“Is she okay?” he falters softly.
My words slip their way through a sigh. “She’s fine. She’s just taking a break.”
“Why did you take her place?”
I wince lifting my arm and slowly lower it over my eyes. “Gaaawwwwdd!” I groan. “Why do you freakin’ care? Marvy is fine. She’s safe, that’s all you need to know.”
A frost mizzles over my tone. I’m angry. Why? Am I angry because of what I’ve done? Betraying Alex? I may never see him again, or Kitta, or Jones and my mom. The thoughts are dark and something I cannot focus on right now. The worst thing I can do is become distracted and lose hope of getting out of here.
Peeking out from under my arm, I play into his assumption. “Besides speaking Italian, what else gave me away?”
Scratching his head, he gives me an adorable half-smile. Stop it, Trista!
“Well, I didn’t see it at first, but then there were little things that add up now. Things like introducing me to your friend, telling me about your family. Marvy never talked about her personal life.”
That figures.
“Then you tried to console me in the car. Marvy would have never done that, plus she wouldn’t have taken ‘no’ for an answer. It hit me on the drive here. First she would have busted my balls about Supak and then after she settled down, Marvy would have been the aggressor. But you gave me control. You were…” His eyes soften.
I sharply inhale and enjoy the release. A flare up of the tightness winds as he speaks though. Like every word is floating above my skin. I cross my ankles and lock my knees to quell the throb between my legs. It doesn’t work.
“Uh…don’t take this the wrong way, but submissive. No, that’s not right. You were alluring and enticing. I didn’t expect it. And then you agreed to wait. She would have never done that.” He chuckles, “Marvy is more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl. To hell with the consequences and all that.”
Lust falls to the wayside and a pang of envy stabs instead. “So, you’ve slept with Marvy?” My face puckers. “You seem to be able to make a comparison pretty easily.” Despite the fact he saved me from my second attack, I know I shouldn’t taunt the man that organized my first one. But I can’t stop my curiosity. A sharp pain shoots up my temple from clenching my jaw for too long.
He backs up a bit, leaning against the window. “No, we haven’t been intimate. We’ve kissed a few times. The last time, she bit my lip and made it bleed.”
The playback runs through my mind in flashcard images. How his eyes looked wild, but perhaps it was Marvy’s fault.
Bryson thumbs his lip bringing attention to the healing gash. “I assume she isn’t too much into courting or even foreplay for that matter. I think she was getting frustrated with me.”
Courting? Who says that anymore?
“Tonight when I saw Rush storm away, I came over to check on Marvy. That’s it. I guess you could say I still had feelings for her. But you…you were so different from the Marvy I knew. I knew it wasn’t her; speaking Italian so fluently. If you’re going to play her, you should know she only speaks French. How did you know about the aria?”
I smile and begin twirling my hair, tangling it up in my fingers. As if in a mist-filled dream I visualize the actors on stage and whisper, “It’s become one of my favorites. Mesto o felice, Dei loro amor.”
Pushing himself away from the window, as if he can feel the gravitational pull too, Bryson returns to the couch, sitting next to me. “That’s not a very Marvy thing to say, you know,” he mocks, shaking his finger.
I giggle, “Yeah, probably. I’ll work on it.”
Bryson brushes my face with his knuckles. “Don’t. Marvy was a passing infatuation. There’s more to you than that, I think.” He leans in, lowering a gentle kiss on my lips. “I want to get to know this twin sister better. I think I’ll like her more.”
My mind buzzes with the simple kiss and his words tickling my lips. The thought of touching him makes my fingers tingle. His heat seeps through his shirt, firing up my own body. He has a foreign effect on me when he touches me and I feel like I’m flying. Bryson runs his fingers through my hair going to the back of my head. I’m dying to run my hands along the rigid peaks of his chest. Discover whether he’s smooth or has that manly kind of chest hair. I begin to unbutton his dress shirt, but he stops me when he pulls his hand back.
“Ummm…maybe we should get you in a shower and cleaned up,” he says, looking at my blood on his fingers.
I crinkled my nose at the crimson stains. “Yeah, good idea.”
