I bite my lip, trying to think. The name is an easy enough answer, but the rest is more complicated.
Nathan suddenly slams his palm against the table, the crashing sound startling me as he stands to loom over me, barking, “Tell me!”
I shrink into myself, looking at my hands in my lap, the words quiet but tumbling from my lips. “Emma Daniels. My name’s Emma Daniels. I took Jessica’s place because she had car trouble.” It’s as close to the truth as I dare get, as much as I can safely give.
If I tell him the rest, I won’t leave here alive. I’m almost certain of it.
Nathan grasps my chin, lifting it to force my eyes to his. He searches my face, lingering on my eyes so long I think he can see into my soul before finally moving toward my lips. Involuntarily, I lick them, letting them part on a breath. He bends down, in my face and in my space, and I’m not sure if he’s going to kill me, yell at me, or . . .
He whispers my name, “Emma.” It’s more breath than sound, a pained hitch lancing through the syllables, and then he’s on me.
His lips press to mine powerfully, demanding and taking. He tastes spicy and bitter like the wine, his mouth hot as he holds my chin in place, leaving me no chance to escape.
Not that I want to.
I want this. Whatever this is, whatever magic he’s weaving, catching me in his web and holding me hostage. I want it all.
And he knows it as my back arches, pressing in my seat toward him, trying desperately to get closer. Just when I’m on the edge of my chair, he pulls back, leaving me wanting.
His smirk is full of cocky arrogance, his eyes alight with victory as he sits back in his chair.
He leans back, a king on his throne, and callously commands, “Tell me everything. The truth this time.”
And though his demeanor would typically have me shut down immediately, knowing that he’s continuing to play me like a damn fiddle, I find that I want to tell him.
Guilt runs through me at the lies I’ve told, leaving ice in its wake. And I know that the non-truths were necessary, and I’ve shared more honesty than not, but still, the foundation is a lie, leaving the bricks crumbling where we quickly built something more.
I realize something.
He knew. From the moment I walked in this house tonight, he knew I wasn’t Kitty Williamson, wasn’t a Mostest Hostess. And yet he told me all those things about himself.
Does that make him shrewd or open? Is it strategic manipulation, underhanded maneuvering, or was it real honesty in the hope that I would return the same once he showed his hand?
I don’t know so I’m not sure how to proceed. I hear Claire in my mind, telling me to lie, stick to the script, and get the fuck out of here. Whatever I have to say to get out alive.
But I can’t quiet the hope in my heart that says what I’m feeling for Nathan has to be real—crazy fast and scary on so many levels, including actual life and death—but potentially something big. The first small drops in a bucket that could be a torrential downpour if I’m willing to risk everything.
And I gave up sticking to the safe route years ago.
“My name is Emma Daniels. My favorite color really is yellow, and I do like Alicia Keys and muffins. That’s all the truth, and remember how I said I like Tomb Raider?”
He nods but is still frozen, not giving me an ounce of encouragement, but I can feel that he still expects me to divulge my every secret.
“I was a nerdy kid, spending my free time reading books about ancient civilizations, watching documentary-style stories about Greece and Rome. I liked Tomb Raider because Angelina Jolie was this badass brain, like I wanted to be. She was my version of a superhero, like Batman but with this huge library in her head. I majored in Ancient Civilizations and work for an archeologist, mostly doing catalog work and transcribing notes, but my favorite is the research I help him with. It’s grunt work. He’ll probably never take me into the field, but it’s like I can disappear into that world.” It’s a bit of a tumble of information but something I could talk about for hours, days, or weeks.
Nathan’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and he taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. “You’re an ancient civilizations expert? That’s the story you’re going with? Why not go all in and just throw out that you’re a fucking princess of a country I’ve never heard of too?” His sneer makes it obvious that he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.
It’s a judgment I’ve gotten repeatedly over my life. Too pretty, too rich, too much of a woman to have a brain in my head that can hold more than silly facts about meaningless things. I guess I’d thought Nathan wouldn’t be so backward in his thinking.
