Walking The Edge: A Romantic Suspense/Espionage Thriller (Corpus Brides Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

No
, she craved to scream, but something else took over. She needed to show him she’d never cower. Defiant, she threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed them with a big gulp of water.

Satisfied?
Her blue gaze insolently asked as she stared back.

He smiled. Only the corners of his mouth stretched, his eyes remaining hard, emerald stones in the smooth, chiselled perfection of his otherwise expressionless face.

She shivered—at his calm, detached demeanour, or at the drugs hitting her bloodstream with no food as a buffer in her empty stomach? The stuff he plied her with proved potent, and it could knock her out in minutes. Already, she grew groggy, wisps of oblivion snaking through her consciousness and laying siege upon her mind, intent on numbing any functioning neuron in her system so the abyss could consume her.

Peter’s hand settled under her elbow, the chill of his touch permeating the fabric of her cashmere twin set. He made her turn around, his grasp firm as he led her, stumbling steps and all, into the adjoining room.

As her blurred vision made out the silhouette of the king-size canopy bed, the last thing she clearly recalled before darkness claimed her was someone pushing her forward with all their might.

***

His deep, bottle green gaze stared down at her. The hint of a gentle smile tickled the curve of his mouth and made small crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

Seen like this, he appeared like a different person, so far from the tense, cold man she knew now. His dark, shiny hair hung longer, long enough to tease the collar of his shirt. His jaw looked surprisedly relaxed, and she marvelled at the breathtaking picture he presented.

Then he sobered, a frown marring the smooth forehead. “We shouldn’t do this.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “Why not?”

“It’s not right.”

A small laugh, more like a purr, escaped her lips. “Hmm, I knew you were hiding a wife in the wardrobe.”

“It’s not that. You know I’m unattached.”

“Then what’s the problem? Oh, yes, I forgot. You’re married to your job, aren’t you?” She trailed delicate touches along his jaw. “Shut up, will you? Do I have to do everything around here? Will you, for once, just shut up and kiss me?”

He grinned, and she waited as his head came down, ever so slowly, getting closer and closer to her, to finally let his lips touch hers. Gently, delicately.

There it was, the rush of expectation she knew would take over her when he’d finally decide to make her his. The sizzle of longing; the promise of so much more waiting in his embrace.

She missed this, his embrace. As if he’d read her mind, he reached out with open arms and enclosed her in their strength. He drew her to him, moulding her petite form against the hard length of his lean body.

She moved trembling hands up his chest to his shoulders and twined her arms around his neck, letting her fingers lose themselves in his silky locks. With a soft tug, she pulled him so she could deepen their kiss. He stood much taller than she did and she wore no heels, making her daintier and smaller before him.

He obliged her, his mouth taking hers. His warm lips were tender, brushing against hers softly, teasing, tempting, torturing. With the tip of his tongue, he then traced the closed line of her lips. She parted them, inviting him into the warm recesses of her mouth.

Oh, God
. What a first time. She hadn’t been prepared for the shock of emotion and the swirl of desire that flamed through her as he stroked her tongue with his and coaxed it into sensuous play. Licks of heat shot from low in her core, and as she leaned farther into him, the solid feel of his arousal pressed against the softness of her belly. Suddenly, she wanted him, craved him, and she had to have him, right there, right then. It didn’t matter if this was the first time he’d kissed her. She needed him.

Throwing as much passion as she could into the kiss, she clearly let him know of her desires as she tightened her grip on his hair, her palms flat against his head, keeping him where she wanted him to be.

He replied in kind, crushing her to him and being more forceful with his tongue. Yet, the tenderness she sensed in him never let him hurt her or make her feel used.

Her lungs burned and she came up for air, breaking the kiss. She gulped, catching her breath before frantic words escaped her. “Make love to me now,” she begged, her voice hoarse with want and passion. “I need you...”

*

London. Hampstead Heath

Thursday, December 13. 7:20 p.m.

She sat up with a start, heaving for oxygen. She’d been dreaming, and the essence of the dream slowly drifted away from her consciousness like wisps of smoke dissolving in the air. Trying as much as she could to hold on to the fading images, she closed her eyes tight. But the vision faded, and worse, the gist of it hung right on the edge of her awareness.

The knowledge taunted her, and she let herself fall back on the bed, clutching hard at the sheets, turning her face into her pillow as she let out a keening wail of misery. The sound got muffled and lost. Only she heard it. Just as well. No one should know how much she suffered.

She opened her eyes and allowed her gaze to focus on the furniture in the room. Damn psychotropic drugs. They made her mind and her perception fuzzy; everything appeared to softly dance in the air around her when she found herself under their influence. Just like the haze of heat blurred things in the desert, except that waking up after such drug-induced inertia made her cold and shivers racked her body.

After swinging her legs to the side of the bed, she waited for the world to stop spinning before she stood. What time was it? The antique clock on the bedside table indicated half past seven. The growl of her stomach confirmed she’d missed afternoon tea. Must’ve been a more potent dose of the medication; she’d always seen five o’clock strike on any other day. Her ‘doctor’ had changed her prescription just earlier that afternoon. Could Peter have known...? Of course he’d know! The doctor worked as his lapdog.

They needed to have a talk about those drugs—wouldn’t she be expected to go off them by now? At least, weaned off?

With small steps, hanging on to the doorway and the furniture as she went along, she headed downstairs to the study, where she would find Peter. He always hung back in that room, with a laptop in front of him. He’d close it whenever she came in, along with any files lying on the desk. During the day, no paper graced the table—he always took it all back with him in his briefcase.