AT FIRST, THE HOT SHOWER might as well be vinegar over every slivered cut, but it feels good to get the blood off. Although I move arthritically, I watch my diluted blood funnel down the drain and evaluate the new damages. Surprisingly, I only see cuts and scrapes for now, bruising will more than likely come later. The achy pain that typically comes from a hard run pulls my muscles as I stretch my arms up, and let the hot water massage the fibrous tissue surrounding bone.
Time is not an issue at the forefront of my mind as I stand in a stranger’s shower.
What the hell am I doing? It’s Alex I want to be with and here I am getting hot and heavy with a man almost twice my age. Not to mention small facts–he’s a kidnapper and murderer and who knows what else. But God, when he’s near me and I smell him, all I can think of is… “AAAGGGHHH!” I gnarl.
I’m knee deep in ponderings when my skin goosebumps. The water has gone cold and I notice my fingers are painfully pruned.
Finally emerging from the steamy glass room, I realize I have no other clothes but my bloody dress. Not feeling any urge to put that back on, I grab Bryson’s bathrobe hanging on a hook on the adjacent wall. I wrap myself in the emerald green velour blanket of a robe, enjoying the comfort that engulfs me.
My first steps into the bedroom halt and I see Bryson turning down the bed. My heart leaps with excitement. Not only is he making up a bed for me, he has stripped off the formality of his jacket and his sleeves are rolled up. The veins in his sculpted forearms lead to carved biceps that pull the upper sleeves taunt. Straightening a creased corner of blanket, he moves over the bed with bare feet. His derriere should be a mold for plastic surgeons. Only God could have created this man. Fucking hell, Trista! Lock that shit down.
He catches my ogling and grimaces. “Feel better?” Heat bubbles to my cheeks and I bite down on my lip and nod. “So I grabbed these for you. They’re my ex’s, I think they’ll fit you,” he says, handing me silk pajamas. “I also have some of her clothes so you have something to wear. We can buy everything else as we go. But we can talk about that later. You must be exhausted. I’ll call my doctor in the morning and have him come over to make sure you don’t have a concussion or something. You got smacked around pretty good.”
“Your ex, the supermodel?” I ask after clearing my dry throat and hold up the pajamas.
There’s no way I’m fitting into her clothes!
Eye-balling the matching nightwear, I consider the fact that I have limited options—or none, rather—so I try them on in the bathroom. They fit, to my surprise.
“How did you know my ex is a supermodel? Have you been checking up on me?” he asks from the bedroom.
I scrunch my face like I bit into a sour apple. “Well, I had to know what kind of crowd Marvy was hanging out with.”
That’s believable enough I guess.
“What else do you know about me?”
I didn’t want to tell him too much about my Bryson research. It’s a bit stalkery and kind of creepy. “I just read stuff on the internet. I know you made it big at a young age and have companies all over the world. I know you’ve dated quite a bit according to the rumor rags. And I know you own the Hotel Plage De Sable,” I babble, walking out. “What I don’t know is why you named the restaurant after an aria in an 1800’s controversial opera. Is the restaurant a masked ball? Or is the food so good you look up to the sky? Or is it the literal translation, a kind of rebirth?�
��
I realize I’m blathering on based on the silly grin on Bryson’s face as he places the covers over me when I’m snuggled in the bed. “Good night, Trista,” he says, kissing my forehead.
My lips pull down feeling like a child being put to bed. “Stay. Please? Keep me company till I fall asleep,” I pout. “You have to watch me in case I have a concussion or something, don’t you?” Tossing back half the covers, I’m rewarded when he climbs in. Even though fully clothed, happiness gurgles in my chest with his concession. It’s been a sincerely fucked up day and he feels nice so I contently cuddle up under his arm. “So tell me why you named it Volta la Terrea,” I say in a drowsy tone.
He tightens his hold thereby bringing me closer. “Volta la Terrea is my nonna’s favorite aria too. She sang it all the time. It’s actually quite haunting, but beautiful.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s where we should go, Una Pace Bella. I have property in Italy under my nonna’s maiden name. In Italy, they don’t take the husband’s name so finding us there is near impossible. Do you have a passport?”
