Текст книги "Exposed"
Автор книги: Ivy Stone
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lindsey
Demons have a way of sucking us dry, pulling the life out of us until we have nothing left. His demons wouldn’t destroy him, but mine would.
I jerk my head up, still disorientated from sleep and reach across into the bedside drawer for my gun. Shouting rips through the air frightening me. Mason.
I jump out of bed but hesitate as I move. I glance down to the gun in my hand. Shit, I can’t let him see it. He’ll ask too many questions. I shove it back in the draw and run down the hall. My heart pounds in my chest preparing for what’s to come. Has Giuseppe sent people for me? Have they gone after Ali at the clinic too? A million thoughts travel through my mind in those few seconds it takes to get to the living room. It’s pitch black and I’m blinded by the night. No shadows, no other voices, just Mason’s. I halt in my step and bend in half, resting my hands on my thighs so I can catch my breath.
“Shit,” I mutter to myself, still trying to even out my breathing. His shouting stops and nothing but silence greets me. Walking through the darkness, I reach for the lamp on the side table near the door. Soft light illuminates the room and there is Mason, asleep on the couch. Sweat drips from his forehead, his muscles are tense. His face is so tight, marred with agony.
He thrashes his head from side to side. “No. Roam, get them out! Now!” His voice catches in his throat and the sight before me tears me to shreds. His nightmare surpasses any normal bad dream I’ve ever experienced. Watching his pain-stricken face, I inch closer to him and sit just on the edge of the couch beside his shaking body. Twisting sideways, my hand barely brushes his chest and in a flash, I’m lying flat on my back, pinned down by a heavy weight. My arms are restricted and all I can see and feel is the barrel of a gun pointed between my eyes.
Chest heaving, I stiffen, not moving a muscle. I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my nerves and praying he will wake soon before I have to try and disarm him, which will lead to more questions, like how I know to do it in the first place. The strength cementing me into the couch is like stone. I’m stuck with nowhere to go.
Seconds, minutes, I don’t how long passes as I watch the movie play behind his terrified eyes. It’s all there, right in front of me, in rapid succession his unconscious state bares torturous events scarring his soul. What I wouldn’t give to see what he is seeing.
Adrenaline rushes through me. Do I touch him? Do I talk to him?
Some of the pressure holding me down alleviates, and I jump at the chance to free a limb.
I lift a shaky hand and gently rest it on his cheek. “Hey, it’s okay.”
I wait nervously, searching his eyes. Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have touched him? No, I know I shouldn’t have.
Brows furrowing, Mason squeezes his eyes shut and when he reopens them, they’re clear but tormented. He glares to where one arm is pinning my shoulder to the sofa and the other to the gun directed in my face.
“Shit. Lindsey.” His voice is raspy, breathing heavy. “I’m so sorry.” He jumps off me to stand, pulling me up beside him. Resting his head in his hands, he stays like that for a minute and I watch him, stunned, not knowing what the hell I should do. The quietness becomes awkward. I glance anywhere but at Mason until I can’t stand it anymore. He doesn’t want to talk and I don’t know what to say. So I turn, ready to head back to bed when my skin sears with the warmth of Mason’s hand on my arm.
“Wait.”
He spins me around and his strained expression holds a thousand words. The creases in his forehead, the lines around his eyes, the grimace of his lips, what could be so awful it haunts a man so painfully?
“I don’t know what just happened now, where you went. But you want to talk about it, or not talk about it, I’m just down the hall,” I say softly and I don’t miss him cringe at my words.
Anger ignites inside at the contorting of his face.
“Wow. Never mind. Forget I offered.” I walk away, becoming angrier and confused with every step. The man drew his gun on me, scared me half to death and made me care about him within seconds of each other. Wasn’t getting into my bed exactly what he’d been chasing? I was welcoming him to open up to me about something personal, but why the hell would he when I refuse to do the same? I shake my head at my own stupidity. My hypocritical self wants to help him, because the restless man dreaming moments ago looked just as damaged as how I used to feel.
As I’m about to leave the room, hands wrap around my stomach pulling me into a hard chest. The feathery light touch of Mason’s nose on the column of my neck makes me tilt my head to the side. My mind abandons all thought and lets my body sink into his embrace.
