Secrets and Sins: Chayot: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite)

by Naima Simone

  He didn’t wait for her assent, but plunged deep into her pussy, sheathing himself in one thrust. A hoarse cry ripped free from his throat, mingling with her keening wail. Blistering hot liquid. Like a fucking glove three sizes too small and utterly perfect. He pounded into her, far past tender or soft.

  The slap of wet flesh and her sharp cries filled the small cubicle. Electricity sizzled down his spine, crackled and popped at the small of his back. Shifting her higher, he widened her thighs. His thrusts slapped his pelvis against her clit, and her sex milked his dick, rippled over it. She came, screaming and clawing his shoulders.

  With a rough roar, he jerked free of her body. Allowing her to slide to the floor, he fisted his shaft, pumped it. Orgasm slammed into him. Rode him like a bitch. Grunting, he stroked and semen spurted free, disappearing with the water swirling around the drain. Chest heaving, he lifted his gaze to Aslyn.

  Eyes hooded with satiation, she rubbed the backs of her fingers down his cheek.

  “Now you’re okay,” she whispered.

  She rose on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. He closed his eyes, pressed his forehead to hers.

  Yeah. Now he was okay.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chay pushed through one of the double front doors, emerging from the brick building that housed the South Boston probation office. Skirting the people lounging on the stoop and iron railings, shooting the shit, he rushed down the stone steps and up the sidewalk toward his SUV.

  He reported to his probation officer once a month, and the meetings usually didn’t last longer than thirty minutes. But this Monday morning, those minutes had passed with the speed of a doped-up turtle. Of course, Aslyn hadn’t been waiting for his return during the previous appointments. He’d hated leaving her. Had almost decided to skip the visit. But the chances of his probation officer accepting I’m afraid to leave the woman I’m currently guarding and fucking, too, by the way as an excuse ranged from nil to not a chance in hell. So he’d left, but had placed added security in the lobby of the building and inside the apartment with Aslyn. Yeah, it might be a bit of overkill.

  Not that he cared one damn bit.

  Three days had come and gone since they’d last heard from her stalker. Three days since the crazed son of a bitch had assaulted and attacked Aslyn in her car. Three days since Chay stashed her in the safe house appointing himself as her personal bodyguard.

  The lack of contact unsettled him. Like the spindly legs of a spider dancing on the nape of his neck, he couldn’t brush away the sense of unease prickling his gut. The purpose of ushering her straight from the police station to the condo had been to prevent her attacker from following them and discovering the location of the safe house. The tactic appeared to have worked. Rafe had viewed the security video from Aslyn’s home, and the stalker hadn’t shown up in any of the footage. No sign of him. No word.

  So why did he feel like Chicken Little, staring at the sky, waiting for a piece of it to fall and knock the shit out of him?

  His phone rang, vibrating against his thigh in his pocket. He removed it, tapping the screen.

  “Hey, Rafe.”

  “You headed to the office?” Rafe asked without preamble.

  “Hadn’t planned on it,” he admitted. “Why? You need me to come in?”

  “Yes.” The disquiet in his stomach amplified. Not that many months ago, Rafe had been in a similar situation with Greer. If he was asking him to spend more time than necessary away from Aslyn then it had to be important. “I picked up Aslyn’s things from the Canton police station that she left behind in her car Thursday. Including her purse and phone. My trace detected several more calls between Thursday and last night. I listened to the voicemails.” Rafe paused. “You need to hear these.”

  “On my way.”

  Pulse pounding, he unlocked his car and slid inside. Ten minutes later he pulled into a parking space, snaking some poor schmuck’s spot who’d decided to take an early lunch. Eleven o’clock and already people were vying to escape their tiny cubicles to take advantage of the good weather before the storm front forecasted for early afternoon moved in.

  What would it be like to escort Aslyn to lunch, seating her at one of those sidewalk tables with the huge umbrellas overhead? What would it be like to hold her hand, flirt, and talk about unimportant things? He’d never done lighthearted, but damn if he didn’t want Aslyn to be his first.