I adopt a fake accent and pitch my voice airhead high, adding a breathy giggle that I mockingly practiced once I started growing breasts. “Well, there is that too. Of course, I’m a princess. The only things running through my brain are designer clothes and vapid small talk about how totes adorbs I am. Like, oh my gawd, if you saw my little fur baby, Snuggles, he’s just so epically amazeballs. Maybe you can tell me about the pretty, sparkly things you sell? What are they called again? Oh, yeah, diamonds.”
I roll my eyes, finishing the melodramatic rant with a sigh. “Yeah, I lied to you, Nathan. But don’t doubt my brains or my education. I worked hard for both.”
His head lifts, and I wonder how often people talk to him like that. Well, his brother is pretty cavalier. Caleb looks like the kind to tell the Queen of England to fuck off if he felt the urge to.
“Fine, you’re right. It’s not like I’m a genius, but I do actually run a large company, not just tell people that I do.”
“And I do actually have a degree and work for an archeologist. My special area of focus is artifacts. You want to test me?” I offer as a dare. “Drag out one of your vases and I can not only tell you if you have a real Ming or just some knockoff, but I can tell you what century and maybe even what region of China it came from.”
That’s a bit of a brag, but Nathan has my fire up. Still, he studies me for a moment then hums. “No Mings here. Tell me about the Koh-i-Noor diamond instead,” he challenges.
I laugh, almost in relief. “Of course, you’d want to know about a gemstone.”
He shrugs and looks around his palatial dining room. “Well, I could ask about something else, but I wouldn’t know if you were telling the truth, would I? But I grew up with a dad who loved everything about diamonds and listened to him drone on about them any chance he got. So if you make shit up about the Koh-i-Noor, I’ll know it.”
The threat hangs heavily between us, and I clear my throat, taking a sip of water.
I begin as if reading from a textbook, the words coming to me easily. “Koh-i-Noor is Persian for ‘Mountain of Light’, and the Koh-i-Noor diamond is a large piece, over one hundred carats in size. It was found in India, but between the various squabbles in the area, it passed through many hands before it fell into Britain’s, where it became one of the Crown Jewels. It’s currently showcased in the Tower of London, though both India and Pakistan want it back.”
I stop when I see the look on his face. He’s impressed, though the info is the barest of touchpoints on the drama-filled history of the stone. “Satisfied?”
His lips purse. “Maybe. Tell me more about you.”
Deciding I must’ve passed that test, I move on, offering more. “When I was in college, I found a new love. The stage. I started acting, becoming someone different with every role. I did university productions every semester, and when I graduated, coming to New York City seemed like the best opportunity. I’m actually starring in my first barely-off-Broadway play now.” It’s a brag but one that’s well-earned from years of paying my dues and working my ass off.
He interrupts, the suspicion coming back to his gaze. “An actress?”
“An actress and an archeology assistant,” I correct him. “A weird combination, I know, but somehow, it works for me.”
I pause, a thought occurring to me for the first time. “I think I just
disappear into both roles, into the past and into someone else. I never have to just be . . . me.”
My breath stutters, that idea resonating deep inside and taking root. I thought I’d been growing, blooming where I was planted like some cheesy home décor plaque, but what if instead, I’m just a seed on the wind, blowing this way and that, always trying to find some semblance of steadiness to be myself?
It’s a dark thought, cutting to my core. But now’s not the time to delve into that clusterfuck. Maybe later, when I’m alone and can pry at the edges without an audience to see me analyze my own weird psyche.
For now, I need to focus because Nathan is looking at me like I just bared my soul. Maybe I did.
Almost as if he can sense my desire to leave the subject alone, he dissects the answer with surgical precision. “What’s wrong with being you?”
“Dangerous question. I could go on and on, but the real truth is, probably nothing. Just not that sweet little princess people expect me to be.” I throw his own words back at him, wanting him to know that they hurt.
