Say You Love Me : a novel of romantic suspense and forbidden love (Reclaiming Heaven Book 1)

by E. R. Whyte

  I hover, unsure, but then turn and walk down the hall, opening the door to Sammy’s old bedroom and peering inside. Gunner can’t sleep on the couch again. It’s too short for him, and the memory of waking up the other morning to his bare chest and sleepy eyes has my body clenching. He needs a bed. I need a door between us.

  In Sammy’s room, nothing has changed since the accident. It boasts a heavy wood bunk bed circa 1980 that was my father’s. He left it here for Sammy when we moved to California when I was little, and it’s the one thing we have left of him. It’s dressed in a thick navy comforter, a matching desk, and Potterhead posters on the wall. It is a little stale from disuse, and Gunner’s feet will no doubt hang over the end of the bed, but it will do.

  “Gunner,” I call, and his footsteps sound immediately down the wood planks of the hall. “Sleep in Sammy’s room. It’s not super fresh, but it’s better than the couch.”

  He stands at my shoulder looking in and somehow, I know the thoughts swimming in his head.

  He swallows and moves past me into the room, touching a trophy here, looking at a poster there. It hits me that the memories aren’t easy, carefree ones. They’re tainted by the immediacy with which the Sammy we knew was ripped from us, replaced by a painfully different friend and brother. His face is unbearably sad in that moment.

  “I wasn’t thinking, Gunner. Sometimes I forget I wasn’t the only one that lost him. You don’t have to sleep in here—”

  “It’s fine.” He smiles at me, crooked but genuine. “Go on. Get some sleep.”

  When I continue to stand in the doorway, unconvinced, he steps back to me, directly into my space. Reaching around, he lightly cups my ass and squeezes. “Go now, Shiloh. Before I change my mind and decide to do bad, bad things to this beautiful body.”

  His eyes meet mine in challenge.

  Gulping, I flee.

  25

  Gunner

  She’s the most frustrating woman I’ve ever met, and I’m obsessed with her.

  Slapping my hand flat on the counter in her kitchen, I ponder how to win. It’s clearer than ever that we are battling for supremacy. I say please, baby; she says not now, not ever. At least, that’s what her mouth says. That’s not what her body says, though. Her body is speaking sweet, dirty words to me. It’s a constant push-pull, and if it didn’t drive me so crazy, I’d love the spark it ignites within me to keep pushing her.

  We woke up late this morning after the events of the night before, and as she stumbled around the coffee pot and I inhaled caffeine straight from a can of Coke, she informed me yet again that from here forward we needed to be strictly teacher and student. There were black circles under her eyes as she rambled on, refusing to look me in the eye.

  “…there’s a lot at stake for me. It’s not so much the age thing as it is the authority thing.” I watch her over the edge of the can without speaking. I could tell from the glances she darted my way that my lack of response was making her nervous, or maybe it was my dress. I’d strolled into the kitchen in my boxer briefs and tee shirt this morning instead of pulling my jeans back on. Those hazel eyes had dropped down to my legs several times in the past minute alone. “I’m responsible for your grades, whether you graduate. It’s a huge conflict of interest.”

  I give her a long, bored blink, then set the can down, raise my arms in the air, and stretch. I feel my tee shirt rise against my abs, see her gaze drop and hood. Watch her swallow before she turns her attention to stirring her coffee.

  “I don’t do things that aren’t ethical, Gunner.” I raise my eyebrows and rake my nails up and down my stomach. Up. Down. Shiloh’s eyes follow the movement.

  She takes a deep breath in and releases it. Hiding my smirk behind my soda, I take another swallow of drink, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Stop that. And don’t give me that look.”

  “Stop what?” I give her the look that got me out of trouble for everything when I was a kid. “And what look?”

  “You know exactly what you’re doing. And stripping is not immoral or unethical. Nobody makes anyone go to a strip club, and I’m fully in control of my choice to work there.”