The vibrating sound of his voice, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing, combined with the super soft bed is lulling me to sleep. “No,” I yawn. “Una Pace Bella, A Beautiful Peace…that sounds nice.” I intertwine my fingers with his and bury myself deeper in the warmth of his chest, feeling the pull of sleep.
“That’s all right, I know a guy who can get one for you in a few hours. I’ll call him in the morning.”
I tilt my head slightly, muffling into his chest, “I can’t leave, Bryson. I have family and responsibilities.” My eyelids are heavily weighted as my mind begins to drift off.
He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Good night, Trista.” I am burrowed so deeply, he is stuck. He must be exhausted too. Either that or he doesn’t want to wake me, and stays by my side, turning off the light.
TORN FROM SWEAT-DRENCHING dreams, I sit up, short of breath. My body screams with pain, reminding me of last night’s happenstance causing the breaths to become more jagged. The marbles in my head roll from ear to ear making the pain fluid from front to back. I look around confused as to my whereabouts. Drawn cream colored blackout window shades leave me in the dimness of a bedroom. A guest bedroom based on the lack of personal mementos or attachments.
My dry, sleep-encrusted eyes slowly come into focus when I hear Bryson’s voice from another room. He’s talking to someone about the passport. Must be the guy he mentioned last night because I hear my name.
There’s a quiet knock on the door and Bryson pokes his head in. “Oh good, you’re finally awake. I need your last name for your passport. You don’t have I.D. in your purse and I’m on the phone with my guy. We’re meeting him later.”
“It’s Dividir.” Although it’s dark, I notice a puzzling look on his face, but he leaves the room, turning back to his conversation.
Every motion is slow, my rheumatic, inflexible muscles unwilling to obey my brain’s signals. I gingerly walk out to the smell of bacon and coffee and follow the scent with a watering mouth. I didn’t realize how hungry I am till my stomach grumbles. I can’t remember the last time I ate.
“How do you like your eggs?” he asks, handing me a mug of delicious smelling coffee.
“Up,” I say with a guarded eye. He looks very at home standing in front of the stove cooking.
Cracking an egg, he asks quizzically, “Are you Spanish?”
“Half Portuguese,” I answer, pouring milk and a little sugar into the mug. I love how milk makes coffee turn a beautiful tan color. As I stir the mixture, I catch sight of his open laptop with a side glance.
Bryson grabs a prescription bottle and shakes out two white pills. “Do you speak it?” he asks, handing them to me. “Here take these for the pain, I forgot I had them. Eight months ago, I dislocated my shoulder. A stupid climbing accident because I wasn’t paying attention,” he smirks.
“No, just French and Italian,” I say before swallowing the pills. “I’ve never been climbing. Heights aren’t my thing.” Pretending to eye the bacon, my mind is focused on the laptop beside him. “Did you go to the store or something?”
He beams a mega-watt smile. Damn, that’s pretty.
“I did! And I got you these.” There’s a boyish twinkle in his eyes as he pulls out a small bouquet of lilies and complimentary tropical greens. The fragrance of the pink and white bulbous flowers is heavenly.
I smile with doe-like eyes. “Oh Bryson, they’re lovely! Thank you, they’re my favorite!” Inhaling the pink and white petals, I swoon. “They smell divine!”
“You smell divine. They’re my favorite too. I should have gotten you these in the first place,” he leans in and plants a peck on my cheek. “And breakfast is served! I’m gonna jump in the shower. My doctor is coming over in a bit.” I nod, but I’m not really listening.
The second he leaves, I move to the laptop. I wait till I hear shower water running from somewhere above me before I slide my finger along the touchpad, interrupting the screensaver. My fingers dash along the keyboard as I reroute the remote server, tunneling into my own secure server session. I know I don’t have much time so I’ll just send a quick message to Kitta.
“Mk it quick. Am safe. With B, he saved me last night from Supak. At beach house on bluff. Won’t b here long. TTYL, T”
Undoing my protocols, I close my session and access Bryson’s calendar. A slew of meeting reminder windows pop up, but I zone in on Sunday. As I scan the day’s agenda, the only thing noted is a nine p.m. meeting. An address noted, somewhere called Makarska, next to the name Andrijica. I pull up a browser window typing in Makarska. It’s a small town on the Adriatic coastline of Croatia with images of beautiful beaches. My head swings when I hear the water turn off from an upstairs bathroom. With a few simple keystrokes, I erase all evidence of my electronic invasion, and return Bryson’s computer to its normal state. Picking up my mug, I calmly walk to the window. I’m not calm though, my coffee ripples in the mug.
