Текст книги "Behind Your Back"

Автор книги: Chelsea M. Cameron

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

 

Seven

 

I track her phone for the next week and a half and smile to myself when I see her on campus of the college she’s attending. She also goes to the library, probably to study.

I never went to college, but I envy those who do. All of my knowledge is self-taught and gained from real world experience. Still, maybe one day when all this is over I’ll be able to go back. If I’m alive.

Finally, I see her at a coffee shop and decide to check out what I’m dealing with.

I do surveillance outside and I’m shocked to see that she’s wearing a disguise. A brown wig and even brown contacts to mask her green eyes. I have no idea why she’s trying to blend in, but I’m interested. I watch her for a while before I go in and order a drink and sit down, giving her another glance. She’s pretending to be occupied with her phone, but something tells me she’s wearing this disguise for a reason, and not just for a bit of fun. This girl is something else.

Scrapping my plans to just walk up to her table and talk to her, I take a less-direct approach. The barista calls my name and I fetch my coffee before I leave, making sure to walk by her table and give her just one glance.

I see you, Saige Beaumont and you’re not going to get away from me now.

I haven’t gotten any more text messages from the stalker, so I relax our security a little bit. I’ve finally seen Saige and now I can put everything into action. This is the part I like. The game. The chase. The conquest. It’s a primal thing. It’s my belief that humans can’t hide their basic instincts to hunt and kill. We may do it in different ways now, but the urge is still there. It’s inside us.

I let Cash know I’ve seen her, but I don’t tell him about her disguise. Something in my head makes me hold back that particular piece of information.

“So what’s your next move?” he asks as I finish my burger and push the plate away. I’ve managed to get away from the office for lunch, which doesn’t happen often. Most of the time, I eat at my desk.

“Meet up with her again. Strike up a conversation. The usual.” Hopefully next time she’ll be her natural self. But I can’t really blame her for having another persona. A bit like the pot calling the kettle black.

“You’ll get her. You always do,” he says. That’s Cash. Ever the positive one. “And if you don’t, I’ll come in and do it instead.”

“Thanks, Cash,” I say, my tone dry. There is one thing to be said for Cash and his attitude. He does make me laugh, at least when he’s not driving me crazy. If I had a brother, I imagine he’d be like Cash.

“I’m just saying, I have more game than you do.” I sputter and remind him of a few of his failures until I have to go back to work.

I go back to the office and hand out portfolios and talk numbers until I feel like I’m going to forget how to speak in words.

Afterward I go home to Leo, but spent the rest of the night on my laptop, stalking Saige.

I’ve barely slept in days and it’s only going to get worse before this is over. I’m starting to get obsessed. This happens sometimes when a project is particularly difficult. It consumes me until I’ve completed it.

The next afternoon I’m working on some paperwork when Cash texts me that Saige is at the coffee shop.

I stop what I’m doing and hit the intercom for Grace.

“Yes, Mr. Brand?”

“Something has come up and I need to run out for a little while. Please cancel my meeting with Mrs. Dayton and reschedule for next week.” Mrs. Dayton is one of my legitimate clients. Very nice woman who gives a lot of money to charity. A absolute pleasure to work with.

“Yes, Mr. Brand,” Grace says. I grab my coat and emergency bag. I don’t want Saige seeing me in the suit. Hopefully, I can ingratiate myself into her life before her father finds out.

Ducking into a shop down the street, I do a quick change, making sure to fold my suit carefully so it won’t be too wrinkled when I put it back on. I hail a cab and give the driver the address of the coffee shop. I don’t have time to stash the bag, but it’s inconspicuous enough to look like it’s just carrying a laptop.

I get out of the car and see that she’s here, and with her natural hair color.

The light catches it and the glow of red is almost blinding. I pay the cabbie and stroll toward the door, as if I’m just out for a walk. In no hurry. Just here for an afternoon pick-me-up.

I go right for the counter and order before securing a table close to hers. She’s here with a laptop and a quick glance tells me she’s probably doing homework. A picture of an impressionist painting fills the screen and she has a notebook out that’s half-filled with curly writing.

