“I don’t hate you,” she told the pictures, and wondered why she did.
She and her parents had the best relationship possible considering her parents quite possibly didn’t understand what love was. She didn’t know how many times she’d heard growing up that they probably wouldn’t have stayed together if her father hadn’t knocked her mother up. London could see him now, rocking up on his heels as he informed her that Jonnie Brooke always did the right thing. He would ruffle her hair and tell her never to spend any length of time with anyone who didn’t always do the right thing.
It took her years to understand half of what her father had told her. Probably because it took her a lot fewer years to figure out that her parents were crooks. “I know I held that against you both for a long time.”
She continued touching the pictures, staring at them, and letting memories flood her brain. There had been times when she’d scream at her mother and father, threaten to turn them in to the cops. Most of the time it was the threat she’d use just to get them to buy her something she wanted.
“I really was a brat,” she mused, remembering some of the hateful things she’d screamed at both of them.
Neither one of them had changed. If these pictures were recent, and London guessed they might be, they looked great, both of them happy, obviously still together. Although it had been four years since she’d seen them, they didn’t hold her rebellious growing-up years against her. And neither one of them would qualify as a candidate for Parent of the Year.
There were parents who would come to the lodge, hauling their children along with them, and speak more hatefully to them than her parents ever did to her. Maybe there was a time or two when she’d been left behind, but only because they wouldn’t involve her in any of their business deals. London had slept in cars, searched Dumpsters for food, and worn the same clothes for more days than she could remember. Whenever her parents came back for her, and they always did, it was with kind words.
She didn’t remember a lot of “I love you” being said. Jonnie and Ruby never blessed her with lots of hugs and kisses. But they didn’t yell at her and they always came back. Did that make them better or worse parents than the ones she’d see at the lodge who would bite their kids’ heads off, call them names, and stuff a few bills in their hands and tell them to get lost so their parents could have fun?
London looked at the first group of pictures, then the second group again. The note that accompanied the first group sat to the side, and when she noticed it her reminiscing moments ended. A knot formed in her chest and she suddenly hated that note.
Say good-bye to your mother and father. You’re never going to see them again.
Someone had a lot of nerve telling her she wouldn’t see her parents again.
That was probably the best plan. If she could find her parents, she could talk to them about this. They really needed to know, especially if someone was taking pictures without her mom and dad knowing it. London wouldn’t go as far as to think either of them would protect her or assure her everything would be okay. Neither of them had ever done that with her.
“And how in the hell am I going to find them?” London remembered deciding to search for her parents once when she’d been about twelve.
They’d told her to stay put in a motel room. The room had been paid for through the following few days. She had a six-pack of Coke, several TV dinners, and a bag of cookies to live off of while they were gone. If memory served, London seemed to recall also having some money she’d managed to save up from the times her father had slipped her a dollar bill for some task she’d done. Her parents had told her to stay in the room and not leave. She wasn’t supposed to open the curtains, and no way was she to answer the door.
It was the only time she’d decided to go searching for them. The details of the memory blurred in and out of her thoughts, but it was the thunderstorm that stuck clearly in her mind. She’d looked everywhere for them, never found them, and then couldn’t get back in her room. It was the only time she’d ever broken into a place, and she endured the scrapes on her knees silently, without her parents ever noticing they were there, after she managed to climb in the bathroom window.
London had learned two things that night. One, finding her parents when they took off was an impossible task. And two, breaking and entering was not for her. She’d been terrified, soaked and shaking miserably, and all she’d done was work an old, dilapidated window open, hoist herself to the windowsill, and fall to the bathroom floor. That was when she’d hurt her knees, not trying to get in but after she was in the motel room, when she’d hit the bathroom floor. A life of crime wasn’t for her. She seriously sucked at the very basics.
“And it’s not like I can hire a private detective to find them,” she decided, speaking to the pictures. “Like I can send someone who makes a living out of chasing down criminals after my parents.”
London dragged her fingers through her hair and fell back on her pillows. The pictures remained scattered around her. There was no one to turn to for help with any of this. She couldn’t help herself, either. When it came down to it, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do other than live without knowing why someone was sending her pictures.
*
Marc rolled over in bed when the phone in the room rang a second time. He fumbled with the receiver, rubbed his eyes, and propped himself up on an elbow.
“Hello,” he grumbled, wondering what time it was.
“You sound good when you first wake up.” London’s soft, sultry tone in his ear brought his dick to full attention.
“I was just dreaming about you,” he said, falling back on his pillows. “And trust me, if it had been anyone else on the other end of the line I probably would have chewed them out for interrupting us.”
Her laughter sounded just as good. “Well, I’m sorry to break up the party. You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” she added, sounding cheerful and relaxed.
He could see her in his head and knew her well enough after just under two weeks to know no one else was around. Her professional tone was flat, friendly sounding but lacking the sensuality and smooth, sexy sound he was enjoying right now.
