Текст книги "Tempting Whispers"
Автор книги: T. A. Grey
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter 4
The door shut behind her and Vanessa could only stand there in the quiet, unfamiliar surroundings and try to orient herself. The room smelled clean, like Pine-Sol. The floors were wood and also shined like everything else in the house. She was leaning closer to serial killer now, than tycoon. She laughed, and it felt so good that she did it again just for the fun of it. She paused after, a silly smile on her face, but no one charged into the room. No asshole stood and loomed over her with fists ready to pummel.
In the bathroom, she let out a low whistle. “Seriously, this is the guest bathroom?” Talk about nice.
Tiled floor in a white stone material which also matched the walls. The double-wide sink sent her brows flying high. The bowl for it was clear like glass and rose up from the bureau. The handles were thin little squares that turned toward her to get hot or cold, and the water spilled out straight from a rectangular nozzle into the clear bowl before draining down. She whistled again.
“Fancy schmancy.” The sink at Joseph’s had a chip in it and a line of rust around the drain. Not so pretty.
A chill swept through her so she pulled off her wet clothes and let them drop into a wet pile on the floor. The shower was square and see-through with a door that opened. Inside was a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, even a disposable razor with the cap still covering it. Did he have women stay here? Was this room for his special ‘dates’? She laughed at the thought, but the sting, surprisingly of jealousy, stabbed her heart. She washed her hair and body and got out of the shower, trodding wetly across the floor to the bathroom cabinet for a towel.
Maybe coming across Brayden was a good thing. Maybe he was just the person to help her. Her pride protested the idea of accepting help from someone, a man even, but things were more important now than her pride. She’d escaped from that asshole and she wasn’t going back, no matter what. She’d planned her escape for too long to let it go wrong now. She was going to do all the things she’d dreamt about—and there had been a lot of dreams—in the past two years. She planned to do every single one of those dreams. She pulled her brush through her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror.
What did he see? He, the man who’d taunted her dreams at night—and even some during the day—ever since she’d met him. Maybe he’d thought of her, too. She combed her wet hair until it hung sleek and heavy around her shoulders to dry. A frown curled her mouth down as she checked her body out from the front, side and back. She hated her body. Okay, hate was too strong of a word. She’d always dreamt of having some kind of luscious goddess-like body that’d have men wiping drool off their faces when they saw her. Instead, she was near stick thin, with hips that didn’t want to curve out, but preferred their nearly straight up and down line. And the breasts? Too small for even a push up bra. And, Lord knows, she’d tried. The push up bras made her look desperate to show off her little A cups.
Before her mother had left her father, back when she was almost ten, she remembered her mother’s words. Her words were some of the only things she could remember, that and little snippets of doing meaningless things with her mother, like cooking dinner together. Vanessa felt her eyes wetting and slammed them shut. She wasn’t angry at her mother anymore; okay, not that angry. She’d left because of dad and she got that. Totally. Though little her still jumped up and down screaming, “Why didn’t you take me!”
She shoved her mother’s memory way far down in her psyche, into the dark place of shit she didn’t like to think about. It didn’t matter anyway. It was over. She hadn’t seen her since she left and she never wanted to. It’d bring up all those emotions she’d long buried. Besides, a part of her really did understand why she did it and why she had to leave her there. Without a proper divorce, which dad would never give her, she couldn’t legally take her away from him. He could’ve had her arrested for kidnapping and sent her to the Justicar’s jail. Not good.
Still, she remembered a time when she was young, sitting on her mom’s toilet watching her get ready to go out. She had a nice dress on with a pair of black heels that looked womanly and grown up. She put her makeup on and fluffed her hair with the blow dryer, then she turned sideways and placed a hand to her stomach.
“You know, it doesn’t matter. Women are just never happy with how they look.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful, momma.”
She’d turned and smiled. “Why, thank you, baby. I don’t know; it’s just the bane of women, I suppose. Maybe some women can just be happy with what they got, but I never can. It’s either too much this, or too little that. You know?”
She didn’t know then, but now she did. Vanessa looked at her twenty-year old face in the mirror and saw tears swimming down her cheeks. She laughed softly and wiped them away with a towel.
“You were right, Mom,” she said and killed the bathroom lights.