My (fake) name is called and I grab my coffee and sit back down. I get out my burner phone to message Cash.

Casting my eyes about the shop, I meet hers just as she looks up from her computer.

I may believe in luck, but I don’t believe in fate. None of this “meant to be” shit.

But something happens when I lock eyes with Saige. Something that feels like a rushing wave, or a gust of wind. It rips through me, even though I don’t move.

Green eyes.

She blinks and the moment ends. I blink too and suck in a breath. Did that just happen? The noise of the coffee shop seems extremely loud all of a sudden and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Saige is watching me over the rim of her laptop as I shake myself mentally and sip my coffee. Good. Now I have to wait to see if she’ll come up to me, or if I have to go to her.

She gets up to order another drink and then veers straight toward my table.

“Staring at strangers is considered rude in some cultures you know,” she says, leaning one hand on the table. I look up at her and she gives me a little bit of a smile. Her eyes are a color that I’ve never even seen before. So vivid that they don’t look real.

Her red hair waves down her back today and her lips are bold with red lipstick.

“Well, let’s not be strangers then,” I say, holding out my hand. “Quinn Brand.” She starts to say something, but they call out her drink at the counter and she goes to get it. I jump to my feet.

“Allow me.” A little chivalry can go a long way.

I fetch the drink and some napkins and bring them back to the table. She’s taken the seat across from me, which is a good sign.

“Thanks, Quinn Brand.”

“You’re welcome, Saige…” I drift off, as if I don’t know her last name.

“Beaumont,” she supplies, sipping her drink and leaving a red mark on the cup from her lipstick. Soon, those marks will be all over me. I want that more than I should.

“Saige Beaumont,” I say. I like the way her name tastes in my mouth. Sweet and spicy at the same time.

“So, Quinn Brand, why are you staring at me?” She puts her elbow on the table and leans her chin on it.

“Why wouldn’t I stare at you?” These words aren’t a lie. She’s beautiful.

She arches one auburn eyebrow and presses her lips together into a smile.

“Do you use that line on all the girls?”

I smile as well.

“No. Just on you.” Now this is a lie. I’ve used that line many times before, but none of those times matter. This matters. Right here. Right now.

“Nice. You almost sounded like you weren’t lying when you said that,” she says, her smile widening. I lean back in my chair. It’s true. She’s definitely different than I thought she’d be. Good.

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve never told a natural redhead that?”

She sips her drink and doesn’t answer.

“What brings you here, Saige Beaumont?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her foot bumps mine under the table and I’m sure it’s not an accident. She’s flirting with me.

“Yes, I would,” I say. Another truth.

She rolls her eyes and in that moment she looks younger than her twenty-two years.

“I’m doing homework. Does that make me less attractive?” Quinn and Sylas are both attracted to smart girls.

“Not at all,” I say. “What were you studying before I rudely interrupted you with my gratuitous staring?”

She leans in just a little.

“Art. Specifically impressionism.”

“Art, huh?”

“Art,” she repeats.

“And what have you learned about impressionism?”

She smiles before she answers.

“That if you stare at it too long, you can give yourself a headache.”

I chuckle a little.

“But life could be worse. I get to look at beautiful things all day and try to figure out why the artist painted the shadows that way, or what they were inspired by, or what that tree symbolizes. Do you like art?” I decide to give her an honest answer.

“Some of it. Older rather than newer. I saw an exhibit once where a woman drank colored milk and then vomited on the canvas. I thought it was a joke until I went to the show and there she was. I had to leave when she started the live portion of the show.” Even now, thinking of it makes me queasy. What some people consider art is definitely questionable.

Saige makes a face.

“I’m not a huge fan of modern art. Give me a thousand year old cave painting any day over a vomit painting,” she says. I nod, agreeing with her.

“And what do you with yourself, Quinn?” It’s my fake name, but I like the way she says it. Almost with a smirk. Like it amuses her.

“I’m in finance,” I say. I don’t want to give her too many details about my fake life yet.

“So you get paid to spend other people’s money?”