  “I didn’t question its ethics.”

  “It’s liberating. Empowering.”

  “Who are you trying to convince?”

  “I want to be there.”

  At this, I set my Coke down and step into her space, crowding her. “I call bullshit, Shy. You don’t feel liberated. You want to be in control, because there was a time when you weren’t in control and that scared the fuck out of you. But if you’re honest, you’ll admit that the only thing you’re in control of is your own exploitation.”

  Shiloh’s lips thin and I know I’ve hit a nerve. “Don’t tell me what I feel.” She sets her coffee mug on the counter, a sharp clatter of sound in the otherwise quiet house. “And if I’m being exploited, what does that say about you? Paying for me. Watching me.”

  “You know why I was there.”

  “And how did you know I worked there? The first time you saw me you weren’t there to save me from myself, Gunner.”

  I incline my head to her. “Point to you. Miles’ father owns the club. Miles took me there for an early birthday present.”

  “So that’s how you’re getting in.”

  Her phone picks that moment to buzz with a notification and she glances down at it as it sits on the counter between us. She thumbs the screen to check and I catch a glimpse of a photo before she scoops it swiftly up.

  “I’m going to take a shower, get some work done. Don’t be here when I get out.” She sidesteps toward the door, edging her way toward the hall.

  “What was that, Shiloh?”

  She stops. “I feel like I keep saying this, over and over, and it’s not getting through. It’s none of your business.”

  “The hell it isn’t. Is that something from the person stalking you?”

  “Gah! Drop it. I will handle it.” She clutches the phone to her chest, a frown between her eyebrows.

  “This is not something you can handle on your own. He broke into your house the other day, Shiloh! And I was there at the club the night he broke into your car. I know you’ve gotten some text messages. I know that whatever this is—” I circle my hand impatiently. “—it’s not copacetic.” I hold my hand out. “Let me see.”

  “You knew… you were there?” She rubs her forehead. “And then the peep show. That was you. The talker.” I nod, one dip of my head up and then down.

  She pulls the phone from her chest and unlocks it, handing it to me. It’s open to a photo taken at night, grainy and unclear. The subject, though, is plain. It’s Shiloh, standing and cheering at the football game this past Friday. The perspective appears to be from either on the field or close to it.

  I back out of the message to see who sent it, but it’s an unknown number.

  “Do you have any idea who sent this, Shiloh?”

  “None.” Her voice is a whisper.

  “Tell me about the others.”

  She shakes her head. “There have been several… incidents. You probably know most of them.”

  I sit on one of the stools near the island. “Tell me.”

  Shiloh takes the stool near me and places her elbows on the counter. Without meeting my eyes, she recounts in succinct terms the series of text messages she’s received, the theft of her bracelet, and the electronic spy ware Twiggy located in her house. I’m grinding my teeth when she finishes.

  “Shiloh… you can’t keep working at Kendrick’s. You’re too much in the spotlight there, too accessible.”

  She stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll take care of it, Gunner. I don’t need your help.”

  “Keep lying to yourself, Shiloh,” I call after her retreating form. “Keep running away. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shooting me a dirty look over her shoulder, she flips me the bird and disappears into the bathroom.

  I
rub the bristle on my chin. “One day, dolcezza. One day.”

  26

  Shiloh

  Leap.

  Let yourself fall.

  I’ll catch

  The weight you shed

  On the way down.

  I crumple the poem into a ball and slide it in my pocket as I stalk towards tonight’s VIP room. Judging from my schedule, Gunner will be waiting for me, exactly as he was last night. I don’t bother with the wig or mask, knowing it’s unnecessary.

  He wrote me a poem.

  I don’t know what to do with this. He left it sitting on my counter this morning before he left, words crossed out and smudged with visible effort. After finding it, I think I’ve taken it out and studied it a dozen times. This poem… the fact that he thought to write one and put everything out there like that… He made himself vulnerable and it slays me. And it pisses me off. I want to think I’m stronger than to be swayed by a love poem.