“You took that the wrong way, Lindsey. I know what you were thinking and that’s not it. I’ve been hard up for you since the day we met. I want you so fucking bad. But not like this. Not ‘cause you feel sorry for me about what you just saw, and not until you give me more. I don’t want one night, sweetheart. I want your all.”
My pussy throbs at his husky voice. My knees wobble at his light touch, but it’s not enough. I want fucking more and I want it now. But I can’t have more, because I refuse to give it. By offering to listen to him, I’ve given him more than I’d given any man in a long time.
I grab his hands from around my waist and reluctantly push them away. Turning around, I come face to face with passionate eyes matching my own and lips I want to kiss so badly. “I don’t have all of me to give. Goodnight, Mason.”
Without waiting for a response I retreat to my room.
I don’t know what I expected. I don’t know what possessed me to offer comfort when I’d be no help. But after a nightmare like the one he was having, I sure as hell didn’t think he would want to go back to sleep so he could continue the hell he was in. He was right though. For the moments I watched him break in agony, I did feel sorry for him. I watched my father suffer with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don’t remember much but I do remember the nightmares. Watching Mason suffer through distress brought up memories I’d rather keep buried.
Cocooning myself in the safety of my sheets, I press my cheek into the cool pillow and cuddle it a little tighter. I curl into myself and close my eyes tightly in an effort to rid him from my thoughts. Mason Cole is capturing me piece by piece, and the last thing I need is to be imprisoned by his affection.
Mason
I wait for the blackness of the night to open up and swallow me whole. That’s what I deserve. Staring at the ceiling, I wait but it never comes. I lay here, wide a-fucking-wake, stewing over what happened half-an-hour earlier. I pointed a gun in her face. I restrained her, and worst of all, she witnessed me at my weakest. I hated it. I hated it. I loathed that I saw pity in her eyes. I shut down on her when she offered to talk, keeping a lid on the one part of me I can’t bear to share. No one knows the daily torture I deal with except Roamyn, and even he doesn’t realize the extent of how much I’m hurting. I’m not an idiot. I know after this long it’s become a problem. A shrink will tell me I’ve got PTSD, and I’d believe him. I don’t doubt that’s what it is, but I refuse to pop a pill to fade the memories. Why should I be allowed to conceal the pain? It’s my fault those children will never breathe life into this world again. Mistakes were made that could have been prevented and if I hadn’t been so eager, those children might still be alive today. The terrorizing sleepless nights are a reminder of a monumental misjudgment that can never be undone. I don’t deserve to forget and move on with my life when that’s an opportunity they’ll never have.
I toss and turn, unease curdling in my stomach, so I get up to check the locks and rooms again. I stop when I get to Lindsey’s room and lean on the doorframe. The soft glow of the moon shines through the window onto her sleeping body. She looks small wrapped up in such a huge bed, and my cock throbs, thickening in my jeans as I imagine being the one she’s clutching, rather than her pillow. I’m jealous. Jealous of a feather-filled comforter because it’s soothing her in a way I’ve not been able to. My feet inch closer. My fingers itch to reach out for her, for her hair, to grab her hips, squeeze her tits.
Fuck it. If I get in beside her, the worst she can do is send me on my way. But after earlier, there might be a slither of a chance she won’t.
Lindsey
A light, calloused touch scorches up my side, waking me from sleep. Goose bumps rise from the touch of fingertips and just as I’m about to scramble away, his signature scent hits me with a force of desire and I instantly calm. My shoulders fall and I relax my body back into the hot wall of pure muscle plastered behind me. Feathery kisses trail over my shoulder blade and I quiver at the tingling sensation freezing my body in place. His whiskered jaw prickles my skin, along my shoulder all the way up to my neck. It heightens my senses as lust shoots through my core, and I clutch my pillow, fighting the fire in my belly. I yearn to yank him over me and drive his cock right into me as far as it can go. His hand slides from my waist to my ass and as he squeezes firmly and I can’t help the moan from slipping past my lips. My own sounds of desire echoes through the room much louder than intended, and as soon as it’s left my mouth, Mason spreads his hand over my ass cheek and hip, clutching tightly, and with a quick jerk, he pulls me backwards pressing his jean-clad cock into my ass, rubbing his hardness against me.
