Trouble

by Tia Louise

  Shaking my head, I turn, carrying the box into the house. “Just somebody I used to know.”

  I pass Tom waiting with both fists clenched at his side. I’m sure he had a front-row seat to my humiliation.

  Spencer gives him a nod, following me inside. “Is he a client?”

  “He was a client.” I put the box on the formal dining room table, wondering what in the world I left that Nadine was so worried I might go back to get.

  Glad to know she’s feeling secure.

  Sarcasm.

  “Hey.” Spencer catches my arm, pulling me so I have to face him.

  His dark brow is lowered. His hazel eyes are stormy and full of protective worry.

  He looks like a man who cares, a man who would sit up at night, even if he was tired, to comfort a scared little boy and help him feel better. He looks like a man who would figure out a way to get ice cream on a moment’s notice.

  He looks like a man who knows how to be good…

  Why isn’t he?

  “I don’t want you seeing him anymore.”

  My teeth clench, and an old bitterness tightens my throat. “Are you saying I can’t treat male clients?”

  “I’m saying I don’t like that guy. If he’s a client, I don’t want you treating him.”

  “Maybe you don’t have the right to say that to me.”

  His eyes flash with anger, and he steps forward, jaw tight. “Maybe not, but I’m saying it.”

  “You know who else said I couldn’t treat male clients? Fucking Elliot.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t treat male clients. I’m saying you can’t treat that male client. He’s an asshole. He made you cry, and if I see him again, I’ll punch his lights out.”

  We’re both breathing fast, our bodies so close the heat radiates between us. I’m ready to collapse into his arms when a soft throat-clearing breaks the spell.

  “If you’re all done here.” Tom the Tank stands at the doorway, seeming embarrassed and satisfied at the same time.

  It’s an odd combination.

  “I’m done.” Turning on my heel, I storm all the way to my room and shut the door.

  * * *

  When I open my eyes again, it’s dark.

  Grabbing the clock, I can’t believe it’s after nine. I came back here, curled up in my bed, and cried until I fell asleep—all over that idiot and his harpy girlfriend, which is so dumb.

  So, so dumb.

  The box he brought is sitting on the floor beside my bed, and I consider taking it outside and burning it. I don’t want anything they’ve touched.

  Ollie is snoring in his bed across the room, and I creep as quietly as possible out the door. I’m not starving, but I’m awake, and I didn’t have dinner. Maybe I can find some of that ice cream Julien bought. It’s one of the only two things that could make me feel better right now.

  Creeping towards the kitchen, I stop short when I hear the clink of ice against crystal. Spencer is sitting in the same leather chair he was in last night when I watched him be so amazing with Oliver.

  Again, he’s in a dress shirt—light blue this time—with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His hair is a delicious mess of dark waves dropping over his dark brow. Scruff covers his square jaw, and he seems perplexed. On the large screen attached to the wall is that nature show he and Ollie were watching, still on silent.

  “Spencer?” My voice is quiet, and I walk closer to where he’s sitting, seeming lost.

  At the sound of my voice, he straightens. “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep. Did I wake you?”

  My lips press together, and I shake my head. “No. I’m on the quest for some more of that ice cream. Or something.”

  I shrug and exhale a laugh. He doesn’t smile.

  He studies me like I’m something he can’t understand, like I’m something he’s never seen before. With an exhale and a shake of his head, it’s gone.

  “I’m sure there’s ice cream left in the freezer. I told Julien to get enough to last a week.”

  I take a step towards the kitchen, but then I stop. It’s late, and we’re both tired. He’s had a glass of scotch… it seems like as good a time as any to ask.

  “Yesterday you told me you understood Ollie. What did you mean?”

  His expression is closed, and I feel certain he’s not going to tell me. The room is quiet, and the tall, gold-faced grandfather clock beside the bookcase ticks loudly. My eyes flick to the television screen as a school of brilliantly colored fish swish past.

  Nothing happens.

  Still, I wait, hoping he’ll tell me, preparing for him not to, wishing he would, wishing he would trust me enough to let me in those walls again.