“More or less,” I say. I like the way she thinks of things.

She makes a face that says she doesn’t find my job appealing.

“Not a big fan of money?” I find this ironic, given how she grew up. Her birthday parties were grand affairs with ponies and balls and tiaras. I’ve seen all sorts of pictures that Cash dug up. My favorite is of her on the back of a spotted pony, wearing an expression on her face that plainly said the horse was going too slow for her liking.

“I like money as much as the next person, but I’ve found that love of money is a huge problem. But I probably shouldn’t say that to someone whose job is dealing with it.” I’m not so easily offended.

“I don’t think of myself as dealing with money. I never see actual bills. It’s all just abstract numbers on a spreadsheet. Percentages and profits and loss. That’s the real secret to money,” I say, waving my hand.

“What is?” she asks, leaning even closer.

“That it doesn’t exist.” I wave my hand in front of her face and then smile at her.

She grins back at me, her teeth white against the red of her lipstick. Her lips are the perfect shape for kissing. Hopefully soon I’ll get to taste them and see how they feel against mine. Something tells me that Saige Beaumont knows how to kiss.

I check my watch, which I didn’t take off when I changed my clothes. It’s a Rolex and I know she’ll notice that it’s expensive.

“Would you like to take a break from the impressionists and have coffee with me?” I say.

Her eyebrows draw together and she holds up her half-finished drink.

“I already have coffee.”

“Of course,” I say as if I’ve just realized we’re in a coffee shop. “Well, how about dinner instead?” That will give me a chance to go to my apartment, put something nicer on and get another one of my sports cars. Something less flashy this time.

“I think that can be arranged.” She sips the last of her coffee and then tosses the cup.

“Great. Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, so you’re going to make me pick?” she says as she sits back down.

“Unless you want me to surprise you. I can do that as well. Whatever you want, Saige.” I want to say her name over and over and I have no idea why.

“I like surprises.” She smiles and rakes her hair back with her hand.

“Okay then. Shall I pick you up around six?” She nods.

“Great. How about you give me your number?” she says. I pull my regular phone out and wait as she recites the numbers to me. I put them in my phone under “Redhead.”

“And do I get your number? In case something goes wrong?” she says, getting out her own phone. I rattle off the number to her. Good thing I can memorize numbers. Not as good as Hardy, of course, but close enough.

“Well, then. It was nice to meet and stare at you, Saige Beaumont,” I say, getting to my feet.

“It was nice to meet and be stared at by you, Quinn Brand,” she says before strutting back to her table and resuming work on her laptop.

The pleasure is all mine, Redhead.

 

Eight

 

As soon as I get home, I call Cash.

“And have you seduced her?” he asks.

“Nearly. We’re going out to dinner. Let the wining and dining begin,” I say as I go through my closet to pick out something to wear.

“Go with that Prada suit and the black Ferragamos. White shirt underneath. Simple and classic,” he says. It’s a bit dressier than I’d intended, but I think it will work.

“I didn’t ask, but thank you,” I say. Cash sometimes answers questions I don’t ask. I’ve gotten used to it.

“You’re welcome. Now got get her and keep me updated.” I hang up with Cash and get dressed. Good call on the suit. It sets off my dark hair and makes me look older and a little bit dangerous. Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.

I throw a hoodie on over the suit coat and head to the garage where my cars are. I bypass two and go for the black BMW. It’s still a nice car, but not as nice as the Ferrari.

After stripping off the hoodie, I stash it in the trunk and get into the driver’s seat.

Time to pick up the redhead.

Saige’s apartment is on the top floor in a nice brick building. Of course, her father owns it and she doesn’t pay rent. I send her a message that I’m downstairs and ask if she wants me to come up and get her. It’s hard to know what she’d prefer.

Come on up. I’ll buzz you in. I park the car and get out to ring the bell. The door opens and instead of climbing the stairs and getting sweaty, I take the elevator.

I hear her footsteps as she walks toward the door after I knock.

It opens and she smiles at me. My heart stops for a second.