“Fuck,” he whispers near my ear, his voice breaking. His head leans on my shoulder and I reach back, gliding my shaky hand up his thick firm thigh, over his ass and bringing it up behind me to his head. Pulling at his hair, I angle my head and bring his up closer to mine. We’re nose to nose, body against body, and breathing so rapidly it’s like we’ve both just run a marathon.
“We shouldn’t do this.” I whisper, staring into his lust-filled eyes. We both know we shouldn’t. I can’t do it, not now. He wants too much, I don’t want enough. It’s too risky, too dangerous. What if one night ruins it all? What if after, my body and my heart want more? If once isn’t enough, denying him again will be so much harder. His job, my job, if our worlds collide, it’ll be one fucked-up mess we’ll never survive.
He shakes his head and rolls swiftly over on top of me, pushing me on my back. “Didn’t plan this when I came in here, Linds. But I sure as fuck don’t want to stop now, not now that I know you want it too.” His lips crash to mine, his tongue searching for an opening. My lips part and his tongue slips inside, caressing my own in one powerful kiss, so gentle and long, so passionate. Pulling him closer, he deepens the connection and his hand trails down, fingering the edge of my panties.
“Stop.” I break the moment, panting heavily. “I can’t give you what you want, Mason.”
His eyes reach into mine and my heart pumps harder. He wants the unattainable.
He scoops the side of my face in his hand, brushing his thumb back and forth. The movement is so intimately sweet that my fingers twitch to cover my own hand with his. He makes resisting him so much harder by simply being him. “You can come up with whatever excuse you want, Lindsey. But that’s all they are, excuses. You’ll run out of them at some stage, and I’ll be here waiting when you do.”
I can’t speak. My lips seal shut. Mason rolls off me, enveloping me in his arms as he moves.
Spooning me in my bed, I ignore everything else. I shut off my mind, shut out the world. Closing my eyes, I sink into nirvana, hoping to avoid this inconceivable feeling tearing me in two. I’m conflicted by the comfort of his arms: I’ve never felt so safe, yet stripped bare, all at the same time.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lindsey
Life is moving in the fast lane and instead of taking out first place, I can’t seem to do a goddamn thing to catch up. I’m falling behind, eating the dust this world is spitting back at me.
Warmth coils around me and I snuggle in closer. Hot breath on my neck shoots my eyes wide open. Shit, he’s still here. His heavy arm tightens around my waist when I try to move. It’s the middle of winter yet I’ve never felt warmer. Sensibility seeps through the window with the morning sun and I twist my neck around and find Mason still asleep. Slowly, trying not to disturb him, I pad over to the bathroom and close the door. I need a shower, a cold one, and I need to get to work, a safe distance away from Mason and his wandering hands.
The hot spray trickles down my forehead and I close my eyes, berating myself for allowing him to crawl into bed with me in the middle of the night. Frustrated at my own lapse in judgement I quickly scrub myself clean and get out.
“Morning.” A raspy voice echoes through the steam from the heat of the shower and I jump from surprise, nearly slipping butt naked on the tiles.
“Jesus, Mason, what the hell? Have you been in here the whole time?” I snatch my towel off the rack and wrap it around myself, concealing my naked body.
Fantastic, I’m a sopping wet mess in front of a man who looks gorgeous even straight out of bed. Ugh, of course.
Mason shrugs, checking me out from head to toe, stopping for a second longer at my breasts. “Not the whole time.”
I grab my hair towel and dry off the dripping ends of my hair. “Good or you would have leveled up to creeper status.”
He puts his hands up in front of himself palms facing me. “Just came in to see if you’d like to have a quick breakfast with me before work. I’ve got a little time before I have to take Charlotte to school.”
My hands stop squeezing the water out of my hair and I turn to Mason, surprised that after how last night ended, he’s going to make another play so soon.
“Like a date?” I question.
“Yes, like a date. People go on those occasionally.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I pin him with a glare. “No.”
Mason stalks over to me, grabbing the towel from between my hands. I think he’s about to throw it away, but instead, he takes over drying my hair. God, he makes this so hard.
With my hands limp by my side, I let him continue massaging my head. “Why would you want to do that? I told you no last night. I’m not going to strip my towel off and get on my knees for you, Mase, just because we’ve sort-of become friends.” I bring my hands to my hips. “And just for the record, climbing into my bed in the middle of night while I’m sleeping was a sneaky move.”