“I would love to do more than just tell you about it.” It was an invitation, if she would take the bait. The moment of silence that followed encouraged him. She was thinking about it. “So did you miss me so much you had to call? What time is it anyway?”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“Oh crap!” Marc sat up and tossed the covers off him.
“I didn’t know you slept this late.”
“I don’t, usually. It was a late night last night.”
“Oh really? What did you do?” she asked.
He’d driven around in town a lot longer than he should have fighting the urge to show up over at her house. “I went out to eat and did a bit of shopping,” he told her, which was also all true. Instead of heading back to the lodge afterward, he’d gone by her house.
“Sounds fun,” she told him, a bit of her cheerful tone fading.
Had she wanted to see him? Did she need him again as much as he wanted her? Their first time fucking had been so damn intense it hardly qualified as friends with benefits and sure as hell outrated a one-night stand. Marc hated admitting he was in a predicament he hadn’t seen coming and wasn’t sure how to play it out properly. It would be too easy to get seriously involved with London, and although giving her space seemed the logical answer, doing it was proving harder than he thought.
“I was alone,” he added, not sure why he told her that but sensing she wanted to hear it.
“Do you like going out by yourself?” she asked.
He’d guessed right. That cheerful, almost flirtatious tone returned in her voice.
“I’d much rather go out with you.” He was at a disadvantage. His brain was still foggy from sleep. If he were more clearheaded he was sure he would give better responses, keep the conversation light, maybe even playful. Instead he wa
s dropping hard-core honesty on her. “I want to see you again,” he added, doing it again. Maybe caffeine would help.
“Sounds great.” Her professional tone—someone was at the counter. “Oh, and there is a delivery here for you. It’s at the front desk and you can pick it up when it’s convenient for you.”
“You won’t bring it up to me?” he asked.
There was a slight pause. They both knew upon request guests could have almost anything brought to their rooms. London had already told him she wouldn’t enter his room. Marc knew he’d just put her on the spot and decided to wait out her hesitation to see what she would say.
“Of course,” she finally conceded. “I’ll bring it up shortly.”
“Give me fifteen minutes. I want to be freshly showered when you get here. Unless of course you’d like to join me and scrub my back.”
He could have sworn she groaned. Smiling as he pictured her facing another guest and trying her damnedest to retain her professional composure, Marc felt no remorse as he stood next to his bed naked and stretched.
“As you wish. Thank you, Marc.” She hung up on him without allowing him time to respond.
He wasn’t sure which sounded better, coming up in fifteen minutes or cleaning his back. Not that he cared. Knowing he’d see London soon put him in a better mood than it should have. Marc grabbed clean clothes and headed for the shower fantasizing about having her in there with him before he even turned on the water.
*
London held the small box that was from some media company in her hand as she knocked on Marc’s door. She had no idea what was in it and hadn’t heard of the company that had sent it. Maybe it was time to ask Marc again what he did for a living. It seemed he dodged that question whenever she asked. He worked for a family business in L.A. That was all she knew. She’d been tempted to do some snooping, learn more about him. But doing so would suggest she wanted more from Marc than a casual relationship.
Marc smelled like shampoo and soap and a musky aftershave. She itched to feel how smooth his jaw probably was as she smiled at his freshly shaved face. But even more so, thoughts of running her fingers over the tight, still slightly damp curls spread across his muscular chest made her forget what she was going to say.
“Come on in.” Marc held the door for her, stepping to the side so she could enter.
“You know I can’t come in,” she whispered, her heart pattering a mile a minute as a small voice in her head assured her it would be okay to be in his room for just a little bit.
“You’re kidding.” He really looked disappointed. “Would you really stand in the hallway and wait for your tip from another guest?”
Of course she wouldn’t. London walked into his room, taking in his king-sized bed with one side completely crumpled and blankets twisted. There was an indentation in the pillows where his head had been. She bet he’d been all relaxed and warm when she called and woke him up. His rough baritone had sounded so damn good when he’d answered the phone.
“Here is your package,” she offered, holding the box out to him. “And you don’t have to tip me.”
Marc closed the door behind her. He moved faster than she anticipated, wrapping his arms around her waist and lowering his head so his freshly shaved cheek was pressed against hers.
“What do you have for me?” he asked, turning to nibble on her ear before moving one hand in front of her to adjust the box in her hand. “‘Media Corp,’” he said, reading the return address label. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“You didn’t order something?” She stiffened and almost dropped the box.
Marc took it from her, letting her go but then pressing his hand against her back and guiding her past his bed. She took a calming breath when he sat down by his laptop and picked up his keys, which were on the desk. Using one of them as a knife, he slit the tape down the middle and along the sides.
He looked up at her several times while opening the box. “I guess it is weird to get something in the mail while you’re on vacation when you’re not expecting it. Don’t let it startle you, though. Are you okay? I swear you’re suddenly white as a ghost.”