“Hey,” she says, leaning a little to the side. It’s as if she knew I would wear black, and she’s dressed to match in a simple black strapless dress with lace around the hem. Her hair is loosely twisted up in the back, with a few tendrils caressing her neck.

Her green eyes are hooded by smoky lids and she’s got her signature red lips. All in all, she’s breathtaking.

“Hey,” I say after I’ve looked her up and down. I can’t help myself.

She smiles and her teeth are brilliant against the red of her lips.

“You clean up nice, Quinn Brand.”

“So do you, Saige Beaumont.” Her smile widens and I notice that she gets little crinkles at the edges of her eyes when she smiles. Lovely. So far this assignment has been both business and pleasure and I think it’s going to continue that way.

“Shall we?” I say, holding my arm out for her and then producing a single white rose from behind my back. It means innocence and purity, which is at odds with my true intentions.

“Very smooth,” she says, taking the rose from me and sniffing it before breaking the stem and putting it behind her ear. Now that was smooth. She takes my arm and we ride down the elevator and go out to the car. I open the door for her and she makes appreciative comments about the car.

“Thank you. It gets me from place to place,” I say.

I pull out and she asks where we’re going.

“I thought you liked surprises,” I say.

“I do, but only when I know what they are.” I chuckle.

“Then that defeats the purpose of a surprise.”

“Hey, I’m not going to explain how my mind works. You’re just going to have to figure it out.” I ask her if the temperature is okay and she nods.

The rest of the way to the restaurant is spent in small talk. Mindless getting-to-know-you chatter. Only I already know most everything I need to know about her to do my job.

She asks me some more about my job and I give her general answers. She leans back in the seat and the white rose behind her ear keeps catching my attention. I’m not used to having a pretty girl in the passenger seat.

I pull up in front of the restaurant and the valet comes out to take my keys. I slip him a few bills to take extra good care of the car and go over to open the door for Saige.

“Thank you,” she says, giving me a smile. It’s a warm night out, so she just has a black silky shawl wrapped around her shoulders. All the black makes her white skin glow. A few freckles dot her skin here and there and I’m looking forward to see where else they exist on her body.

“Veerrrrryyyy nice,” she says, drawing out the first word as she sees where we are. I haven’t skimped on anything tonight.

“Why thank you. I’ve heard the chef here makes a roast duck that will change your life,” I say. Technically, I’m quoting Cash, who had been here a few weeks ago with a woman he was trying to seduce. It worked, so I decided to bring Saige here as well.

The hostess leads us to our table in the back. It’s sweet and cozy and away from the prying eyes of the rest of the patrons.

“So far, so good,” she says as I pull her chair out for her and she sits down.

“I’m hoping things will continue to be good.” I sit down and she raises one eyebrow.

“Just good?”

“Great?” She shakes her head. “Fantastic?” Another head shake. “Spectacular?”

“How about memorable?” she suggests. “I’ll take memorable. Memorable is better than good.”

“Yes, but memorable can also be bad. I want this to be a positive experience, if I can help it,” I say. The hostess interrupts our conversation to give us the specials and a wine list.

“I’ll have a pinot noir and for the lady…” I trail off and glance at Saige.

“The same,” she says with a smile.

“Would you like a few moments?” I say that I do and she leaves us. I already know what I want to order, but I give Saige the chance to peruse.

“So I’m guessing if you know that the duck is good, then you’ve been here before.” I know where she’s going with this, even though she keeps her tone light.

“Yes, I’ve brought a few clients here for dinner. No other women, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m currently unattached.” Her green eyes flick up to meet mine.

“I don’t care if you’re dating. I was just wondering.” No, she wasn’t. I’m beginning to sense a possessive streak in her. I like it.

“Uh huh,” I say, dismissing it. “See anything you like?”

Her eyes look up and meet mine.

“Maybe.”

“I meant something on the menu.” Her eyes narrow a little and she sets her menu down.

“I think I’m feeling like duck tonight, how about you?” I agree. Our wine arrives and I order for both of us. Saige leans back in her chair and tips her head to the side.

“Studying me?” I ask, sipping my wine.