He chuckles. “Sweetheart, you never stopped me until you realized there was a chance I might’ve actually got you. You’re the one who backed your ass into me, not the other way around. But okay, have it your way.”
He spins around walking back into the bedroom. “Breakfast, Linds, you’ve got five minutes before I come back in there and grab your ass out.”
I stand, mouth hanging open. What the fuck just happened?
***
The ding of the elevator sounds and I step out into the main foyer of Davenport & Jenkins Publications. The familiar voices of employees and the smell of coffee greet me, easing me into my comfort zone. Smiling at staff as I pass by, I make my way toward my office.
My assistant’s desk comes into view and there she sits, a woman at least four years my junior, a woman who would love to take my job from me as much as she enjoys taking it in the ass from Oliver. Yeah, it’s happened, more than once.
“Morning, Peyton, any messages this morning?”
With her usual over-the-top cheerfulness, she smiles at me and I internally grimace. “Good morning, Miss Jenkins. And yes, you had a call earlier but Mr. Davenport handled it so not to worry.” She waves a hand in front of her, nonchalantly.
I double take. No one takes calls for me, not even Oliver.
Confusion must be plastered all over my face because Peyton goes on to explain herself. “A Mr. Rossi called for you earlier this morning about a business meeting, but I had already checked your schedule,” She trails off, eyes searching the computer screen in front of her. “As I told him, you have nothing booked in today for anyone with that name.”
Every muscle in my body freezes. What the fuck? He knows better than to call me here.
I cut Peyton off, marching down the hall wondering why the hell Enzo Rossi called my fucking office. “Thanks, Peyton!” I call back, hoping she hears.
Passing the office cubicles taking up the majority of the room, I see the closed wooden door with Oliver Davenport written in print and head inside without knocking. With his back to the door, Olly stands facing the window, hands in his pockets.
“Why in the hell did Enzo Rossi call here this morning?” I demand.
Oliver turns around. “Well, good morning to you too.” I put my hands on my hips and widen my eyes, too wired with curiosity to pretend I actually have any patience. “Well?”
Sighing, Oliver undoes the button on his suit jacket and sits down in his office chair.
“I took the call so Peyton wouldn’t find out about her boss’s extra-curricular activities. I saved both our asses so you really should be thanking me, not interrogating me, for starters. But shit, Lindsey, we’re fucking lucky I walked past her desk when I did.”
I pace the room. “Shit. What did he want?”
“A job. Wants us to work with him. You might want to call him back.” Olly shrugs. “He sure didn’t like it when I chewed him out for calling here. You know what he’s like, Linds. This isn’t good.”
I clutch my stomach because it feels like it might just fall out of my ass. The bastard worked out who Oliver and I were a few years ago when we kept crossing paths. He’s a deadly assassin with loyalty to no one. We did our research on him too. No family. No girlfriend. No loved ones at all. Yet to this day, he’s never told anyone who we are. I had no clue as to why and I didn’t care as long as he kept the information to himself. When I encountered him on a job six months back though, it went all kinds of wrong. He disappeared after I shot him in the shoulder and I ended up with three broken ribs, bruises I had to hide for weeks and a scar from a knife wound that healed wrong because I couldn’t go to the hospital. They report those things to the police and that we couldn’t have.
“By the way, where have you been this morning? You’re even later than usual and I can’t say it’s been a great old time here worrying over this shit since that asshole called,” Olly questions me, brows furrowed, eyes glinting with suspicion. I never can get much past him.
“I was at breakfast.”
I brush it off because the last thing I need right now is Olly on my case about Mason.
“Alison’s in rehab. I was here at work. You don’t have any other friends. That really limits the possibilities of who you were with, Linds.”
I cross my arms over one another, taking a seat opposite Olly on the other side of the desk.
“Why are you being so nosy this morning?”
“Maybe because you’re my best friend and you’ve been more distant than ever these past few weeks. We also haven’t really talked about what happened with Marissa and I thought after court yesterday you’d call and want me to keep you company.” His voice lowers an octave as he looks at me like I’ve done something wrong.
“Olly, come on.”