Why the secrecy
, she’d often wondered in the two weeks she’d been here. If she asked him, he’d brush her off or give a cursory answer. Such was Peter. Civil to a fault, even when obvious he wanted to tell her to mind her own business. What would it take to provoke him out of his cold shell?

On the way to his sanctuary, she passed by the small room Nathaniel occupied during the day, except when he went to bed in the basement studio flat. The drone of the television attracted her to the cubicle, something in the reporter’s voice enacting a strange pull on her. The story related something happening in a place called Marseille, and the sound of that city’s name made a strange sort of imprint materialize inside her mind.

Had she been there before? The name sounded familiar, and she said it aloud, allowing the word to roll off her tongue. It struck her as strange how she pronounced the appellation of the old French city without any hint of an English accent. No, “Marseille” came out of her mouth with all its crisp, French intonation.

The certainty grew—she’d been there—and snowballed as the sound echoed inside her brain, weaving itself with flitting bits and pieces of phrases she had pronounced in the past and that held the word.

Definitely an avenue to look into. Grasping the information close to her heart, she walked towards the study, passing by the front room in the process.

The hushed sound of Peter’s voice in the large, L-shaped front room drifted to her, and she paused. Could someone be there with him? She listened closely, and heard no reply to his words. He had to be on the phone. With who, though, and why the whispering?

She made out some of his words. Why had she never noticed she had such acute hearing before?

Catching a glimpse of him from the dead corner she stood in, where Peter couldn’t see her, she focused on him and had to blink twice when she realized that, though she may still not be hearing all his conversation, she could easily read his lips.

Since when could she do
that
? Pushing the startling realization away, she focused her concentration on figuring out what her ‘husband’ was saying to the person on the other end of his mobile phone line.

*

“I know I shouldn’t have called,” Peter said.

“Do you know what could happen if anyone found out you and I even know each other?”

Her voice sounded clipped and annoyed, and this pissed him off.

Oh, he knew, all right, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed to hear her. He needed her to tell him everything would be fine. That he had to hang on in his current predicament. That the end reward would be well worth it. He had
not
signed up for all this shite.

“Wait,” she snapped.

He heard her excusing herself, pretending a call from work, then a door closed, and she came back on the line.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” He’d riled her. Good. Let her feel some frustration, too. Her dark eyes would be burning with anger, and her cheeks would be flushed. Passion also provoked the same reaction from her, and she had a lot of that to spare.

She cursed. “Since you called, what did the doctor say? She met him today, didn’t she?”

“Yes, and it went as expected.”

“Good. We simply need to let him do the work for us.”

Not what he wanted to hear. He’d already grown tired of playing a part. A few visits to the hospital had been fine, but
living
with his ‘wife’ put a terrible strain on him. He wanted out, but she’d never agree. This was her plan, and she’d do everything to see it come to fruition.

“I want to see you.” He craved release, the kind only she could bring him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? We cannot compromise anything now that we’re so close to the goal.”

He clenched his jaw. “And that would be?”

“To bring her to see our side of the story. The accident precipitated things, but ultimately, we would’ve needed to do what we’re doing now. The drugs will slowly but surely get her to where we want to take her.”

He closed his eyes briefly and brought his hand to his nape. A sigh escaped him, and she probably heard it.

She cooed a soft endearment and her voice mellowed. “It’s only for a little more time. Come on, baby. You know we can do it.”

He smiled. He liked it when she called him “baby.” Her use of the affectionate name meant she was in a better mood, one that would allow him to get away with murder.

“I miss you,” he said before he cut the call, stifling a chuckle at the fury certainly boiling inside her at his words.

Pocketing the mobile, he stepped out of the front room...and stopped in his tracks. She, the woman he shared the house with, stood in the dead alcove in the corridor. From the way she fixed her keen glare on him, she must’ve heard his side of the conversation and seen him as he talked to the woman in his life. Thank goodness, he hadn’t said more. He’d thought her asleep, knocked out from the drugs. That bloody doctor had said she’d be out like a lamp for hours.

Careless. He’d been careless.

But he could recoup the situation. Might even be able to get it to work in his favour, make her indebted to him.

“How are you feeling?’ he asked.

*

She blinked at the easy way he fell back into his cold, detached persona. His face betrayed nothing. His eyes had narrowed into a glare when he’d caught sight of her, then gone back to the hard stones she’d grown accustomed to seeing.

Had she heard right? It sounded like he’d been speaking to a woman. To his mistress... No wonder he proved so icy and harsh with her; someone else received his love, his attention, his tenderness. He, who could be capable of such gentleness—hadn’t she remembered their first encounter together in her dream?—showered his affection and care on someone else, leaving the hard and brittle ways of a distant and frosty monster to deal with her. Her, the person he had loved enough to marry. Unless he’d married her for other reasons... Money, maybe?

No, it couldn’t be. He had genuinely cared for her. Reliving the dream once again in staggered but vivid flashes, she swayed. The effects of the drugs still muddled her brain, the medication lingering in her bloodstream and making her feel she tread on an uneven surface that shifted and morphed under her feet.

“Who was that?” she croaked, her throat still dry from the unnatural sleep.

“I beg your pardon?” A frown marred his forehead and he blinked, as if with worry. “Millie, are you okay?”

“You were talking to someone.” She grabbed the moulding on the alcove wall, sending sparks of pain along her fingers when she gripped the plaster too tight, but she blipped the hurt from her mind.