Cut Too Deep
Cut Too Deep
Copyright © 2014 by KJ Bell.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any format without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or won it in an author/publisher contest, this book has been pirated. Please delete and support the author by purchasing the eBook from one of its many distributors.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information concerning cover art, please visit
www.damonza.com
Interior Design, formatting and proof reading by Perfectly Publishable:
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. Love and respect to CA Borgford and Nichole Lynn for their hard work and dedication at crunch time. I wouldn’t have finished on time without them.
Editing by: Book Peddler’s Editing:
www.bookpeddlersediting.com
Big thanks to the amazing Elizabeth Aguilar.
For anyone afraid to fight back.
Who hides.
Who feels shame.
You are not alone.
You are strong.
H
adley Walker fumbled around in her purse, searching for the ringing phone as she walked toward the elevator. Had she been paying attention, she wouldn’t have been anywhere near Miller Genetti. She wouldn’t have stumbled backward, nearly falling on her ass. Her ankle wouldn’t be swelling to what felt like twice its normal size. And, she most definitely would
not
be standing with her cheeks on fire and her mouth hanging open.
This can’t be happening. God, please, let the earth open up and swallow me.
“Miss, are you coming?” Miller asked.
Hadley dragged her gaze from his neatly pressed trousers, stopping at his rugged and handsome face. Miller’s come-hither smile suggested he could make all of her fantasies come true. Not that she would ask him to.
She sought out the jagged scar that started in the middle of his chin and disappeared under his sharp jaw. It intrigued her. She had a similar one on her right cheek, faded and usually covered with foundation. His, thicker and more prominent, reflected a whisper of imperfection on an otherwise perfect male specimen. Only the stubble that typically shadowed his chin, hinted it bothered him. Hadley often wondered how he got it, but dared not ask. In truth, Hadley dared not speak to him, period.
“Miss,” Miller repeated, “are you coming?”
Am I coming?
Of course, Miller meant into the elevator with him, but Hadley interpreted it with an alternate meaning. His question rang out literally—the way Hadley dreamt about the previous night, Miller making her come until she begged him to make love to her. Her trembling thighs had woken her from the tantalizing dream.
Lusting after this man confused Hadley. She avoided lustful feelings. They never grew into meaningful love. She hated sex, or any feelings of a sexual nature, specifically lust. For Hadley, lust was a dirty word. Her brain associated lust with pain. She witnessed the ugliness people were capable of when they succumbed to lust. Lust guided her parents into an unwanted pregnancy before either of them finished high school, a fact her father constantly reminded her of when he was drunk and wallowing in the unfairness of his life. Lust resulted in abuse and possession that eventually left her orphaned at the age of eight.
Miller’s dark head tilted, waiting patiently for Hadley to answer him. His finger pressed the button to hold the elevator doors open. He watched her with undaunted charm that made her entire body quiver while tiny sparks of heat exploded beneath her skin.
Hadley dropped her purse. She bent down on one knee to retrieve it, along with the tampon that rolled a few inches away screaming, “Hey, handsome, look down here. Let’s completely ruin her day.”
His gaze burned her skin. She stood up, but kept her eyes on the floor.
Really, God, a little help here, please.
Miller had caught the meek lamb watching him many times. Never had she been brave enough to approach him. He allowed her to pretend her appreciation of him went unnoticed as he enjoyed the game between them. He’d done a little snooping into who she was, and his knowledge she was a dancer conflicted heavily with the lack of grace before him.
He waited, considering if he should pull the lamb into the elevator and commit sin with her. It was an enticing idea. His imagination ran rampant, thinking of the noises she would make while he stroked her intimately. He shifted his briefcase to the front of his slacks to hide his growing arousal. Her large brown eyes glowing with fear stopped him from acting on his fantasy. She believed him to be a predatory wolf, an assumption Miller wouldn’t deny. As much as he desired to lure her into his den, he feared she would run. Then their game would come to an end. He decided a better approach would be to proceed cautiously and wait for her to soften.
