Secret Worlds (10 page)

“Things are kind of falling apart around here,” he said, taking my hand and guiding me out of car much more than I actually needed. “This is the third woman, not counting you, who’s vanished in the last month.” He shook his head. “Throw in the woman found in your nightclub and the lady from the next county over who was mauled to death, and people are understandably on edge.”

“Well, that’s why you’re here, right?” I asked as he led me up the front steps and held the door open for me.

“I’m afraid it’s bigger than me now, Char,” he said. “People want to feel like they’re in control, especially when they’re not.”

He guided me through the door, as careful as if I was made of glass. Lulu was in the living room with Ester, the two whispering as not to wake Jack, who was sound asleep on the couch. Some cartoon movie about a genie and a magic lamp emanated a soft glow from the screen.

Great. My disappearance had completely uprooted Lulu’s quaint family life. I was supposed to be a help, not a burden. Ester glared at me as she carried Jack past us and up to his room.

“So now what?” I asked, turning back to Dalton. “You have to do something.”

He nodded emphatically. “We are, Char. I promise you. They town council held an emergency meeting this morning. Some of the townsfolk had concerns, and we’re going to institute a curfew for the woman in town.”

“What?” I asked, pulling my arm back from his gentle grasp. “A female-only curfew? Are these idiots living in the stone age?”

The idea of it, of basically segregating people because women weren’t strong or capable enough to fend for themselves, rubbed me every way but the right one.

“Perhaps.” Dalton winced, then added, “The notion passed nearly unanimously.”

I scoffed. “What kind of idiot would even suggest something like that?”

“The same kind that would hire you, I suppose.” His gaze slowly shifted from looking out the front window to my face. “It was your boss.”

Abram did this? Had he lost his mind?

“No. No he didn’t! He wouldn’t!”

What sort of chauvinistic asshole was I working for anyway?

“Char, please try to relax,” Dalton said, reaching for me once more. “You’ve been through enough.”

I huffed and stepped back. “Would you stop treating me like the five million dollar bra for a second?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if that means—”

Ester strode right between us, a smug look on her face, and exited through the front door. Dalton glared after her, then shook his head and returned his attention to me.

“If that means I value you, then the answer is no,” he said. “No, I will not stop treating you like ‘the five million dollar bra’.” He smirked and stepped to close the distance between us. “You’ve been through hell. You’re dehydrated, you might be hurt, and you’re definitely in shock.”

As much as I wanted to be angry, right about now, I didn’t exactly mind the idea of a knight in shining armor swooping in to rescue me. And damn if that wasn’t what Dalton was trying to do.

He put his hand on my arm. “Now, I know you can take care of yourself. You wouldn’t have made it through half the crap you have if you couldn’t, right? But I’m a guy,” he said, moving even closer, “and my pride is at stake.”

I wanted to tell him he need not measure his manliness by his ability to protect me, but I was too distracted by the heat radiating off his body at this close proximity. I couldn’t form words as the warmth soaked into my own skin next. With everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, I was in sensory overload, and every time Dalton moved, every nerve in my body tingled in response.

He brushed my cheek with his fingers. “My girl was in trouble, and I couldn’t save her.” He leaned in closer, and my breath caught in my throat. “So, for the sake of me and my fragile, manly pride, let me take care of you now. Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered, just barely managing words.

He leaned in closer and pressed his lips against my ear. “Good. Not let’s get you some rest. You can battle the townsfolk over that curfew after a good night’s sleep.”

The next day, once I had thoroughly convinced Dalton I was perfectly capable of going on about my business as usual, I made it my personal mission to show the idiots serving the town council just how stupid and antiquated the idea of a ‘women only’ curfew was. Unfortunately, the town council only met on Thursdays and, according to his secretary, Mayor Altman was busy “herdin’ up a mess of cattle” and couldn’t be reached.

God, I hate this town.

Luckily for me, there was someone else I could vent all my pent up indignation on—someone who might be guiltier than all of the town council folk put together.

Abram.

