while no one had ever done right by him, including me. I was using him for my own gain from the get-go. First as a payday, then as a conquest, and now I was using him as a tool for my revenge. I was a really shitty human being.
When I came out of the bathroom, I found him tucking clean sheets into the couch cushions to make a bed. “There’s only one room. You take the bed and I’ll sleep out here,” he said.
I smiled. He’s a gentleman too. I hadn’t met many of them in my time on this earth. Such rare creatures. “That couch is barely big enough for you to sit on, Toby. I’m smaller, you take the bed. I insist.” After everything that had happened, everything he’d lost, I needed to do the decent thing.
“I really don’t mind,” he said. “Doubt I’ll sleep much, anyway.”
“Well, that makes two of us, but I’ll rest better if I know you aren’t all scrunched up and uncomfortable.”
Pausing with a pillow in his hands, he turned to face me, his eyes travelling slowly down the silk negligee I’d put on after my shower. One thing I didn’t own was boring sleepwear. He gulped and forced his focus back to the pillow, fluffing it before dropping it on the couch. “Feel free to switch with me if you get uncomfortable.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I said, moving past him before I slipped beneath the sheets he’d set out. “Thanks, Toby.”
Picking up a blanket, he placed it on the end near my feet. “In case you get cold.”
I smiled at him as he looked at me with confusion or perhaps longing in his eyes. Come and get me, I told him with mine. He swallowed again then stepped back.
“Well, good night then,” he said.
“Goodnight, Toby,” I replied, watching him walk away before I rested back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
In the last twenty-four hours, I’d been tied to a bed, come face to face with one of my attackers, stirred up my most repressed memories and almost exploded into nothingness. Oh, and I’d helped torch my car. Now, I was on the run with the man who was supposed to be my mark, both of us aiming to kill the one man responsible for our current situation—my father.
Yeah, I wouldn’t sleep at all tonight. I hadn’t had enough booze to achieve that. I probably wouldn’t even close my eyes.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HE’S A DEVIL
HEAT PRESSED against my skin as I ran towards the screams. No. Don’t. Hands pawed at my skin, dragging me back, their smiles glinting and leering. I’ll teach her a lesson she won’t forget.
“No.” I sat bolt upright, gasping, drenched in sweat from forcing myself out of the jumbled nightmare. “Don’t.”
Shoving the sheets from my body, the cool air collided with my hot skin, causing me to shiver at the sudden change. I stood and stumbled, heading for the kitchen where I splashed water on my face, heaving great gulps of air while I grabbed a glass from the strainer. With a shaky hand, I twisted the cap off the scotch, filling the glass halfway and gulping it down like it was cordial, forcing the memories back into their box where they belonged. “No,” I gasped through gritted teeth. “Get out of my fucking head.”
Taking the glass and the bottle back into the lounge room, I set them on the coffee table and refilled my glass, flicking on the television but finding nothing but snow on all channels.
“Great,” I said, throwing the remote on the couch while leaving the TV on, the static of dots soothing to my aching head.
With my eyes closed, I focused on the white noise and drank slowly, each swallow burning at my throat but adding to the quieting of my mind. This is why I drink.
Comfortably numb, I rested my head against the back of the couch and cradled the glass in my lap. No.
I hated the nights. It was always a shit fight as to whether the nightmares would surface. Drinking helped. Fucking even more so. Both together were the magic drug that led to a dreamless sleep. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be unaffected by everything that had gone on in my life. During the day I could put on a brave face and attitude to convince myself that I was unchanged. But at night, the monsters came. I hated the nights.
The scrape of a cupboard door startled my eyes open, drawing my attention towards the kitchen where I spotted Toby on one knee, crouched over and digging through the shelf beneath the sink.
“I have it here,” I called out, causing him to jolt and bang his head on the bench above.
“Shit,” he hissed, rubbing his head as he stood and closed the cupboard, picking up a glass before he headed towards me wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Gulp. As he moved, I could see every one of his muscles rippling beneath his taut skin, begging for a hand or two—or a tongue—to slide all over him.
A man this well built should be considered pornographic, one look, and I was squirming in my seat, staring at those arm cannons and wondering if I could even wrap both hands around them while I licked the vein that ran along his bicep.
My nipples hardened as his eyes held mine hostage, warmth flooding the best parts of me. It’d been a long time since a man had elicited this kind of reaction. Most men I slept with these days were a means to an end. I took from them what I needed and barely registered their faces. But with Toby, I wanted to explore every inch of him. I wanted him to use me.
“Here,” I said, reaching my hand out for his glass as I unscrewed the lid from the scotch.
Our fingers brushed as he handed it over and held on for a moment too long. “Did I wake you?” Releasing the glass, he sat in the single-seater diagonal from me.
I shook my head, blinking off his closeness and breaking eye contact. “Nightmares,” I stated, pouring him his drink before pushing it towards him.
He leaned forwards to collect his glass. “You too, huh?”
Tilting one side of my mouth, I bounced the opposite shoulder. “You can run from everything else but never yourself, right?” I held up my glass, and he tapped his against it before we both drank.
He sat back, draining the liquid with a small groan at the end. He held the cool glass against his temple with one hand and ran the other hand through his damp hair, the muscles in his arm bulging with his movement. My god, he is so incredibly beautiful.
Part of me wanted to ask him what his mind tormented him with, but the other part of me didn’t want to know at all. Asking him meant sharing my torment, and I wasn’t there. All I wanted was to make the noise stop, to be beautifully broken together.
Standing up, I moved until I was in front of him, taking the glass from between his fingers and filling it a third of the way. “More is better,” I said, handing it back to him. His eyes lifted to mine as he wrapped his fingers around the side of the glass, sliding in next to mine and
sending a heat up my arm that was far more powerful than the curling fingers of the alcohol in my blood.
“Sometimes it's required,” he said, lifting the glass to his lips, still watching me as I remained standing in the space between his feet.
“To quiet the screaming,” I added knowingly, watching the soft light from the static TV flicker across his bronzed skin.
He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine as he drank. Then he held out his glass, and I refilled it, lifting the bottle to my lips and drinking with him.
“Do you know what else helps?” I asked, taking the glass from between his fingers when he finished.
He shook his head, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, fingers of one hand pressed to his jaw. He watched me carefully as I set the glass and bottle back on the coffee table then turned back to face him.
“Orgasms,” I whispered, placing one hand on his bare shoulder as I rested my knee on the sofa beside him. He made no move to object, said nothing in protest. So I slid my other knee into position, running my hands over the smooth skin of his chest as I straddled him. “One good fuck”—I rocked my hips lightly, delighting in the soft sound that escaped his chest as his manhood responded, hardening against my centre—“and the mind goes quiet as a mouse.” Reaching down to the hem of my negligee, I pulled it over my head, exposing my breasts to the night air, my nipples pebbling as the cool brushed across them.
“You’ve been drinking,” came the soft rumble of his voice as his interested eyes perused my bare flesh.
“So have you. Makes us even.”
One large hand wrapped around the ribs on my right side, his thumb moving to caress the underside of my breast as we locked eyes, his expression calm, searching. “You are painfully beautiful, Blair.”
Painfully beautiful.
“You don’t need to compliment me, Toby. I’m not that kind of girl.”
Fool's Paradise (Cartwright Brothers Book 5) Page 8