  My shoulders drop, and when I’ve decided it’s a lost cause, he speaks. “My father was abusive.” It’s a quiet statement of fact, but my breath stills.

  I don’t know what to say, and he continues.

  “He beat my mother so many times, I lost count.” His expression is neutral as he tilts the crystal back and forth. “No matter how hard I begged her, she would never leave him, so I thought I could protect her myself. That’s when he started beating me.”

  His eyes focus on the brilliant Persian rug on the floor, and he lifts the tumbler to take a small sip. He seems so far away.

  “How old were you?”

  “I was Ollie’s age when they took me away from them.”

  I think about what he’s told me, what I know about him, and I’m confused. “They took you away from your father? The antiques legend? I thought he left you all this money…”

  “That would be my foster father, Drake Carrollton. My real father was a drunk abuser named Daniel Keane. My birth name was Spencer Keane. Drake had it legally changed.”

  Sadness tightens my chest, and I have no words.

  He continues calmly, like he’s reading from a history book. “For two years, I would have black eyes, unexplained bruises, cuts… The county finally stepped in when he hurt me so badly, I had to go to the ER.”

  Closing my eyes, I realize. “The scar on your back.”

  Hazel eyes flicker to mine, and they’re so deep, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. I only know this is sacred ground we’re treading. He’s taking me into a hidden place.

  “Drake Carrollton wasn’t a good man either. He wasn’t even a legend as much as he was a hoarder. He was a dusty old dragon who lived for finding and amassing treasure. He procured me because he was smart enough to know he needed an heir, and I suppose he saw some value in having a helper as he got older. No love was lost between us.”

  His eyes move to the shelves filled with what I’d always assumed were treasures he’d collected. I want to argue with him, to try and say he must be wrong. Instead, I listen, dropping to my knees beside him as he escorts me through this dusty, dark place in his past, this shadowy corner where the ghosts live.

  “He taught me all about this stuff, taught me the worth of every piece. When he died, I was able to catalog his estate and turn it into even more money than he had when he was alive.” Spencer places the glass on the end table. “He never traveled; he never lived his life. He stayed in his cave, clutching his gold like it would ever love him. All these precious things.”

  “Is that why they mean nothing to you?” My voice is so small.

  “They’re only things, Sin. Forgotten pieces of junk.”

  “Sometimes they’re more. Sometimes they have meaning—heirlooms, wedding rings…”

  He looks down at me and lifts his empty hand. “Sometimes.”

  With the tips of his fingers, he touches the edge of my hair along my cheek. I tilt my head to the side and give him a small smile. I want to comfort him if only he would let me.

  “I didn’t have anything else to do, so this became my life.”

  “You could have more if you wanted.” Warmth fills my tone, warmth and longing. “You could have love, a family…”

  His expression hardens. “My father was an abuser, which mean
s I’ll likely be one too. I don’t know if that capability is in me. Perhaps it’s not, but I’m not willing to find out.”

  “You’re not an abuser. I’ve been with you; I’ve seen how you are with the people you care about. I’ve seen how you are with me, with Ollie.”

  “I have my share of dark thoughts. Possibly more than my share—”

  “Of thoughts? Everyone has thoughts, Spencer. I have thoughts of wanting to kill Ozzy for threatening my friend, for menacing me, for ruining his little boy’s life. Today I actually fantasized throwing that box in Elliot’s stupid face.”

  His chin lifts, and he exhales a little ah. “That was Elliot. Good to know.”

  “My point is, thoughts aren’t actions. You would never hurt me.”

  “Perhaps. I’ve never allowed myself to be in a situation I couldn’t control.”

  The tone in his voice sends a tingle through my stomach, and I’m ready to fight for this man.

  “You wouldn’t. The beast never hurt Beauty. Hades worshipped Persephone—”

  A grim smile curls his full lips. He pushes the dark hair off his brow and stands slowly. “It’s a good analogy. I know the darkness in myself, what I can be, what I’ve wanted to do. I’m not capable of a normal life.”

