Seductive Truths (Seductive Trilogy)

by Becky Cairns

  The tension crackles.

  Unconsciously he has edged forward inch by inch in his tirade, bringing him into the beam of light and I catch the fire burning his pupils, consuming him.

  ‘It became my business the day your fiancé walked into my life!’

  His tone is thunderous, but it’s his eyes that lead my concentration. The shining blue has dissolved into a foreboding black causing my breathing to quicken and my breasts to rise and fall at a faster pace, capturing my captor’s interest. His eyes darken further.

  The silence washes over us and the friction grows.

  Why does it always end up in a shouting match?

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ My voice may have dropped a notch or two, but there’s strength behind my words. Just.

  ‘Who are you?’

  His gaze is unwavering, the look haunting and his face drawn.

  As I stare into the abyss of his eyes I see nothing. How can I be seeing nothing? A man that has so much passion, so much vitality, even when his eyes are cold, reduced to this! It is not him.

  Out of some deluded sense of bravery, or stupidity, or something else altogether, I take a step towards the lost child in a man’s skin and ask the question again.

  His eyelids flutter, colour returns to his pale cheeks and tiny specks of life dances on the edge of his irises once more. His tongue slips out to wet his lips then swallows, Adams apple bobbing up and down mesmerizingly.

  I can feel his agitation, as if something is holding him back.

  ‘Gareth,’ he croaks. ‘My name is Gareth Hill.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Gareth. How that name rolls easily off my tongue.

  ‘Gareth.’

  ‘Yes, but I go by G.’

  ‘Or Mark.’

  ‘I only used that name once when introducing myself to your friend. Other times it’s G.’

  ‘So whenever you meet someone new you say your name is G?’

  ‘I rarely introduce myself to anyone. It is others who come and introduce themselves to me.’

  Now I’m extremely confused. I don’t think I’ll ever understand this man.

  ‘Why Mark? You could have picked any name, Pete for instance or Clive. Why your brother’s name?’

  ‘To remind myself not what to become.’

  ‘If your name is so precious to you why tell me? I could have ignorantly carried on calling you Mark. I wouldn’t have known anything different, it wouldn’t have mattered.’

  ‘It would have mattered to me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because…’ but nothing else follows, instead he takes a step towards me, further into the light and his features leap out, enabling me to finally take a good look at him.

  His hair is slightly shorter than I remember, not as long in the front. A tad blonder too, especially with the angle of light bouncing off the top of his head casting an almost golden glow, like a halo. It’s a bit scruffy in an adorable way - bed hair.

  Adorable would be the last word I would use to describe this man, but in this instance it suits him perfectly. I have no other word that would do him justice. However, his mild stumble lends him a precarious edge dulling the vulnerable appeal.

  The blue of his eyes sparkle in the beaming sun illuminating his face. They’re so deep and penetrating, as though he can see straight into my soul to its darkest depths. A speckle of grey dance in the irises, but it’s the crystal blue that shines through, hauntingly captivating, always drawing me in.

  Gareth’s mouth is slightly smaller in comparison to other men I’ve known, but strong and engaging. They appear soft and enticing. My mouth goes dry at the tempting prospect of tasting those lips.

  Christ! What am I thinking? This is not the time or the place for such thoughts, Alex! Get your mind off this path this instant!

  ‘Alex,’ he tenderly murmurs, caressing every letter.

  I look up only to find him right in front, eyes a multitude of emotions. When did he get this close?

  My heart goes up a gear, drumming to its own beat. Blood riots around my body, circulating heat at a rate I’m not used to. My palms are unusually dry, but still feel clammy.

  Then everything happens in a matter of seconds and a sharp tingling sensation shoots up my back and Gareth speaks into my ear, ‘I’m so sorry,’ before my mouth is being covered and vision dissolves into nothing.