As I marched toward The Castle, I couldn’t believe I had ever thought of Abram as anything other than a ham-handed jerk. To think I had felt sorry for him enough to try to save his dump of a club, let alone long enough to stop me from quitting.

Well, that was a mistake I would gladly remedy today. I would serve him my walking papers along with a piece of my mind.

I was almost on fire as I descended the stairwell, muttering aloud everything I was going to say to him. I had just gotten to the part where I would tell him to “kiss my fat, gorgeous ass” when I saw him.

He was outside, shirtless and sweaty as he stroked a paint brush across the front door. The hot sun glistened off his body, illuminating the tight muscle that corded his arms and shoulders as well as the pelt of coarse dark hair sprinkled across his chest and abdomen.

Ridiculously, I found myself biting my lip.

“Hey,” I said, my voice breaking a little at the end.

His head snapped up, moisture plastering his hair to his forehead, and he mumbled to himself. Standing, eyes narrowed at me, he took a bottle of water and poured it over his head, letting the moisture run down his body. Droplets settled at his navel and on the trail of dark hair that disappeared behind his low hanging jeans.

I swallowed around the lump growing in my throat, dismissing the warm flush in my chest and face as a reaction to the unusually hot day. I mean, clearly it wasn’t just me overheating out here. Abram was … drenched.

“Ms. Bellamy,” he said, grabbing a towel that hung from a nearby chair and drying himself off. “Forgive me. I didn’t expect to see you today.” He slung on a flannel shirt, leaving it unbuttoned and hanging loosely around his chest. “I take it you’re feeling better.”

His tone was almost indifferent—a world away from the intense concern that colored every interaction I’d had with Dalton since my return.

He kneeled over the paint tin to dip his brush and tipped his chin toward a paint pan to his side. “Grab a brush.”

A brush? Was he joking? First of all, I was wearing Dolce. Secondly, I wasn’t here to work. I never intended on working for him ever again.

I clenched my hands at my side and growled. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!”

He sighed and dropped the brush in the bucket. The paint splashed up, dots of white speckling the parts of his chest that were still exposed. Then he stood tall—taller than I remembered. Had he always been this intimidating? My breath caught in my throat.

“As always, Ms. Bellamy, being around you has been the most frustratingly mysterious part of any adventure.” He grabbed the handle, careful to miss the still-wet paint, and opened the door. “Why don’t you come inside? You can tell what fresh irritant has you disheveled today.” As if verbally rolling his eyes, he added, “I’m sure it’ll be interesting.”

I followed him into the club, already more furious than I had been when I’d arrived. This son of a bitch was belittling me. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised, considering the recent turn of events.

“So this is what you think of women?” I asked, shaking my head in disgust. “Really?”

Though the workers I’d hired wouldn’t come for a few more days, The Castle was starting to come together. The rubble had been cleared and a fresh coat of paint had been slapped across the walls. It was gray, which wouldn’t have been my first choice. Still, the fact that Abram had done it all by himself was more than a little impressive.

But not impressive enough.

Abram arched one of his dark eyebrows. “I’ll ask you one more time, as you seem intent on me knowing the other end of this conversation.” He leaned closer. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you think I’m talking about?” I scowled. “The curfew.”

He nodded once. “You’re welcome, of course. But I was referring to what it is that’s
bothering
you.”

I blanched, sure the heat in my face would come pouring out as smoke from my ears. This man—this ridiculous man—was
trying
to push my buttons. And worse, it was working.

“You smug bastard,” I said, jabbing the part of his hard, bare chest that peeked out from beneath his shirt. “I don’t know who you think you are or what right you think you have to—”

“To what?” he asked, smiling. He didn’t move my finger; instead, he leaned in further so that my entire hand was now splayed against him. “To do what was necessary to keep you safe?”

His skin was burning, and his pulse beat rapidly against my palm. I steeled myself against the confusion swarming through my mind. I knew how I felt. Angry. Only angry and nothing else. Right?

My eyebrows pulled together in that way my agent warned me not to let them. Not unless I wanted wrinkles. Right now, I didn’t care.