Vanessa found a bunch of men’s plain clothing in the bureau, but decided to use her last of the spare clothes from her bag. All she had left was one clean pair of undies, socks, a T-shirt, and some jeans. At least, he’d have a washer and dryer here. She’d been using the coin machines downtown and the place always made her skin crawl with the yellowing linoleum floors and twitchy, dirty people that lingered around there reeking of alcohol and other things. Things like that didn’t use to bother her, even when she’d run away from home. While that was only two years ago, it felt more like ten. She’d done a lot of growing up under Joseph’s rule. God, she didn’t want to think about him or his pack. With a brisk shake of her head, she toed on her flat sneakers and made her way downstairs wearing a clean pair of jeans with tears in the knees and a fitted tee.
The smell of breakfast foods teased her nostrils: cooked buttery eggs and fried bacon. She practically ran into the kitchen. Her mouth opened and brows went high at the sight of the tall, freshly showered Brayden, cooking breakfast. The kitchen looked like something from a five-star chef’s house; all stainless steel appliances and even a double oven. Every piece of equipment, from the coffee maker to the digital touch buttons on the stove’s range, gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
“Why do you have such a nice kitchen, when you don’t eat?” She forced herself to make normal conversation and not mention how absolutely yummy he looked.
His head lifted to hers and her breath caught, her entire body tightening with alertness. His hair was still wet and lay atop his head in wet curls. He’d shaved, and while she almost missed the sight of the short stubbles, now his jaw was hard and smooth. She wanted to run her hand across it to feel just how soft, how smooth...or maybe use her lips.
She’d once had a little fantasy that she’d replay over and over again. They’d be talking, well, fighting more like, and then she’d say something that’d make him snap. Sort of how their little fight happened in front of Vane’s place when she’d run away to there. Back then, he’d been mean and cruel, telling her to ‘learn her place’, and blah, blah, blah. She’d been young and it hurt her feelings. But later, after living under Joseph’s rule, a new fantasy had sprung. She’d fight with Brayden over something ridiculous—usually her being ridiculous—then he’d snap and crush her to him, his mouth covering hers in a kiss that made her belly pull tight and her breasts ache. He’d tell her all sorts of wicked things in that deep, deep voice of his. How beautiful she was, how much he wanted her. Sometimes, if she got to dream long enough, she’d get to the part where he finally put his hand down her pants.
“It’d raise questions if I had a house built without a kitchen. Besides, though I find company rare, it does help to have a kitchen, in case. Take a seat.” She jerked from her naughty thoughts and felt a blush flood her cheeks.
He indicated the black and steel-looking island in the middle of the room and she took the black bar seat in front of it trying to act cool, like she wasn’t just reliving one of her hottest fantasies of him. He slid a plate full of eggs, bacon, and toast across to her. “Orange juice or milk?”
“Orange juice,” she answered distractedly, then cleared her hoarse throat. The food smelled delicious and made her mouth water. She hadn’t had a real meal in weeks, maybe longer. She’d been living off cheap junk food and fast-food from her meager tips.
She hesitated before picking up her fork, the whole situation not quite sitting right with her. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do this.”
He finished pouring a tall glass of juice and set it next to her, a questioning look on his face. “It’s just food and you were still showering. Why wouldn’t I start it?”
A heated blush threatened to embarrass her so she focused on staring at the refrigerator until it faded. “It’s just...no one’s cooked anything for me in a long time.” She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat and dug into her eggs to hide her face. Still, she couldn’t bury the memories. They were too fresh. Only last month, she’d been feeding him whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, at all hours of the days. She swore sometimes he’d ask her to just because he knew how much she hated it. How much she hated him.
“Just eat,” Brayden said.
Simple enough. The eggs were perfect, just a hint of salt and pepper and scrambled just the way she liked. The toast was buttered and the bacon sliced thick and cooked to a crisp. She finished half her plate in a whirl of moans and gulps before she lifted her head to spot him staring at her with a strange look in his eyes. Was it warmth, hunger, or something else entirely? God, she hoped it was either of the first two. She fidgeted under his stare, fighting another blush. “Why do you keep fresh food here when you don't eat?”
“I have a lykaen maid who cleans the place and once a week she shops, then either throws out or takes home any food that wasn’t used. Needless to say, she usually shops for foods she likes to eat.”
Vanessa chuckled. The food made her belly happy and her muscles warm. For the first time in weeks, she was finally starting to feel safe. When Brayden took the bar seat next to her, everything went on alert. He leaned forward on the island, his elbows resting on it, his hands folded together. His eyes watched her. If she leaned forward, they’d only been two feet apart. Close enough that she could wrap an arm around his neck and pull him close...feel those lips across hers.