  Three days. He swore harshly under his breath. Three days with her watching TV, talking, spending time in comfortable silence, playing cards, making love… Fucking. Not making love, but fucking. Jesus, he couldn’t allow himself to start thinking of sex between them as more than that. To begin calling the sex anything more tender—more meaningful—would be a slippery slope the size of Mount Vesuvius.

  And yet the thought of another man fucking, making love to, hell, touching her, triggered a Hulk-Smash response to pound the hell out of something.

  Yeah, he was losing it.

  He bounded up the steps to the brownstone. Within seconds he pulled open the door to their suite and, tossing a brief greeting to Sara, cut a path directly to Rafe’s office. He rapped out a perfunctory knock on the door then entered.

  “I have it ready.” Rafe stood and rounded the desk, holding out Aslyn’s cell. Fury rippled through him, but the hand that accepted the phone remained steady. He blanked the rage and fingers of fear tickling his throat. A couple of swipes to the phone’s screen, and he pressed the cell to his ear.

  Message one:

  “Whore! You’ll pay for that little stunt! Do you think you can hide from me? You’re mine. Mine!”

  Message two:

  “Where are you, Aslyn? Are you lying on your back for that bastard? Are you fucking him? You’re going to pay for betraying me, slut! You dirty cu—”

  Message three:

  “Where the fuck are you, Aslyn? Where the fuck are you, Aslyn? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, ASLYN?”

  And on and on they played. Twenty messages in all. Each more frenzied and rage-filled than the one before it. Chay listened to them all, the vitriol even more eerie and disturbing because it was delivered in that altered, mechanical voice.

  When the last message ended, he powered down the phone, staring at the device as if it had answers to offer up.

  “Same number?” he murmured.

  “Same number,” Rafe verified. “He’s spiraling.”

  “Yeah, he is.” He stored the cell in his pocket. “Let me have the rest of her belongings.” Rafe scooped the clear, plastic bag off his desk and handed it to Chay. “We need to end this. Draw him out some way and end this.”

  For Aslyn’s sake. Before the raging lunatic in those voicemails completely derailed.

  “Okay.” Rafe hiked a hip on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “What are you thinking?”

  “Me. As bait.” He arched an eyebrow. “After all, I’m ‘the bastard’ she’s,” he paused, choking on the fucker’s words, “lying on her back for. This guy wants to find Aslyn. And since I’m the only one who knows her location, I’m betting he comes to me.”

  Rafe nodded, a fierce frown darkening his expression. “It’s what I would do. He’s obviously figured out she’s not in Canton, and that you’re not home, either. If I were him, I’d camp out on your doorstep here at the office, wait for you to show up, and follow you from here.” His eyes narrowed. “So what if it works? You intend to lead him somewhere and confront him? Without any of us as backup?”

  “I’m not suicidal,” Chay ground out between clenched teeth.

  “I’m not saying you are,” Rafe snapped, shooting off the desk. He charged up to Chay before spinning around and, swearing under his breath, paced away. “I’m not saying you are, damn it. But I am worried you won’t be as careful as you should be. Chay—” He shook his head, sighing. “Chay, I’m your best friend. Your business partner. I’ve spent more time around you than anyone. You think I haven’t noticed how much deeper into yourself you’ve sunk
? How much quieter you’ve grown? How you’ve pulled away?”

  Chay didn’t want to have this conversation. Damn sure didn’t want to explain how in the last eight months he’d been like Atlas shouldering a world of guilt. Because his friends had helped him cover up Richard’s murder so long ago, Gabe had lost his wife and son. Leah, Gabe’s fiancée, had almost been killed. Mal’s business had suffered almost to the point of losing it. Rafe, like the other three, now had a criminal record.

  Chay had brought that hell down on them. Now that they possessed happiness in their lives, Chay refused to taint it with the demons of guilt and rage that still tormented him. He couldn’t confess the details of his darkest secret to them. His friends deserved their joy—their happily ever after.

  “I’m fi—” He stopped, glared at the wall behind Rafe’s desk. “I’m not fine,” he finally growled. “But I’m not suicidal—either by my hand or someone else’s. And if I go through with this plan, I would have you track my car. I wouldn’t go into it alone. I wouldn’t hurt you, Gabe, or Mal like that.”