  “How would you know if you never let yourself try?” Pushing off the floor, I stand beside him, holding his arm.

  “I know.” He pats my hand. “Goodnight, Joselyn.”

  My jaw drops as he crosses the room to the stairs, climbing slowly to his suite alone. I watch him disappear into the darkness, like he’s done every night we’ve been here.

  So respectful.

  So distant.

  So cold.

  Only, I understand now, and he’s dead wrong if he thinks I’m giving up on him, especially now that I know what I’m fighting against.

  Chapter 26

  Spencer

  Having them here is not how I thought it would be.

  Of course, that’s assuming I thought it through before I took one look at Joselyn’s battered face and lost my shit.

  It was an impulsive decision, and now her presence one floor down, one bedroom below mine, is a constant temptation. At the same time, Oliver is a constant reminder.

  He’s a tiny skeleton key slipping in and unlocking a lifetime’s worth of memories. I’ve felt everything he’s feeling. I’m well acquainted with all of his fears. I faced the dread he’s struggling with, only he’s in the very early stages of figuring out what it means, how his future will go.

  I know where that lonely road leads. I know the questions he’s asking himself. In my case, I never had anyone to show me what real love and sacrifice could look like. I went from a home where my mother chose a monster over me and herself.

  Then I lived with a bitter old man, a different type of monster, who clutched his valuables to himself like they would keep him alive.

  Oliver won’t be like me. He has his mother and Joselyn to show him love and teach him a different way to live.

  Stopping at the credenza, I brace my hands on the countertop and grip the wood. My shoulders are tense, and I drop my head, exhaling heavily. Not only did I revisit Daniel, I revisited Drake. My two dads, both with names starting with the letter D like some sick joke.

  In those days, I had hope like Oliver. When the woman from the state introduced me to my foster dad, I thought I was going to be like one of those children in the C.S. Lewis stories.

  Drake was an old professor type with a gray beard and disheveled gray hair. He pointed a long, crooked finger at me like I was a Limoges or a Qing dynasty vase.

  He picked me out like he picked out all of his possessions, after much careful analysis and research. He ascertained I was intelligent and quiet. He taught me everything he knew, then he died.

  He left me richer, and more broken than he ever was.

  “You’re not broken, you’re only badly bruised.” Her soft voice lights my entire body like the touch of a spark.

  Joselyn is beside me, sliding her hand over mine, gripping my wrist as her body draws closer to mine.

  “What are you doing here?” My voice is rough.

  “I’m here for you.” Slim fingers thread in the back of my hair, and my eyes slide closed.

  “Joselyn…” It’s half whisper, half groan. “I said I would respect your boundaries.”

  “You said you wouldn’t kiss me again unless I begged you.” She rises on her tiptoes, and her lips graze the shell of my ear. “Please, Mr. Carrollton, please kiss me.”

  Inhaling slowly, I turn to see her standing in front of me, so inviting. She’s wearing a black tank top that barely covers those luscious tits I crave and her silly Unsolved Mysteries pajama bottoms. Her red hair is in a loose band over her shoulder.

  She’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.

  I actually smile. “You followed me to my bedroom.”

  “I’ve been here before.”

  Placing my hands on her shoulders, I slide my palms up and down her creamy, soft skin. “You’re bending your rules?”

  “What rules?” She blinks, giving me a naughty little smile. “You’re the one with all the rules. I’m just trying to keep up.”

  My walls are still down. I haven’t had a chance to rebuild my defenses, and she’s here, inside the gates, moving in front of me with so much heat and warmth and seduction.

  I’m never vulnerable. I’m cold and distant, and she’s standing on my mountain daring me to throw her off… or take her in.

  “What are you doing to me?” I hear the change in my voice.

  “I’m waiting for you to keep your promise.” Her hands slide to my chest, and she lowers to her knees. As she drops, her palms follow, moving to my waist, to my legs, to the front of my pants.