Hadley finally managed to tentatively shake her head.
Miller’s smile curved bigger, the dimple in his left cheek deep. One long finger stroked the corner of his full bottom lip and he said, “You have a little drool.”
She met his steady gaze. Her discomfiture shined through the crimson swirls on her hot cheeks. As dark as black coffee, Miller’s eyes scanned the length of her body. He admired the curve of her waist defined by her tight fitting blouse. Hadley felt self-conscious while Miller eye-fucked her on the cold tile of the lobby floor. For inexplicable reasons, Hadley allowed him to. More than that, she enjoyed it immensely.
His eyes smiled, gauging her reaction until the doors closed.
Miller and sex went together like cookies and milk, one decisively better with the other. He exuded sex and masculinity and everything else Hadley was afraid of when it came to men. Her obsession with him bordered on pathetic. Although Hadley never had an orgasm she hadn’t given herself, she knew with certainty Miller could give her one if he looked at her with that intense stare long enough.
The detailed fantasies Hadley had about the CEO of Genetti Industries were baffling when you considered Hadley didn’t have sex, nor did she want to. Prior to her self-elected celibacy, Hadley partook in enough sex to last a lifetime—meaningless encounters—mostly in foster care, with boys who took turns grunting into her for less than sixty seconds. She didn’t love them. She didn’t feel lust for them, and she didn’t bother to say ‘no’. It never worked for her mother. Despite her mother’s protest, her father always took what he wanted. Hadley grew to understand things were easier in life when you didn’t fight men.
As an adult, Hadley determined not getting involved with men would protect the tiny remnants of her heart, the minuscule pieces that believed in her worth. Lust would never lead her astray. Yet, when it came to Miller, she was rendered powerless. He could lead her anywhere he wanted, and that terrified her. Her being drawn to him in such a consuming way bothered her. The desire that ran through her blood irritated her. But, the other comfortable and familiar feelings, she bathed in like warm sunshine.
Her daily stalking felt wrong, but it also felt right. On the days he didn’t enter the building for her to ogle, Hadley sat at her desk, gazing at photos of him on the internet while flicking the various exotic women attached to his arm with her finger.
In truth, Hadley Googled pictures of him too often. Her therapist, Dr. LeClair, often told her how unhealthy of a habit Miller had become. Hadley argued Miller to be a better fix than drugs or alcohol ever were, and she’d experimented with her fair share of those less sophisticated vices.
Hadley’s legs stopped trembling, and she braved the elevator up to her office. She put her things away and turned on her computer.
The reasons for deviating from her normal morning routine pestered Hadley. Usually, she tucked herself behind one of the marble pillars to watch Miller confidently stroll into the building, stop at the coffee cart, and slip into the elevator. It had been her routine for years. She blamed the ringing phone for leading her straight to Miller. The mystery caller had been blowing up her cell phone for weeks. Whoever it was blocked their number and hadn’t left a voicemail. She assumed responsibility fell on a telemarketer, but couldn’t stop worrying it may be someone from her past with more malicious intentions, someone with whom she had no desire to speak with.
Today’s internet search delivered photos of Miller in a tux from a charity benefit. Her eyes traveled over his strong jaw, stopping on his perfect full mouth. His lips were turned up with a small but luscious smile. His deep brown eyes practically made love to the camera.
The sanguine expression on the woman holding his arm as she beamed up at Miller caused a small laugh to vibrate in Hadley’s throat. Hadley wondered if the woman didn’t read the gossip pages, or if the self-assured female thought she could tame Miller’s wild ways. Not once, in all the photos Hadley saw of the man, had the same woman donned his arm twice. Extra annoyed by her morning humiliation, Hadley gave the tart's face two hard flicks.
“Are you stalking that sexy man again?” Mac asked, eyeing her suspiciously from the other side of the monitor.
Hadley assumed the large stack of papers cradled to his chest were for her. She immediately closed the web page and flashed her co-worker an annoyed look.