She realized she was staring at his lips and quickly looked into his eyes. His were leveled right on her. Damn, he probably saw her eye-humping his mouth. “Why do you keep looking at me?” It was almost unnerving with those bright eyes. And she needed to say something to get around the fact that she’d been staring at his mouth, wondering what it’d feel like.
He quickly turned his head and she watched his jaw flex, just a slight bulging of the hard bone. That gave her pause. Had he not realized he’d been watching her like a hawk this whole time? Had he seen her staring at his lips like it was her next meal? Or had she just pissed him off? With him, she couldn’t tell one from the other.
“I wasn’t.” He stood and began scrubbing the dirty skillets and bowl at the sink.
Vanessa didn’t know what to make of him or his actions. Maybe he was just a weirdo who didn’t have many friends, then, thrown next to her, he just didn’t know how to act normal. Her eyes traced over his back and further down. Even in casual clothes, he dressed nicer than she did. He wore a pair of soft-looking loose khaki pants and a loose shirt that reminded her of something a golfer would wear. The thought sent a giggle through her. The water shut off and he turned to stare at her, his brow furrowed into a vee.
“What is it?”
She pictured him taking a golf swing. Maybe it was because he was so tall, or built, or that he looked like he belonged in metal armor with a lance and horse, but she busted out laughing at the image. He gave her a look that said her laughter clearly made him unhappy, then took her empty plate with a snap of his wrist and washed it. By time he finished, she had the laughter down to a soft chuckle.
“God that felt good. I haven’t laughed like that in...a long time.”
“Okay, now you talk. I want all of it.” Brayden leaned against the dark granite countertops and crossed his arms.
Vanessa couldn’t keep her eyes from tracing the hard muscles in his forearms, the sable dusting of hair across his tanned skin, or the way his biceps flexed and tightened when he stood like that. A flutter of pleasure swept through her body, making her breasts ache, but only for a flash of a second. Then the desire faded. She wasn’t stupid; she knew sex didn’t always have to be as it had been for her. She knew it could be good, maybe even beautiful or emotional.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” His hard voice cut into her thoughts like a hatchet.
Her lips twitched, caught between wanting to speak the truth and being afraid to. Her eyes met his, and again, that safe, comforting feeling came over her like a warm blanket. These weren’t the eyes of someone who hated her, who’d hurt her. These were the eyes of a real man, a protector. He’d proven that to her before.
Her voice calm and low, replied, “I was looking at you like that, because I was thinking of what it would be like to make love with someone and it would actually feel good.”
His face flew through a flurry of expressions before settling on stoic. “What?”
The old her poked her head up and she grinned. “Do you want me to say it again, Brayden?”
His eyes closed, and he shook his head. “No, no. Just talk, will you?”
She did. She told him about her father coming to get her from Vane’s two years ago and how she was mated off to Joseph Harrington within the next month. So much for her pleas and cries to her father. He’d ignored her. After all, it was ‘best for the pack.’ It didn’t matter that she’d wanted to go to college to study nursing. She’d had her eyes lined up in the medical field for a long time. She wanted to help people, and maybe she could even become a pack healer, but with some updated modes of treatment. So many packs like the Kategans’ still used old medicine. And not that those practices didn’t work, but they weren’t as efficient as modern-day medicine. She’d wanted to explore that, be the first to bring better medical practices to her pack. But no, no. What was more important, at least, according to her father, was combining the packs for more land. Everyone could have bigger houses, more space, yadda yadda.
Brayden listened to her story without interrupting, unless to ask her to clarify some details. However, when she got to the part of the forced marriage—the forced marital sex—an entirely frightening look came over him. She even surprised herself at how easily the words came. She had a feeling that if she were having this same conversation with Vane or any of the other Kategans, she wouldn’t be able to get the words out. But, Brayden wasn’t family; he was just a man, and maybe one who could help her.
She trembled beneath his glare, remembering a time when she’d seen that look before. When she’d been naked and frightened, kidnapped by Claude Phelan’s clan members. They’d almost raped her then, had torn her clothes off her body and laughed at her, freely groping and touching how they wanted while on the run. She’d thought that had been bad...until she wed Joseph.