  

  Rustic red liquid seeps out of the lifeless form, gradually forming a puddle on the tarmac. Dirt, grit and mattered hair surround the horrific gash in the skull. The once healthy glow of the cheeks, that were seen many times supporting a cheeky smile, are now a deathly shade of white. The red, rich lips are no more, but in their place lies a chilling blue-grey, as if the grim reaper itself had come along and sealed his fate with a kiss. No longer is the shirt he wears pristine but now bores the evidence of the incident. The material is ripped and torn, as if someone has come along with scissors and hacked it to shreds. His denim jeans fair no better.

  The men and women that inhabit London’s night atmosphere begin to swarm around the still figure. Sirens from both police and ambulance can be heard screeching down the neighbouring street. A second later everyone scarpers to a safe distance as the emergency vehicles come to an abrupt halt near the unfortunate victim lying in a heap on the cold ground, like a discarded rubbish bag.

  With all this chaos and madness livening up the streets of London, one man goes unnoticed. All that marks his existence is a solitary cigarette butt end lying haplessly on the pavement where he stood not a moment before. As its embers die so does the life of another.

  

  ‘Ouch! Humph. For crying out loud, get off me! I’m awake!’

  I open my eyes only to find myself in the back of a cold, hard van instead of my cosy, warm bed.

  Oh great, not again. At least I can see this time and move my arms and legs.

  Shakily I get to my feet. I manage to right myself, but the van takes a sharp left and my hands spring out to avoid my head crashing into metal. With legs apart I try again. I feel like a surfer riding the waves.

  A burning ache starts to make its way from my calves to my thighs, the effort of balance taking its toll. Then just as I think gravity will win there is a shift in gear and the vehicle begins to slow, then finally ceases movement altogether.

  The rumble of the engine switches off as do the vibrations that ran throughout my body. The van door of the driver’s side shuts forcibly and I hear heavy footsteps walk past.

  The back doors swing open and white light blasts into the darkened van causing my eyes to water under the intensity. I attempt to shield them with my hands.

  ‘Come with me,’ Gareth’s scratchy voice drifts to my ears.

  My eyes gradually adjust to the blinding light when I take my arm away. At first I see nothing more than blurred outlines and black dot pigments, but it’s not long before things come into focus and I see Gareth standing there with his hand out offering assistance.

  The impartial, cold façade is back. Eyes closed off to any emotion, continuously alternating between hot and cold. I think I am getting somewhere with him, digging under that thick skin of his, when this happens taking me right back to the start.

  Encasing his chest is a rather sexy, burgundy shirt with the first top two buttons undone, revealing a few fine hairs.

  A tantalising sight.

  Draping over the crisp cotton shirt is his customary knee length black coat, open and accentuating his long body. On his legs are fitting, dark blue jeans, crinkling somewhat at the knees. His choice in clothing matches his dark demeanour.

  ‘Come,’ he says, this time with more authority.

  My hand effortlessly slots into his and my stomach is overcome with butterflies. It feels like I’m all tied up in knots. My heart rate increases and lips curl at the corners into a secret smile at the fuzzy feeling inside.

  Giving nothing away, he takes a firm hold of my hand and tenderly helps me down to t
he ground. As he leads me towards a door in the corner I take this chance to peer around at my surroundings.

  There isn’t exactly much to see. All you have is the van, myself and the daunting presence of Gareth Hill.

  The warehouse itself is not as large as I expected. Actually, I don’t know what I expected. It’s just about big enough to fit at least three lorries inside. The walls are a brilliant white, a stark contrast to the muskiness of the other place. There are four huge windows situated evenly along the roof with huge metal frames underneath. The concrete floor is smooth and light, there’s not a cobweb to be seen.

  ‘Through here,’ and Gareth pulls me out of the warehouse and into a lift.

  A lift? Where the hell am I going?

  There is no graffiti, no broken material or hazardous wires sticking out here and there waiting to harm an innocent passenger. Instead I’m confronted with half wood half mirrored walls and a burgundy carpet floor. It’s the kind of lift you’d find in a four-star hotel, minus the cleanliness.