  Liar.

  Some of the worry and anger drained from Rafe’s face. “Whatever you need, okay? Let me know.”

  Chay nodded. The plastic bag containing Aslyn’s property in his hand, he left Rafe’s office, the need to be with her like a steady throb he couldn’t ease. It wasn’t physical though—not all of it. The knot in his gut wouldn’t be entirely loosened by a stroke of her hand or the clasp of her thighs. Only the teasing wickedness of her smile would do. Or the softness of her gaze. Or the whisper of her breath across his lips. He didn’t analyze the strength of the desire. Didn’t dare stare it in the face.

  He entered the reception area and drew up short. A tall, dark-haired man in his early to mid-forties loomed over Sara’s desk. From the flat line of her mouth, he was obviously trying her legendary good humor. She flicked a glance in Chay’s direction and smiled, the gesture wavering and relieved.

  “Chay,” Sara said, rising from her chair. “This is Liam Ahearn. I told him you and Rafe were in a meeting but he’s…adamant about speaking with him.”

  “Chayot Grey? Aslyn’s neighbor?” Liam demanded, charging forward and halting just short of violating Chay’s personal space. Anger suffused Aslyn’s manager’s face. “Where is she? I’ve tried calling her, but she doesn’t answer. I’ve gone by the house in Canton, but she isn’t there. Do you know where she is?”

  “Thanks, Sara.” Chay smiled at his assistant. “I’ll tell Rafe.” He returned his attention to Liam, and the smile dropped from his mouth. “Follow me, Mr. Ahearn.” Without waiting for his agreement, he pivoted and headed toward his office.

  He opened his office door, flicked on the light.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured toward the armchairs in front of his desk.

  “I’ll stand,” he snapped, crossing his arms.

  Chay shrugged, the calculated nonchalance concealing the lick of fire in his chest. “Suit yourself. But one thing you will do,” he said, voice lowering to an I’m-two-steps-away-from-fucking-you-up growl. “When we finish in here, you’ll apologize to the woman you were rude to. She’s my employee and was only doing her job. I don’t know how they do it in L.A., but in Boston we respect women for that, instead of intimidating them.”

  More color flagged Liam’s cheekbones. At least the other man had the grace to appear ashamed. “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I allowed my worry over Aslyn make me behave rudely. I will apologize to her.”

  Chay didn’t reply. Liam couldn’t conjure up an excuse good enough for his behavior.

  The manager huffed out a rough sigh and scrubbed a hand down his face and jaw, which sported a light stubble. As if he’d been too busy—or addled—to shave. He glanced away, fiddling with a ring on his right ring finger. “Have you heard from Aslyn?”

  Chay crossed his arms. “Yes.”

  Liam closed his eyes, and a visible shudder coursed over his lean frame. “Oh thank God,” he whispered. All the fight eked out of him, and he palmed the back of the armchair, leaning heavily on it for support. “Is she okay?”

  “Yes,” Chay repeated, and then relayed the events of the past few days.

  “Oh my God,” Liam rasped, pale. “It’s just like before. When she called about the photographs, I hoped it wasn’t a repeat… Jesus Christ, I can’t believe this is happening again.” He shook his head as if trying to cast dark thoughts away. “Where is she?”

  “In a safe location. It wasn’t safe for her to return to your rental house.”

  Liam shook his head. “No, no, of course not. You have to take me to her—”

  “No,” Chay stated flatly.

  “Wh-what?” Liam stuttered to a stop. “Why? I’m her manager—”

  “No,” Chay repeated. “I’ll take a message to her, but I won’t take you to the safe house.”

  Stunned, the other man gaped at Chay, straightening. “I don’t understand. She’s my friend.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re her friend. While she might trust you, I don’t know you. And her situation is too dangerous for me to risk her safety in the hands of anyone I don’t know.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he snapped. Rage poured back into Liam again. It flattened his mouth, narrowed his eyes, and tightened his fists. “We’re family. I would never hurt her. And she wouldn’t appreciate you keeping me away from her when she needs her friends more than ever in a time like this.”

  “Possibly. Probably,” Chay amended. “But her protection comes first. Do you have a message to give her?”