The look on Brayden’s face was the look he’d had after he’d killed her kidnappers with his bare hands. His eyes were widened a hair, more alert, and inside they were cold with frighteningly controlled anger. His top lip was pulled up into something close to a snarl and his hands had dropped to his sides and curled into fists so tight no air could pass through them.
Vanessa stood slowly, feeling like she was approaching an animal about to tear fang and claw through any and everything in its path—even her.
“Brayden...” She put one foot in front of the other, slowly making her way toward him. His eyes never met hers. They stayed trained on the far wall, unseeing but locked in that cold angry haze. Her every muscle vibrated with tension; ready to bolt, dive, or duck, in case he made a move toward her. She stopped a few feet away from him and started to raise a hand to touch him before she let it drop back down, her own fear not letting her go through with it. So she tried again. “Brayden, are you okay?”
He blinked; his head shook once. Then his eyes landed on hers, the cold frigidity melting as he looked at her until his gray eyes relaxed, almost warmed. “Sorry; I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
He just looked at her, then shook his head once. “Nothing important. So, you want a divorce.”
“More than anything,” she said with a sigh. She never wanted to go back to that man. She’d sooner take her life then let that bastard lay a finger on her, or a fist, rather. He made her feel weak; and with him, she had no control of her life. A bitter taste filled her mouth. She’d never had control over her own life. Not since her mom left.
“He’s not going sit idly by, either. I’m property to him.”
His eyes flicked down her body for a mere second, then returned to her eyes, his brows pinching forward. “I see. You can’t get a divorce without his signature on those divorce papers. I’ll need to talk to him.”
“What?” The room spun in a sharp circle. The floor dipped out from beneath her feet so fast, she couldn’t be sure she didn’t fall down.
“I’ll arrange a meeting with him. I’ll act as Justicar and see if we can come to an arrangement.”
She laughed a sick, hoarse sound. “He won’t come to any arrangement. He wants me back in his house, obeying his every command. He won’t agree.” She could feel it. His hands on her breasts, squeezing and touching her. Her stomach convulsed; the yummy meal she’d eaten turning into something vile.
Brayden frowned. “Then what’s your plan, Vanessa? Work at the coffee shop and keep on the run forever? How can you support yourself? If he finds you, and he very well might, what will you do then? Where will you go?”
Tears threatened to escape her eyes. He voiced all the same questions and fears she’d had since she escaped nearly a month ago. Once again, she felt like a stupid teenaged girl standing before the handsome vampire with shaking fists. “I’ll think of something. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She thought of the pocketknife in her satchel upstairs and knew she’d use it on him. He would not touch her again.
“It’s not like you can return to Vane’s place, either. He can’t lawfully keep you there, even if he wanted to. That’s probably the first place Joseph will look.”
She angrily swiped at a runaway tear. She hadn’t thought about that. God, he could be there right now and then everyone is going to be worried about her, and she couldn’t call and tell them she was fine. They’ll push to learn where she is and she might just give in. She couldn’t do it.
“You can help me,” she said.
Brayden paced the length of the kitchen before turning back to face her. Lines appeared around his eyes, his jaw looking harder, clenched. An almost frightening look was in his eyes.
“I have a job to do. I made a promise to Vane and Sarina–”
“About me?”
He paced again. “What? No, it has nothing to do with you.”
Somehow, that made her feel deflated like a flat tire. “Of course, it doesn’t.”
“You can’t do this on your own,” he was saying. She heard parts of words at his rant, but she tuned it out, her eyes focusing on the white paint of the walls. Her body felt strung so tight that if someone just poked her, she’d explode from the skin. Her head pounded with a heavy weight. Her neck muscles bunched hard, reverberating that pain down to her shoulders and lower back until everything hurt, everything throbbed. “You need to go to your father.” His words registered through the fog in her mind slowly.
Her eyes wavered to his pacing body and she frowned. “Dad doesn’t care; he never did, or he wouldn’t have given me to Joseph.”
Brayden acted as if he didn’t hear her. He spoke in quick, agitated tones. “If I recall, according to law, you can get a divorce if the originator of the agreement now finds it void, which would be your father. It’s either that or Joseph agrees to the divorce, or you live out your days running and hoping he gives up on you.”
“None of those things are going to happen,” she said over him. Still, he ignored her and paced back and forth, muttering to himself as he idly rubbed his chin now and then. Vanessa’s eye twitched. “Brayden?” He didn’t stop walking, didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Like a tea kettle coming to a boil, her whistle blew. “Stop it!” she yelled. “I don't even want your help.” He was going to ruin everything. She could do this herself.