She touched her cheeks and grinned at him, feeling stupid and chastising herself. Marc was perceptive. It should flatter her that he was so in tune to her reactions. She hadn’t missed his stressing that he went out alone the other night, as if he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn’t spending time with another lady after having fucked her. Some men would, considering it their vacation so no rules applied. Which was why she steered clear of all guests when it came to accepting dates. Marc had made a point of letting her know he was thinking about her, couldn’t wait to be with her again, and was alone when they weren’t together.
“I guess I just assumed you’d ordered something. You didn’t seem surprised when I told you I had a delivery for you.”
“You had me at a disadvantage. I’d just woken up,” he admitted. “I worried I was too honest and up-front with you on the phone.”
“You did? How so?” Her attention shifted to the box, which was now open, although she couldn’t see its contents. Although he held it in his hands, his attention was on her.
He wasn’t in any hurry to see what was inside. Maybe it was something from his work and it had been sent to him. Possibly he received packages all the time and therefore wouldn’t be excited to find out what would show up in the mail. London willed her heart to quit beating. There wasn’t anything she could do about it if he didn’t want her to know what he did for a living. Marc was smart. She should be, too. They could get involved yet keep their distance. Nothing about their personal lives.
Marc put the box on the desk and took her hands, bringing them to his mouth. “I told you I was dreaming about you, and I was. I really want to see you again and I was out so late last night because I drove by your house at least five times before forcing myself to come back here to my room. Then I couldn’t fall asleep because the hard-on I had wouldn’t go away. Masturbation loses its appeal when there is one hot, sexy lady nearby.”
London laughed, enjoying the hell out of his honesty. It really sucked if he would go away and she wouldn’t ever see him again. Marc was nothing more than one huge teddy bear. Although he was far from soft and cuddly. He was hard as steel, with muscles bulging everywhere, and taller than most men. But it was what was inside, a heart of gold and pure as driven snow.
“Sounds like a personal problem,” she said, still laughing. London bet anyone who knew this man saw him as nothing more than a really big sweetheart. His size and all that muscle might frighten some, but not anyone who took time to know him. “Why didn’t you stop by?” If he had, he would have caught her going through all of those pictures. Or maybe she would have put them away sooner and done something better with her evening than get all soft inside over her parents when she didn’t even know where they were.
“You don’t mind if I stop by unannounced?”
“I don’t mind.”
Marc stood and pulled her into his arms, kissing her until she was sure she would melt right there. He would make returning to work pure torture. And that was exactly where she needed to go.
“Aren’t you going to see what’s in the box?” she asked, curious if he wasn’t opening it because he didn’t want her to see what might be inside. “Could it be something from your work?” she pressed.
“I seriously doubt that,” he said, letting her go and picking up the box.
Marc opened the flaps and pulled out crinkled paper. A figurine slipped into his hand with the paper. “What’s this?” he asked, studying it.
“It’s a figurine or doll of some sort.” London grabbed a wad of crinkled paper before it fell to the floor.
Marc held up what was actually two figurines, attached to each other—a bride and groom. Except the bride was missing her head.
“What the fuck?” Marc hissed, digging deeper into the small box and pulling out the rest of the packing. He put the box on the desk, star
ed at the damaged bride-and-groom as his scowl deepened. “Where did this come from?”
Something unpleasant twisted inside London’s gut. It rose to her throat in a nasty bile. She stared at the wedding couple that were attached at the foot and hand. It was the type of figurine someone would put on top of a wedding cake, except the bride’s head was gone.
“Are you sure you didn’t order something to be sent here? Do you know this company?” She reached for the box, trying to get her brain to work. There was a logical explanation here. Marc wouldn’t start getting bizarre things in the mail simply because she was.
“I didn’t order anything,” he said, taking the box before she could see the return address. “Who delivered this?”
“It came with all the mail today. Sometimes guests get mail and we sort through it and contact them, as I did with you.”
“So the mailman brought in all the mail and you sorted through it and found this?”
She stared at him. That’s what she just said. There was a hard edge to his expression that wasn’t usually there. It didn’t scare her, although Marc could definitely intimidate someone with his size alone if he wanted. London didn’t sense anything like that. What she picked up on were vibes so strong she easily saw his determination to figure this out. Apparently Marc liked a good mystery a bit more than most. His expression hardened as he shifted his attention from her to the box.
“I just told you it came in the mail,” she said, suddenly wanting the deformed figurine to disappear. She grabbed the wrapping paper, wadding all of it up in her hands and tossing it in his trash. “If you didn’t order it, maybe it can be returned.”
“London,” he said, his tone softening. “I didn’t order it, but someone sent it to me.” He tilted the box and pointed to the mailing label he’d sliced through to open the box. “It’s got my name on it and this room number. That bothers me. No one knows I’m here other than my family. If you don’t mind, humor me. Let’s walk through everything that happened from the moment you saw the box.”
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