He grins a small smile and lets it drop for now. “Touché. I’d bet you’re nothing like people expect in a lot of ways.” This time, it sounds like a compliment, and I flush with heat.
The moment freezes, and though I’m fully dressed, I feel completely naked when his eyes lock on mine. He reaches out, slipping a lock of hair behind my ear and then placing his hand firmly on the back of my neck to pull me toward him.
I think he’s going to kiss me, but at the last moment, with my lips already parted in anticipation, he veers to the side and whispers hotly in my ear,
“Emma Daniels, I think you are exactly who and what you are supposed to be.”
My name on his lips makes my body purr, but the reassurance is something I didn’t realize I needed.
His pulls back and then, finally, his lips touch mine. He’s gentle this time, hesitant like he’s getting to know me for the first time. Maybe he is now that there’s more truth between us.
I kiss him back, just as softly, wanting to know his truths too. All of them.
Not for Claire and not for Anna. For me.
Which is a scary thought, and so wrong when there are questions looming over him about what part he played in Anna’s death.
His hands slip to my jaw, cupping my face as his fingers delve into my hair.
“I’d like to see you tomorrow.”
It’s not a question but an order. And with the doubts flashing through my mind, I know I need to back away from this.
For my own safety. For Nathan’s too.
Because I can already feel that I’m torn between wanting to know the truth for Claire and hoping I can just pretend nothing bad had ever happened in Nathan’s past. Maybe, killer or not, he can just be someone else for me. The same way I am someone else on stage.
“I can’t,” I rasp reluctantly, my voice thick with desire and torn with hurt at the denial, not just for him but for me. “I have work and rehearsals. I’m not just at your beck and call whenever you want a date. Maybe call Mostest Hostesses if you need someone to accompany you somewhere?”
It’s a rude thing to say, especially when the smart thing to do would be to never mention Mostest Hostesses again. But it serves my purpose, driving a jagged wedge between us.
His voice is icy and hard, dominance laced through it like a drug. “It wasn’t a request, Emma.” He shakes his head, trying again. “This dinner with Nikolai is still coming, and we need to be prepared. We made some good progress tonight, but this could be dire for both of us. Failure simply isn’t an option.”
I hate it, but he’s right.
I nod, agreeing.
Though I don’t know who I’m doing it for.
Chapter 11
Carly
I haven’t seen him in almost a week. Not at Strega’s, not at my shows, not even around town. I considered that maybe he’d moved on. Transient tourists in Europe aren’t unusual, though Kyle definitely isn’t the typical tourist.
But walking the market tonight, I see his hulking form ahead of me. He hasn’t seen me yet, and I take advantage, following him along the short aisles, watching him as he studies the loaves of bread like they hold the secrets of the universe.
Maybe they do. The best time to get bread is early in the morning, when you can normally grab a pastry along with your daily loaf, but later on, you can find wisdom in the scraps that are left over. It’s almost philosophical, if I were into baking, but I’m more about eating the daily deliciousness.
The crowds part for him though he seems almost unaware of the stares his very presence brings. His height is unusual, but based on the wide-eyed looks from those around him, they’re more conscious of the dark aura around him. Ironically, the thing that puts them off is the very thing that draws me to him.
I get closer and closer, curious to see if he’ll notice me, if he’ll sense my presence the same way I’m aware of his. Twice, I think he sees me, but then he turns around and continues through the market.
Eventually, I can’t hold myself back and I approach him when he pauses to check out some wooden carvings. I slide up next to him, bumping him with my shoulder.
“Hey.”
He looks down at me with a smirk, setting a wooden spoon back on the stall table. “Took you long enough.”
I pout playfully, trying to look hurt. “You knew I was following you? I thought I was being sneaky!”
He shakes his head and keeps browsing the woodwork. “Not sneaky at all. You might be good at karate, but you’re no ninja,” he deadpans.
“Then why didn’t you say something, Kyle?” I ask, a little hurt that he ignored me.
He doesn’t answer that, instead focusing on the tidbit I let drop. “Found out my name, huh?”