He sighs. “Okay. Sorry. I’m in a shitty mood. I don’t care what Rossi wants, Linds. We’re not getting into bed with a man with no fucking soul. He’s the grim fucking reaper and you know it.”
Although I agree, something else is up with Olly, and the fact he just used Rossi as an excuse to cover it up does not bode well with the nerves already churning up my insides.
“Yeah, I know,” I trail off, my mind now elsewhere—somewhere between Oliver’s shitty mood and how to approach a man I’d rather shoot again than talk to.
Olly shakes his head and the movement catches in the corner of my vision.
“See, you’re doing it again,” he accuses.
“Doing what?” I counter, oblivious to whatever the hell he’s going on about.
“You may physically be here in the room, babe, but you’ve been inside that head of yours since the day of the shootout at Sweet Tarts.”
Was he right? The thought weighed heavily on my mind, because I guess there was some truth to it. I’ve been so caught up in worrying about Alison, worrying over the court case and dreading just admitting this to myself, but Mason has crept into my mind more often than I care to admit.
“Fine, you might be right, but we don’t have time for this. I’m going to go call Rossi and find out what the hell he wants. Then I’m going to remind that piece of shit who he’s fucking talking to. And Olly, we don’t need to talk about what happened with Marissa, unless you want to.” I should have given Olly a chance to respond before stomping out of his office, but I also didn’t want to risk the conversation going further into Mason territory. Admitting out loud I’m distracted is dangerous. Distractions cause mistakes, and mistakes are not something we can afford to make in this business. Or we might just find ourselves behind locked bars or more than likely, dead in a dumpster.
***
Each second of dial tone heightens my anxiety wondering what Enzo would want from us. The line picks up and I stop pacing. Breathing out heavily, I gaze out the large window of my office at Times Square, preparing for a conversation that likely won’t end well.
“Was wondering when you’d call.” His voice is smooth and calculated, the tone oozing arrogance, which he wears proudly.
“I’m going to give you thirty seconds to come up with a damn good reason why I shouldn’t put a bullet in your head for calling my office, risking everything and harassing my now very agitated business partner. And Enzo, I don’t miss. So get talking.”
He scoffs through the phone. “I’m sure Oliver will be fine. Throw some pussy in his face, that will surely improve his mood.”
The frown on my face lessens, some of the pressure straining my heart alleviates and relief floods me, because even the smartest of people can be fooled. I have to hand it to Olly. He puts up a plausible front. People like Rossi think they’ve got him pegged, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.
“Twenty seconds, Enzo. I am not a patient woman.”
“I have a proposition for you. And it’s one I don’t think you will want to turn down.”
“Spit it out before I hang up on you.”
“Adriana Marino.”
Every muscle in my body stiffens. “What about her?”
“She is the reason your sister is now sitting in a rehab facility scared for her life and still facing drug charges.”
I turn grabbing the edge of my desk in my free hand, leaning on it for support.
I shake my head. “No, Adriana is Ali’s best friend. They’re as close as it gets.”
Adriana is the good girl, the princess misfit in her deplorable family. Is she capable of hurting Ali? What the hell is he on about?
My mind scrambles for answers, some reasonable explanation for such an outrageous accusation. But is it really that unbelievable? In the past few years I’d only seen Ali a dozen times myself, granted those times she was generally always with Adriana but was it really enough for me to call judgment on a girl I now barely know?
“You want to know more, we meet. Little diner on Eighth Avenue, between Forty-eighth and Forty-ninth Street. Four o’clock, don’t be late.”
“Wait.” I groan, remembering my babysitters. “I have police on my tail today. I can’t meet you.”
His smug tone fills my ear. “Need some help?”
“No. Not from you. I’m giving you one chance to right your fuck-up by calling my office. I’ll meet you at the diner, but it has to be tomorrow when I have no babysitters.” I grit my teeth, furious I’m even agreeing to see him. If it were anything else, about anyone else I’d tell him to go eat his own gun.
“Fine. Same place and time tomorrow.” He hangs up the phone without waiting for my response. Tomorrow it is then.
Dread, it consumes me for the rest of the day and night. Worry surfaces in my throat, forming a lump I can’t swallow past. I can’t think properly, can’t concentrate on the million fucking manuscripts that are nearing deadlines. Enzo goddamn Rossi. The man is becoming a pain in my ass.