  Where is he taking me? Hotel room?

  ‘Oh. My. God!’ I gasp as I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror.

  Cautiously I make contact with my hair and another gasp expels. It’s brittle. A lifeless mop of nothingness plopped on top my head looking to the entire world like a wig.

  My eyes are blood shot with dark rings underneath and lips chapped and have lost their lushness. My fingers reach out testing the texture and I flinch at the roughness found.

  On my left cheek is a fine graze, the redness standing out against my pale skin. Above my eyebrow is a small cut no more than a couple of inches in length, dried and crusty.

  Christ! I look like an extra from a horror movie!

  The lift doors slide open and Gareth guides me into a room.

  A cool shudder trickles down my spine as I walk further into the dimly lit place. Cold moonlight streams in through a window, casting eerie shadows on the walls and floor, oddly drawing me in.

  Gareth brushes my back as he walks past, causing me to jump at the contact. Then low level lighting floods the room as he flicks the switch.

  Glancing around nervously I spot a black leather sofa, a bit torn here and there along the back, but otherwise clean and comfortable looking. In front stands a mahogany coffee table cluttered with all sorts of documents, an empty crisp packet and half a bottle of whiskey. On the wall is a rather expensive flat screen television.

  In the opposite direction is a simple wooden dining table for two by the window and a small kitchen hidden away in the corner.

  Not a single picture or memento adorns the walls or shelves. No personal item to mark this place as his. There is absolutely nothing that gives this place zest. It’s lifeless. No warmth. It makes me feel empty inside. Numb.

  Outside I hear the heavy wind howling along the street, a few drunken woman giggle into the night and the odd car horn making its presence known.

  ‘You can clean yourself up in the bathroom. Use the bath or shower and anything else you want in there.’

  Dazed I ask as to the whereabouts of the bathroom.

  ‘Down the corridor to the left.’

  Slowly I trudge off in the direction, my body crying out for respite in every step and my mind eager for the peace and quiet it will offer.

  

  The cuts and grazes sting like acid on flesh as my body soaks into the warmth of the water and every time I knock a bruise I cringe, but they are minor glitches compared to the turmoil that’s streaming through my head.

  The more I discover about Gareth the darker he becomes, yet I can’t help this desire to delve deeper. Another thing that baffles me is these unwanted feelings I’m developing for him. Every time our eyes lock my stomach plummets and temperature rises. When he touches me it’s like tiny shock waves caressing every inch of my skin.

  This hunger to kiss him is driving me mad. Why do I want to kiss him? He is nowhere near as handsome as William or as charming, neither is he my usual type. Gareth is everything I detest in men. He is a borderline alcoholic and not far off from being a chain smoker. His physic is nowhere near as athletic as William’s; instead he supports a slight, firm belly. So why do I have this burning need for him to rip me bare and take me to unbearable heights of ecstasy? Where has this consuming passion come from?

  Cold clashes with heat as I take notice of the cool bath water. Heaving myself out I almost stumble onto the floor as my legs give way. I’ve lost all strength.

  Gaining my balance I make my way over to the sink. Wiping the mirror of its condensation I come face to face with a stranger. The person staring back at me looks like me but it’s not. Who is this woman?

  My eyes are devoid of colour. They’ve lost their luminosity. Gareth has killed the spark of intelligence and wit that used to swarm my irises. The energy has died out like my hope of ever getting home.

  Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath I try to focus on the here and now and somehow, someway, pull myself together and get through it all, whatever all this may be.

  

  Sitting on the edge of Gareth’s double bed, dressed in a pair of oversized tracksuit bottoms and a baggy green polo shirt, I realise that nothing in this apartment matches.