  Her face is at my cock, which has perked up and is ready to join the party. The last time she was in this position, she talked into it like a microphone.

  And I laughed.

  Again, a smile pulls at my lips. “What promise was that?”

  “You said if I begged…” Her eyes return to my pants, and her nails trace the outline of my erection. It makes me groan.

  “Get up here.” Reaching down, I grip her upper arms again and pull her to me. “You want me to kiss you now?”

  Our noses touch, and she’s breathing fast. She nods quickly, blinking from my eyes to my lips and back again. Her breasts rise and fall, sheathed only in thin black cotton. Her nipples are tiny points piercing the fabric.

  She exhales a reply. “Yes, please.”

  My lips cover hers at once, consuming her request. Releasing my grip on her arms, I slide my hands up to her neck, to her jaw, holding her face securely. Her mouth opens, and I sweep my tongue inside, tasting sweet caramel ice cream.

  Pulling her lips with mine, I kiss her cheek, her nose. “You had some ice cream?”

  My lips travel to her eyelids, which are closed.

  “I had a bite…” Her voice is breathy. “Then I came for what I really wanted.”

  Leaning down, I kiss her again. This time, I drive my fingers into her hair, tilting her head so I can consume her more fully. Her head drops back, but her body presses forward against mine. She grips my wrists with her hands, exhaling a soft moan as she pulls me closer.

  Only one way can I get closer.

  Our tongues curl, and I nip at her upper lip with my teeth. She makes me hungry. She makes me feral. She makes me want to mark her body with my teeth, my hands.

  Lifting my head, I meet her eyes, now navy with desire. “I want to fuck you, Sin. Can I?”

  “Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate.

  Catching the bottom of her tank top, I lift it over her head, allowing those luscious girls to spill out. I want to drop to my knees, but I lift her into my arms instead, carrying her to my bed, where she should always be.

  I’m not analyzing that statement too closely right now.

  “Come here.” She reaches for me, and out of curiosity, I stop what I�
�m doing to comply. “You don’t need this.” She unbuttons my shirt starting at the top, following the progress of her fingers with her lips against my heated skin.

  When she gets to the bottom, she slides her tongue over my stomach, kissing a line around the waist of my pants and sending my dick to full mast.

  “Jesus,” I hiss, closing my eyes. I place my hands beside her ears, threading my fingers in her hair. “I want to be inside you when I come.”

  My thigh muscles twitch when she cups my cock with her palm over my pants. “Sorry, guy. You heard the boss.”

  A deep laugh rolls up from my belly, and I grip her under the arms, pulling her to her knees on the side of the bed, placing her face directly across from mine.

  Her blue eyes sparkle with horny mischief, and I’m smiling. I’m actually fucking smiling after that trip through my macabre past.

  My eyes are on her, and she’s blinking up at me. “Don’t overthink it.”

  “Too late.” I’m not sure if my words are meant for her or for me.

  I’ve thought about this so many times, and it’s too late for turning back. My shirt is off, and I pull her to me. Her breasts flatten against my hard chest, and I feel her hands moving fast, working to unfasten my pants and push them down my hips.

  Stepping back, I quickly finish the job, shoving them to the side, and going to the nightstand to grab a condom from the drawer. Ripping it open, I hesitate when I see her perched on the edge of the bed watching me, licking her lips.

  “God, Sin, where did you come from?”

  “A little farther south of you.” I approach the bed, and she rises onto her knees.

  While I grabbed the condom, she removed her pajama pants. Now she’s leaning forward, back arched, lifting her gorgeous tits up to me. Her mouth is luscious and tempting, her red hair falls around her shoulders, and her creamy little ass is soft as a peach.

  Normally, I wouldn’t know where to begin. Tonight, I catch her by the chin and kiss her slowly, growing firmer as my need flames hotter. I hold her waist, moving her onto her back on the bed, kissing her jaw, her neck, her shoulder as I make my way lower.

  Leaning down, I run my nose along the crease of her thigh, teasing her bare pussy with my breath. She moans and slides her ankles together.