  Liam curled his lip and glared at Chay for several long moments. “Yes. Please ask her to call me.” Pause. “If you will allow it.”

  Chay ignored the dig. Barely. This snotty prick was her best friend? Shit, she needed to get out more. “I’ll tell her.”

  Without another word, Liam stalked out of the office. Seconds later, Chay caught the low hum of Liam’s voice and Sara’s lighter tone. Good. He’d apologized. Still, Chay didn’t believe Aslyn’s manager would be as acquiescent in his determination to see his client. He exited his office and returned to Rafe’s.

  Time for a game of vehicular hide-and-seek.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Aslyn noticed the instant the lock started turning on the front door.

  Keep your ass in the chair, her pride snarled.

  She couldn’t fly across the room like some Civil War southern belle welcoming her man home from combat. The man had gone on an errand for a couple of hours, not to the Battle of Gettysburg. If she didn’t keep her cool then Chay and Riley, the guard Chay had placed on house duty, would both realize she’d been watching the door like a chicken hawk, hungrily waiting for Chay’s return.

  So, she kept playing the piano, not stopping when Chay entered the condo. His gaze immediately sought her out, and her heart drummed against her rib cage. Oh to hell with games. She was locked away in a safe house with a deranged stalker on her tail. When Chay caught him—because she harbored no doubt he would—their time together would come to an end. She’d return to L.A. and prepare for the concert in Puerto Rico. He would go on with his life here in Boston. Something from deep within her shouted a desperate, No!

  She surged to her feet. The bench rolled back, the carpet preventing it from traveling far.

  Chay’s eyes narrowed, and Riley fell silent. His shrewd scrutiny settled on her, then switched back to Chay. A sly smile tipped the corners of his mouth.

  “Since you’re back, Chay, I’ll cut out,” Riley said.

  “Okay. Thanks for coming through on short notice.”

  The two men shook hands, and the bodyguard left, Chay locking the door behind him. After setting the alarm, he turned, facing her again, and she couldn’t tear her attention away from him. Gold and brown hair curtained his angular face, his long-lashed hazel eyes steady and penetrating as a hawk’s. A long-sleeved black T-shirt hugged his torso and arms, and tailored dark slacks emphasized the slimness of his waist, the power of
his muscled thighs. Tall, big, sleek. Almost predatory.

  The man was gorgeous.

  God, had it only been a week since she’d blurted that same thought out in a roomful of officers? So much had happened in the last seven days. She’d had cops in her home, become the target of another stalker, almost been kidnapped, and been scurried away to a safe house.

  She’d also met a beautiful, sexy as hell, complicated man who should receive a W-2 for the mind-blowing orgasms he doled out. A man who reached into her chest and twisted her heart with a reserve that hid scars she suspected went soul deep and hadn’t completely healed over.

  Sometimes life could be a bitch—like ugly-stepsister bitch. And other times? It could be the fairy godmother—unexpected. Magical.

  That was Chay. One of those surprising, miraculous moments.

  How did a person walk away from a miracle?

  “What are you thinking about?” He cocked his head to the side, closing the distance between them.

  Pulse hammering, she spun around, lowering the keyboard cover and replacing the bench. Anything to keep her hands busy and off of him.

  “N-nothing,” she stammered. “How did your meeting go?”

  He halted next to the piano. Slid his hands in the front pockets of his pants. “Fine,” he said shortly. “I went by the office afterward and had a visitor. Liam.”

  She whipped around, shock blanking her mind. “Liam?” Delight spiraled through her. “Are you serious? What is he doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “Damn.” She pressed a palm to her forehead before tapping it with a loose fist. “Damn,” she repeated. “With everything that’s happened, I forgot to call him. He must be so worried.” She’d been so wrapped up in, first, being kidnapped, then Chay, she’d left her friend and manager dangling in the wind, anxious about her safety. Especially since the last time they’d spoken, Rafe had been installing a security system in her home after she’d received those disturbing photographs. Liam had warned her if one more incident occurred, he would hop a plane to Boston. Apparently, after not hearing from her in days, he’d assumed that “one more” thing had happened. “I have to call him. Can I use your phone?”