“Don’t you dare make this about me,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is about what you think of women!”

“I assure you I am a fan of women, Ms. Bellamy,” Abram answered, staring down into my eyes, more of a calm in his gaze than I’d ever seen before. “That’s why I prefer to keep them alive.”

“By making them second class citizens?” I didn’t realize at first, but my nails were beginning to dig into Abram’s chest. “You’re aware that this curfew does nothing but assume the women here can’t take care of themselves.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from him. I flinched when I saw the scratches on his chest, but he didn’t show any signs of pain.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“Judging by what’s happened in the last few weeks, Ms. Bellamy, I would say protecting yourselves isn’t among your strongest attributes. Collectively speaking, of course.”

“Women are every bit as capable as men.” I tried to pull my hand from his grasp, but he held firm.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “But men aren’t the ones who are being targeted. And, given that you were almost killed the other night because you couldn’t change a flat tire, I wouldn’t use this as your opportunity to boast of capabilities.” His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “Say what you want, but we both know you need someone to take care of you. No,” he amended, glaring at me as my heart hammered in my chest. “You
want
someone to take care of you. Don’t you, Ms. Bellamy?”

I reared back to slap him with my other hand, but he grabbed my wrist. Now both my hands were captive, and in that instant, we were nearly nose-to-nose, breathing in the same air—a musky air that had been permeated by his scent.

“Let go,” I said, hating the way both my breathing and voice had shifted.

His gaze bore into mine, as though he could see something deep inside of me, something I couldn’t even see myself. Or, rather, something I didn’t want to admit. Something that went against everything I believed and all of who I thought I was.

“Is that what you want, Ms. Bellamy?” His lips parted. “For me to let go?”

The breath caught in my throat. He inched a fraction closer, closing that last bit of space between us so that his chest pressed against mine. Suddenly, and against my volition, my nipples hardened. My heart jackhammered against my ribcage, and a flush crept up my body, warming every part of me.

Abram tipped his forehead down so that it rested against my own. “Is that what you want?”

The temperature of the room shifted. The sensation of his hands pinning mine sent sparks through my body. He pushed against me, and the evidence of his arousal stiffened against my thigh.

I opened my mouth, ready to push him away, to tell him that yes, I wanted him to let me go. But the words did not come. Instead, only a whimper escaped my lips.

“Not good enough,” he said.

He dipped his head, his lips brushing warm and rough against my neck, and my knees wobbled so abruptly that I wasn’t sure I could keep myself upright if not for his grip on me. Another damned whimper trickled from my mouth.

“Not near good enough.” His breath was hot against the side of my neck. “See, Miss Bellamy, I’m not sure you want me to let go. I think you want me to take care of you. But if you want that—if you want me to
really
take care of you—then you have to say it.”

His mouth traveled to my earlobe, the same earlobe Dalton had kissed not twenty four hours before, and he gave it a sharp nip.

I moaned, arching my back and pressing hard against him. The entirety of me trembled as pleasure vibrated up my legs and into the rest of me. I moistened, as if to prepare for him, as if to answer his question without saying a word.

“You have to say it,” he commanded. “If you want it, you have to say it.”

I hadn’t felt like this in … well, I couldn’t remember a time I’d ever felt
this
way. The attraction—the
need
—was all-consuming. I didn’t care about anything else anymore. Just this moment. So I told him what he wanted to hear—what deep down was really true.

“I … I do,” I murmured, heart in my throat. “I want it.”

He let go of my hands and grabbed either side of me, thrusting me up and wrapping me in his massive, muscled arms.

The world spun as he pressed his face against mine, ravaging my cheeks, nose, and neck with his mouth.

Finally, mercifully, he took my lips with his own. The rush was almost too much to handle. When his tongue pushed past my lips and into my mouth, I thought I might faint. The warmth of him caressed me, exciting me and comforting me all at the same time.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and we slammed into a wall still slick with fresh paint. I smelled it all, the paint that now covered us both, the sweat that slid between our bodies, the scent of him that urged me to go further.