Tempting Whispers: The Kategan Alphas 6 (3 page)

“Is this your place?”

He pulled the SUV into a garage port on
the right side of the house and cut the engine. “Yes.”

The stream of rain pinged off the roof
of the garage like rubber balls bouncing up and down. A skitter of awareness
flashed through her. She was sitting next to a powerful, strong man in the
dark. His eyes stayed forward, hers locked wide, alert on his face. She could
see the deft angle of his chin, the hard line of his jaw which held the
beginning growth of a beard. The hair on his chin and jaw held a reddish tint,
or maybe it was just the moonlight reflecting off something in the garage that
played games with her eyes. He looked the same from when she last saw him, yet
now when she looked at him, she had different thoughts. Like how she wanted to
crawl into his lap and press her lips against the hard line of his jaw.

“I wouldn’t have pictured this.”

“Really. What else did you have in mind?”
he asked in a voice that teetered on bored.

“A big, manly-type log cabin.” She
couldn’t help but grin.

He shook his head, sending her a
contemptuous look. “Lykaens,” he muttered, then got out of the car.

She heard the sound of pouring rain much
louder outside. She tossed her satchel of goods over her shoulder and tightened
her fist around it. Rain was so innocent, yet every time it did rain, it became
a battle not to let it touch you, not to let it win. While she was bouncing on
her toes and tracing the nearest door to his house with her eyes, ready to make
a sprint for it, he stood at the edge of the garage calmly.

“Come on; we finish this inside.”

Whether it was the rain that sprayed inside
the garage splashing against the bare skin of her arms or the deep, almost
wicked, tone to his voice, she shivered and followed him. She was drenched by
time they made it inside. Not from the rain outside which one could hardly call
a downpour or ‘torrential,’ but because he’d chosen to take his fine time
getting to the front door. For such a stiff man, he didn’t mind getting his
suit drenched. Inside the house, he flipped on the light switch and a variety
of lights flickered on throughout the first floor. To the left was a living
area with white couches and a glossy black table sitting between them. Around
the room were plants in sleek black, bronze, and opal white vases. They even
looked real. Vanessa couldn’t believe this place. This looked like the home of
a sleek business tycoon...or a serial killer.

She didn’t get a chance to check the
rest of the place out because he cleared his throat which snapped her attention
to him.

“Hmm? Did you say something?” Her chest
tightened at those striking eyes. It was almost unsettling; it gave her the
urge to turn away and not stare for long, lest he learn every flaw and problem
she had. He might be able to do that anyway, without the help of any possible psychic
ability. He was smart, after all.

“Come on. You can take a shower and then
you’re going to tell me everything. And I do mean everything, Vanessa.” He
stared at her, flat-lipped until she indulged him with a nod. Still, a shiver
raced down her spine and not from her wet clothes. Appeased, he made his way up
the stairs made of a yellowish wood that shone under the modern chandelier in
the foyer. Their wet shoes squished and sloshed uncomfortably loudly in the
quiet house. Even a small echo of it sounded from the top floor, which veered
off left and right. He took her to a room at the far right and flipped on the
light. The room looked like an unused spare bedroom. A normal bed with, not
surprisingly, a white comforter on top matched the five-drawer white dresser
with an oval mirror above it in a golden frame.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re
done,” he said. The order sounding very much like a command.

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.