  Just like the living room, no pictures, books or ornaments decorate the place. It is bare of any sentimental value. His entire bedroom consists of nothing more than a double four-poster bed with red bedding, a simple oak wardrobe and a dark mahogany desk. On top lays a laptop, lamp and some papers screwed up in balls. It’s an interior designer’s worst nightmare.

  As I go to stand I get a whiff of his trade mark scent. Tangy cologne with undercurrent of spicy tobacco fills his room, clinging to everything it touches. It’s woven into the fabric of the clothes I’m wearing. I will be able to smell him wherever I go.

  Out of everything in this room it’s the desk which captures my interest.

  Cautiously I make my way over with one eye on the door and ears constantly alert to any sound. With each step my heart rate increases pumping the adrenaline around my blood stream.

  Creaking of the floorboards.

  Heavy breathing.

  Sweaty palms.

  Approaching the desk I look back to the closed door, but as I do so I crash into the protruding corner, accidentally knocking a little black book onto the floor. My eyes snap back to the door.

  Phew! Still safe.

  As I continue my search I begin imagining Gareth sitting at his desk puffing at a cigarette perched between his delectable lips, smoke evaporating in the air around him. In his right hand he would be holding a glass with a measure of whiskey ready to burn his throat, while his troubled thoughts would drift to ones of pleasure.

  The screwed up pieces of paper holds nothing but numbers and words that make no sense to me. Drawers contain the customary stationary equipment such as pens, paper, pins and more. However, there remains one drawer unchecked.

  Locked.

  Heart drumming against my chest I look around for something to crack it open. Lifting up a piece of paper I come across a gold coloured letter opener lying innocently on the desk, taunting me.

  Without a second thought I snatch it up and wedge it in the gap.

  One yank.

  Two yanks.

  Three yanks.

  Four yan…

  Crack!

  The wood splinters and the drawer flies open. Dropping the letter opener I start ruffling through the contents. There are documents, bundles of cash and string.

  Surely that can’t be it.

  Ramming my hand further inside I latch onto something cold and solid. A chill shoots down my spine and beads of sweat gather along my forehead. This doesn’t feel good.

  My clammy fingers brush against smooth surface, a few grooves, and there is a small but distinctive hole. The object widens out at one end.

  Heart sinks.

  Skin quivers.

  Bile rises up in my throat. Oh God, I’m going to be sick!


  I slowly pull the object out from hiding into full view of my eyes and my worst fears are confirmed. Lying like a heavy burden in my hands is the nightmare I never wanted part in. Blackening my skin is a deadly, powerful, silver handgun.

  A rough growl cuts through the air like a bullet, scaring me out of my wits and almost causing the gun to fall. ‘I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Bloody hell!’ I gasp, hurling the gun back where I found it and slamming the drawer shut. The desk shakes and one of the screwed up pieces of paper tumbles to the floor.

  The erratic pulsating sensation consumes me once more and the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end. I draw my eyes over to the alpha male standing in the doorway.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he growls.

  ‘I…I…I was looking…I mean I…I needed…’

  ‘Spit it out!’ he roars.

  Quaking with fear, my eyes start to dart around the room, looking at anything but him. ‘I…I wanted to…’ I try to begin again with little success. ‘I wanted to…needed to…’

  Giving up I squeeze my eyes shut and take a couple of deep breaths to compose myself. I hate this feeling of not knowing. I hate these obscure emotions that seem to take over.

  Gathering all my bravado I peel my eyes open to face the oncoming onslaught, but get the shock of my life as I find him stealthily positioned the other side of the desk. His eyes are slits of pure rage turning them a vibrant blue.

  Startled, I unconsciously take a step back. Not once do his eyes stray. The electricity passing between the two of us would be enough to light up the whole of London. The strength I gathered to speak disperses in an instant. Instead I’m left rooted to the spot watching his every move.

  I feel myself being drawn into his intense gaze. They are like the raging sea, crashing back and forth carrying a range of emotions. The longer I stare the further I drown. I may not be moving but I can feel him pulling me under, but under what, is the question.