It’s a grunt, an accusation, but I don’t let it hurt me.
“Yep, Strega’s got a big mouth. It’d do you good to remember that,” I advise. “You sneeze, and she’ll call half a dozen doctors for you before you pay for your cappuccino.”
He chuckles, but his returning threat holds more danger. “I think I’ll tell her you said that next time I stop in for coffee.”
My jaw drops, and I can’t help it, I punch him lightly in a rock-hard arm. “You wouldn’t! Please, don’t tell her I said that. Trust me, she’s well aware that she’s the world’s worst gossip, but she’d be devastated if she found out I was telling people that!”
His brow furrows, and he actually looks confused. “That makes no sense. She’d be upset people were gossiping about her when she’s a big gossip?”
I shrug. I guess for all of his toughness, Kyle doesn’t quite understand the fairer sex. “Women’s prerogative. We’re all a little crazy here.”
He blinks like that’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, and I rush to fill the silent space before he leaves again. “So, what are you doing wandering the market? Anything in particular you’re looking for? Maybe I can help you shop.”
“No, getting some kitchen staples,” he says, lifting a paper bag at his side. “Just grabbing bread and I’m done.”
It’s a dismissal if ever I’ve heard one, but I’m not one for listening to things I don’t want to hear. Maybe it’s from years of tuning out my parents, but I readily tune out his easy rejection of my offer to help. “Good, then let’s grab a loaf of the crustiest, flakiest, yummiest bread in the market, made by a baker I happen to know. And then I’ll make you dinner. I’m quite the cook, and with a good carb haze rushing through your system, you’ll think I’m Gordon Ramsey! Fookin’ brilliant!” My impression isn’t that great, but I figure it’s worth a grin at least.
I realize after I’ve said it that I just asked him out, or well, asked him in? But I don’t care. I’m a big girl and can do scary things like that. Even if it was slightly unintentional. My heart whispers to my mind . . . unintentional on your part, but I know exactly what I’m doing.
Shock dots Kyle’s eyes for a moment before he shuts down,
shaking his head. “No. Thank you, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
But now I’m like a dog with a bone. I argue back, “Did you hear a question from me? Because I didn’t ask one. We both need to eat, and it’s good manners to dine together. Very Italian, you know.” I wink obnoxiously. “I’ll be gracious and allow you one choice—your place or Strega’s. She lets me borrow her kitchen sometimes, desperate times calling for desperate measures and all. Only possible deal-breaker there is that she will definitely eat with us and let her gossipy desires run wild as she asks you questions.”
“Inviting yourself to my place?” he growls.
I hadn’t quite thought that through before the offer jumped out of my mouth, but now that it’s out there, I want to go to his place badly. Not for anything sexy, although I wouldn’t be averse, but I don’t think he’s remotely in a mental place for that. But I’d like to just see his space, get to know him by seeing what books he has, what music he plays, hell, what his bed looks like, even if it’s not for sexy times.
“Well, you already know I stay at a hostel so that’s no good, unless you like shared kitchen spaces and a swarm of people crowding in to share noodles. I’m guessing you’ve got something a little less public considering” —I wave my hands around, gesturing to his frowning face— “you.”
“I don’t like people. Why won’t you just leave me alone?” He seems genuinely confused by my continued attempts to engage him.
“Look, you’re grumpy and violent, I get that. It’s probably enough to put off most folks, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not most folks. It’s like you’re a caged animal, fighting against the bars you’ve surrounded yourself with, but when someone opens the cage, you fight back from freedom too, because it’s scary as fuck,” I explain, keeping my voice low but calm, hopeful, and confident. “I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt and letter that I was disowned. It was hard and it fucking hurt. So when I see someone else going through something similar, I just want to help. Maybe that’s stupid, but I don’t think so. And it doesn’t mean you can’t do it on your own. It just means that sometimes when you’re laser-focused on getting out the muck, it’s nice to just have dinner with a friendly face. And it just so happens that I’ve got one of those.”
Power Play: A Romance Collection Page 11