“Trying to figure you out. You’re a bit of a mystery, Quinn Brand, but I bet you know that. I bet you know that and you use it to your advantage whenever you can.” I give her a smile.

“You’ve got me pegged, Saige.” I can’t stop saying her name. She sips her wine, but her eyes don’t leave mine. The white rose looks so pretty against her red hair.

“No, I don’t think I do. There’s a lot to you, Quinn. I can feel it. You’re like a pond where the surface appears calm, but you don’t know how deep it is until you dive in and start to let yourself drown.” I could say the same about her.

“Does that bother you?” she asks.

“No. You can analyze me all you want. It means I get to stare into those green eyes of yours.” I expect her to blush and look down, but she doesn’t. Her eyes narrow as if she knows exactly what game I’m playing. Yes, I have underestimated this redhead.

The conversation moves back onto more solid ground and I ask her about hobbies and favorite music and so forth. A lot of this information isn’t something I can find out until I talk to her.

“I’m sure you expect me to say that I listen to something deep and vintage, like Joni Mitchell,” she says.

“I’ve learned it’s best not to assume in life,” I say. I never assume if I can help it. “So who do you like?”

“Well, I do like Joni Mitchell, but I listen to everything from Lorde to Maroon 5 to Taylor Swift to The Civil Wars to Frank Sinatra. I’ll listen to anything, as long as it’s good.” I like that and I completely agree.

“What’s your favorite song?” I ask. She rolls her eyes.

“That’s such a silly question. Your favorite song right at this moment isn’t going to be your favorite song at another moment. And my favorite song when I was ten isn’t the same as it is now.”  I put my hands up, as if surrendering.

“I was just curious. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What’s your favorite song?”

“‘Fire and Rain’ by James Taylor.” The words are out of my mouth as if they aren’t under my control. I didn’t mean to tell her that. I meant to tell her something by U2 or Queen or Jimi Hendrix. Not the real thing.

“James Taylor? Interesting. Do you play guitar?” I shake my head. I’d always wanted to learn, but could never bring myself to do it. I’ve brought Saige close to uneven ground that I don’t want to tread on. So I turn things back on her.

“I told you mine, now tell me yours.”

She purses her lips and then sighs.

“Fine. It’s ‘Take Me to Church’ by Hozier. And I liked it before it was all over the radio, by the way.” I chuckle. That is a good song. I can’t fault her taste.

This particular restaurant plays soft piano music over a loudspeaker and I have an idea.

“Would you excuse me for a moment?” She nods and picks up her wine, taking a sip. Her creamy throat ripples as she swallows.

I go to the hostess and ask her for a favor. I also hand her some cash to help her agree to help me out. I go back to the table to find Saige finishing her wine.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.”

The piano music clicks off and changes to Hozier’s ‘Take Me to Church’. Saige recognizes the song and smiles at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Good. I’ve pleased her.

“Would you like to dance?” I say, holding my hand out.

“This isn’t really a dancing song,” she says.

“Dance with me anyway,” I say, and she gives me her hand. I pull her into me and she fits against my body so well. Curves matching valleys, her give, my take. She exhales, as if she’s surprised by something.

“What?” I ask as I put my hand on her lower back.

“Nothing,” she says and I start to sway her back and forth to the beat of the music. She’s right, this isn’t a song for dancing, but I don’t care. Her fingers grip my shoulder and I inhale her perfume. It’s spicy and sweet. Like her. I wish her hair were down.

People are probably staring at us, but I don’t care. All I care about in this particular moment is the beautiful woman in my arms and how easy it is to get her to do what I want her to do. To lead her. She’s pliable, soft. But something tells me beneath all that, there’s something sharp and unyielding. Like a blade sheathed in silk. We sway together and I try not to think about how close her hips are and how much I would love to fuck her while listening to this song.

Her heart pounds against my chest. A frenetic drum that seems to spur my own into faster action. She sighs softly and melts even more into me. For just a moment, all I see is her, all I feel is her, everything is her.

And then the song ends and she’s smiling and I notice that she has four barely-there freckles on her nose.