She stormed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time to the bedroom. A thundering sound roared in her ears. Angry tears spilled from her eyes, but she roughly brushed them away, digging her hand into her eye just to feel the flare of pain. It helped to calm her down. She slammed the bedroom door shut and grabbed her satchel. She wanted to punch the wall or his face until her knuckles busted and bled. God, she was just so angry. At him, at Joseph, at her father, at herself, at everything. She stole a bar of soap and other little belongings and shoved them into her satchel.
“Time to get the fuck out of here.”
“No, it’s not.” His voice stopped her from in mid-motion of ramming the shampoo bottle into her bag.
A lick of guilt ate at her and she put it back in the shower before slowly sauntering into the bedroom, her bag hiked over her shoulder. “Oh, really? And now you have a say in how I live my life?”
Maybe it was the apology she saw in his bright eyes that reminded her of the moon, or maybe that he’d come after her in his own way, but something else inside her snapped and she did something she’d thought about doing from the first day she met him. Her bag slid off her shoulder and banged against the ground. She went toward him with hard, sure steps, then jumped into his arms. His hands caught her at the waist while his head cocked to the side in the perfect look of confusion.
“Before I go, I’m going to do something I want.” Then she pushed her hands into his hair, slightly coarse and curling locks tickling her fingers, wet her top lip with a flick of her tongue and pressed her lips against his. So many sensations registered in her brain. The incredible heat from his chest where it pressed along hers. She’d thought he’d be cold, but, whoa, she wanted to rip both their shirts off so she could feel his heat against her bare breasts. She kissed him again and again, pressing their lips together, feeling the pliancy of his lips, and the give, the heat, until wicked warmth made her go slower, made her lick across his top lip and push inside.
She grew wet between her legs at the first slide against his tongue. Her breath hitched when, in a powerful thrust, he took over the kiss, capturing her lips in a hungry possessive kiss that made breathing difficult. So this was what it felt like to kiss someone and feel passion, to enjoy it. She wanted so much more though, wanted to explore every possibility between. She needed his hands to circle her waist and crush her to him, or his hips to pivot between her legs and thrust to ease the blazingly hot ache growing steadily wetter. She pulled her tongue back and crushed her lips against his. He had a wonderful mouth, soft but firm and a little hard, all at the same time. She made herself pull back, no matter how much her body wanted to cling closer.
His eyes were slow to open, but when they did, she sucked in a breath and squirmed. His eyes were molten with blatant, raw sexual heat. His dark pupils were wide making his eyes look dark and stormy. His lips were parted, a little wet from their kiss and she tugged her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from going back for more. For the first time since meeting him, she felt way out of his league.
“Get off me, Vanessa.”
She dropped down and slung her bag over her shoulder to keep from looking at him. She felt small inside, about the size of an ant next to him. What did she know about sex or seducing a man? Especially a man like him—nothing. Not a damn thing. Her neck to cheeks burned with heat, but she leveled her gaze on him, lifting her chin a notch.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck. Listen, I–”
God, she so couldn’t bear to hear some kind of shitty apology on all the reasons why he didn’t want to be with her. “Fine, I’ll stay. Just get out, now.”
His eyes hardened on her, then he let out a long sigh. “Vanessa, maybe we should talk about–”
“No, and I mean no.” As in not now or fucking ever. He didn’t like her kiss, didn’t want her. God, just the cold way he’d told her to get off him, like she was something bugging him. She hated to admit it, but it fucking hurt. “Just get out, okay? I’m tired.” That part was true. She suddenly felt exhausted and the need to cry into a pillow for a few minutes.
He craned his neck around in a circle as if it pained him. “Fine...fine. I have a spare car. I’ll leave the keys on the kitchen table. Use it from now on until we get something else worked out.”
“Fine,” she said. She’d say anything to get him out, before her humiliation dug her even further into the shitty ground.
He started to say something else, then shook his head and left, the door closing softly behind him.
“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered. Come on, she couldn’t really have expected her fantasy—that she’d rush into his arms and he’d unleash such tantamount passion that she’d be swept away into a world of pleasure—to be true. That shit was for fantasies only; not for real life.
She got naked and climbed under the cool sheets. She stared at the ceiling, daring tears to come, but they didn’t. At least she won that round. The bed proved too soft and comfy under her and she fell asleep in a flash.