When Bryson returns to the kitchen I have to say something to make him stay. Keep him in the country or at least not want to take me with him. “You can’t leave, Bryson. What are you going to tell your people? The head of a massive tech conglomerate can’t just disappear. We should go about things business as usual.”
He smiles with a crafty lip curl. “After Dr. Mason clears you, we’ll stop at Pete’s for your passport, and then, if you’re okay to travel, we’ll head to the airport. I was already leaving for business in Croatia, supposed to leave today.”
“I can’t jet-set to wherever! People are probably worried about me. Moreover, I have no clothes, no make–up; I don’t even have my phone! Nothing.”
Bryson slams his hand down on the counter, all traces of humor gone. “DAMN IT, MARVY!”
Coffee splatters my feet as I jump at the boom, but pinch my lips as anger claws up my neck. I whip my head around with a seething glare. It’s not because he scared me or yelled it’s because of his slip of the tongue—calling me by her name. “Fuck you, Bryson! Don’t you dare raise your voice to me, you ass. This is entirely your fault. And don’t ever call me by her name again,” I spit.
He moves behind me, wrapping his arms around. I uselessly struggle to break free, since that just makes him hold me tighter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
Our hearts beat in rushed unison as we watch the sea. “You sounded so much like her, I forgot. But you’re not her, nothing like her. You’re…,” He lowers his head, leaning it against mine.
“Look, you can message whomever from the airport. I just want to keep you safe. You…she was all Supak talked about. This is the only way I know how to protect you and her.” He squeezes me tighter, breathing into my hair. “Besides, I think you look more beautiful without all that makeup.”
This fucking man. His nearness and warmth at my back melt my fury. I really wanted to simmer in that shit, but instead I can feel my heart smile.
> “Liar,” I say, rolling my eyes without facing him. My fingers lightly touch across his arm. “How much time do we have?” I hint.
“No, Trista. I told you last night. I don’t want it to be that way with us,” he says nuzzling into my ear. The light stubble that grew overnight is gone and his scent fills my space.
Turning to face him, I widen my eyes and blink slowly. “Please?” I plead and brush my lips against his.
“Trista…”
Interrupting him, I take his hand, put my coffee mug on the counter, and lead him to the bedroom. He doesn’t resist too much as I tug him along.
The chess game I’m playing to save my life is for keeps. Sacrificing pieces is part of the strategy. Truth be told, I can’t say I’m faking my attraction to Bryson even though I want to and should. But this could all blow up in my face anyway if he finds out the truth about me.
I am literally risking everything with every move across the board.
Coming Soon
The Dark Life Collection – Pieces Of One, Part 2 (Late July/August)
The Dark Life Collection – Pieces Of One, Part 3 (October/November)
The Dark Life Collection – After The Dark (2016)
The Dark Life Collection – Lotus & Scorpion (2016)
Bloggers, your tireless and unheralded efforts need to be acknowledged and recognized on the highest level. There are so many of you that work through the night and into the wee hours of the morning, unpaid and over-caffeinated. THANK YOU!!! I can’t say enough about bloggers and appreciate every single one of them that have supported me on the crazy road called “Authorship.” We started out as one professional to another and over time, many of you have quickly turned into some amazing friends. You hold a very special place in my heart. To my besties, Summer Clark, Michelle AfterDark, Gayle Williams, and Ang Cetrangola. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do if you ladies were not in my life. This book probably would not have seen the any part of 2015 without your support and ass kicking. I raise a glass of bubbly acknowledging Anna Nicole Ureta, Dannae Fawn, Crystal Marie, and Claire Allmendinger for your continued support and encouragement. Thank you for being there for me from the beginning with My Last Season With You. Shout out to Tammy Ann Dove for always pimping my shit! You are the best teaser poster an author-whore could ask for! Love you to bits!
Pieces Of One, Part 1 (The Dark Life Collection) Page 17