“Thank you. That was wonderful.” She’s pulling herself from my arms and it takes a moment for me to let her go. I shake my head to clear it and smile back at her. We sit down again and our meals arrive.

I wait until she cuts a tiny piece of the duck with her knife and spears it on her fork.

“You scared?” I ask as she studies it.

“I’m not scared of anything,” she says before putting the fork in her mouth and then drawing it out slowly. She chews for a moment and then nods.

“It’s delicous.” I pick up my napkin and spread it on my lap before I start to eat.

“You’re a good dancer,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. I stare at the red residue of her lipstick on the glass for a second.

“That wasn’t exactly dancing. You should see me with enough floor space and a good song for waltzing,” I say, giving her another smile. It’s difficult sometimes, maintaining the balance of smiling too little or too much. Too little and you seem cold, too much and you don’t seem genuine.

“That’s something I’d definitely like to see,” she says.

“Maybe you will.”

We don’t touch again until I take her hand to lead her out of the restaurant. She leans toward me the slightest bit.

“Thank you so much for bringing me here. That was nice.” Her fingers grip my arm a little too tight. I fold her shawl over her shoulders and she looks up at me. Those green eyes can be a bit unnerving when you’re staring right into them. I have a very specific plan, but I decide to deviate from it.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” I ask and her lips turn up slowly.

“Do you read minds, Quinn Brand?”

“Only redheads,” I say as we leave the restaurant and start walking down the street. “Going to be okay in those shoes?”

She stops and sticks one of her feet out in front, as if she’s studying it.

“These old things? Psh, I could run a marathon in these.” I bet she could. We resume walking and she tugs me closer.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“No,” she says.

Interesting. I’m going to take her lead and see what she’ll let me get away with. If we had it my way, I would have pulled her into the nearest dark alley, pulled up her dress and fucked her hard against the dirty stone of the building.

But I’m not sure if Saige is that kind of girl and I don’t want to ruin something that hasn’t even started. It’s easier to stay in her good graces than get myself out and then back in.

Tendrils of her hair swirl in the breeze and I want to capture one with my fingers.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks. The silence between us has been easy instead of awkward. I like that.

“You.” I say the first thing that comes to mind.

She turns her head and looks at me from under her black-slicked lashes.

“Yeah? What about me?”

I’m not going to tell her what I’m really thinking, of course, but I almost consider it, just to see what she’d say.

“About how pretty your hair is. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a color quite like that.” She tucks a strand behind the ear that doesn’t have the white flower on it.

“Well, I can’t exactly take credit for it. I had nothing to do with it.” I chuckle a little and we reach an intersection.

“Where to?” I ask.

“Left,” she says, pointing, so we wait until the way is clear and cross.

“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” she asks.

“I’m not sure. I’m only thinking about right now.”

“Smooth, Quinn Brand.”

“Thank you.” She stops walking and I nearly trip, which is unlike me. This woman has put me off-balance more than once this evening already.

“But I don’t want to know the answer you think I want to hear. I don’t want to hear a line you’ve fed to other women. I want to know what you want to happen. Just tell me.” She turns to face me and her hands grip my lapels. She’s almost close enough to kiss, but I’m not going to. She doesn’t want to know what I’d like to do with her, but I’m going to tell her anyway. Just to see what happens.

“I’ve been thinking that I’d like to pull you into an alley. Any alley. Run my hands over your skin, rip the pins out of your hair, yank up your dress and fuck you until your back is bleeding from being rubbed up against the wall behind you. And then I’d want to take you somewhere with a bed so I can fuck you some more. Satisfied?”

Her mouth is slightly open, but her eyes aren’t filled with shock at all. They’re filled with fire and if I stare into them too long, she’s going to consume me. She blinks and I try to pull back, but she’s still holding onto me.

“Why don’t you? Are you scared?” She’s taunting me and I’m starting to get pissed off.

“Are you asking me to fuck you? I will. Don’t think for a second that I won’t.”

She lets go of me and takes a step back.

“Then fuck me.”