  He wants me to jump. Take a chance that he’ll be there, beyond his current obsession, beyond the inevitable arguments that will take place. Take a chance that he won’t unintentionally fuck up my entire life.

  I’m not sure I can do that.

  I can’t believe he is back again. He’s persistent; I’ll give him that, but I feel like he hasn’t given me space and time to think. The past two days have made my head spin. He’s been there every time I turned around.

  Jamal gives me the side-eye as I straight-arm the door open. “Everything good, honeybee?”

  “Peachy,” I reply, and enter with a stride more militant than sexy. Shrugging, Jamal closes the door after me with an audible snick.

  Like the other VIP room, this one has a deep gray loveseat with rolled arms and a tufted back, dark paneled walls, and a heavy, ornate wood cabinet against the wall used for liquor and a sound system. There are strategically placed mirrors set at intervals in the walls, and the overall effect is refined elegance. Gunner has claimed a similar spot as yesterday on the velvet sofa, watching my entrance with narrowed eyes.

  “Dolcezza,” he offers. “You’re looking awfully pretty tonight.”

  I bare my teeth at him in the rictus of a smile. “I told you, sweetie. We have to stop meeting like this.”

  Gunner smiles back. “You know what you have to do, buttercup.”

  Buttercup? What the hell. My lip curls. “You can’t make me quit my job, hot stuff.”

  “Awww… my little honeybun thinks I’m hot.”

  “What the fuck is with the weird names!” I explode.

  Gunner laughs out loud. “Does my sugarlips give up in our battle of endearments? Just trying to lighten the mood.”

  “I’m not even close to giving up… you little shit.” He snickers at that, and it dispels the tension stretching between us. But then Gunner gets serious.

  “Don’t give up, Shiloh. Just give in.”

  “Why the hell would I? Why are you here again, Gunner? You can’t do this every night I’m on the clock.”

  “We will do this every night you’re on the clock until you see reason and quit this job.”

  “You have lost your ever-loving mind if you think—”

  “Can we discuss this like adults?”

  I sneer at him. “Newsflash, Gunner: I am an adult. I don’t need to discuss my life choices with you.”

  “What if I were to take that choice away from you?”

  “I fail to see how you could possibly. I don’t answer to you.”

  The sudden change in his expression makes me uneasy. It turns to stone; the animation Gunner normally wears replaced with blankness.

  “I haven’t wanted to play this card, dolcezza, but I can force your hand if you make me.” I narrow my eyes and wait. “I know something about you that you don’t want certain other people to know. The school. Sammy.” I close my eyes. “In order to keep this information to myself, I am requesting that you stop working here.” He stretches out on the couch, propping his head up on his arms and crossing his feet at the ankles. He’s so tall they hang over the short sofa at his knee. “It’s a simple request, in the big scheme of things that could be requested. I’m not asking you to fuck me or anything. Not unless you want to.”

  I flush at his crudity. “Don’t be crass.” Where did this Gunner come from? He’s cunning, manipulative. “So, you are going to blackmail me into quitting Kendrick’s.”

  “I prefer to think of it as helping you in spite of you.”

  “How can you claim to have feelings for me and do this to me? You know it would kill Sammy to know… How can you even consider hurting him like that?”

  “I wouldn’t need to consider it if you would be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable? You’re asking me to give up a source of income that I need, Gunner!”

  “Shiloh.” He sighs. “What’s the problem? I am genuinely trying to help you out here. I’m even offering you a replacement job so you don’t lose that income.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help, Gunner. I didn’t ask you to play hero. And I don’t believe that’s all there is to this.” I steel myself against the micro-expression of hurt that flickers across his face. “You’re what… eighteen-years-old?”

  “Almost nineteen.”

  “Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “What happens when you get bored playing knight in shining armor? When I no longer need rescuing? Or if we have an argument or something? Then I’m out of a job and…” I stop, not knowing where to go with that statement. I’m mortified to realize tears are stinging my eyes and turn to pour myself a drink.

  Gunner sits up and runs his hands across his face. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Because the job with my family…it’s a legitimate job. I didn’t just invent it. I need your assistance.”

  I shake my head in confusion. “Okay, and?”

  “You’re not listening to what I’m saying. I need your help. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Gunner, if you are trying to blackmail me, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it. You don’t give the blackmail-ee leverage.”

  He groans. “I’m not trying to blackmail you. I don’t know, Shiloh. I thought if I got close enough to you, I wouldn’t need to hold anything over your head. You’d help because you care. But nothing’s ever easy with you.”

  “So all of this—” I glance back and gesture between us. “—all of this has very little to do with you being fascinated like you said last night. It’s because I can do something for you.” I don’t know why the thought stings.

  “No.” Gunner shakes his head decisively. “No, what I feel for you is real, Shiloh. It’s freaking me out a little, to be honest. I’m shit at explaining this.”

  “You’re going to have to try, because you’re not giving me much to work with, Gunner.” I turn around to look at him and cross my arms over my chest.

  After a considering moment, Gunner seems to come to a decision. He meets my eyes and clasps his hands as he leans forward over his knees. “All right. A few weeks ago, my friend thought he’d give me an early birthday gift by taking me to a strip club. I went along with it, not expecting too much. But then I looked up at the woman dancing in front of me, and there you were—Shiloh Brookings: the one that got away.” A smile tugs at his mouth and he shakes his head slightly. “Of all the ways I’d dreamed of running into you again, that was definitely not it. But that’s okay, because you were there, in the flesh.” Another grin. “A lot of flesh. And when you crooked that finger at me, and I touched you—it was like the past several years had never happened. We were back in that closet, me touching you, sparks leaping between us. You felt those sparks, didn’t you? It wasn’t just me?”

  I face the bar again, unable to meet his eyes. When I don’t answer he continues, his voice low and husky.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to admit it. I felt your skin tremble. I saw you flush. All I could think, in that seco
nd and every one that followed, was that I needed a reason to be close to you. Then Miles told me you were teaching his English class, and I realized that was it. I needed help in English, anyway. I would move into your class, and get you to help me, and the rest would write itself.”

  I’m confused, trying to think back to the conversation we’d had on this subject. “But didn’t you say your sister needed help? That she was dyslexic?”

  “I lied.” I make a small sound in protest. “I know! I’m sorry. I panicked. And I didn’t want you to think I was an idiot. I’m the one with dyslexia, and I need to pass English in order to graduate. I thought…God, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking you could use me to get a passing grade in English.”

  “Not in the way you’re imagining, I swear. I never expected you to just give me a grade.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” My hurt is real and unexpected. In order to be hurt over something like this, wouldn’t I need to first care? “What exactly were you expecting?”

  “I think…” He struggles to put the right words together. “I think honestly that the grade thing was an excuse. Subconscious, maybe, but an excuse I gave myself to do whatever it took to get close to you. When I saw you again, dancing on that stage…there was something that pulled at me. I chalked it up to simple lust. But it’s fucking real, Shiloh, and it’s not simple, not at all. Somewhere along the way I caught feelings for you. I think maybe I’ve had feelings for years but you weren’t here, so I could just ignore that little voice that was always reminding me you were out there. All I know is that it destroys me to think of you taking your clothes off for anyone but me. It guts me to think of you with anyone else. If what I need gains me more time with you, another minute in your presence, then I’m going to take it and be grateful —”

  I hold up a hand, clearing the thickness in my throat. I can’t listen to him telling me he’s caught feelings for me in one breath and he’s going to force my hand in the next. “Enough. What do you need my help with, Gunner? For the record, I would have helped, regardless. For Sammy’s sake. For old time’s sake. But manipulation, lying… I don’t appreciate that.”