Sweet Seduction Stripped (Sweet Seduction, Book 7)

by Nicola Claire

  There was no getting around that. Jaxon was not the person I had thought him to be. Still, though, confusion swirled inside my head. I batted it away. Just because he deceived me, made me believe him capable of killing a man in cold blood, did not change who he had suddenly become, how he had manipulated my career. My life.

  But, oh God. The fear I'd felt had been because of that photo in particular. Because I knew he was capable of killing an unarmed man and enjoyed it. He'd made me so scared and now I wasn't sure if I shouldn't have been or if this new realisation was clouding what I should be feeling.

  I was so confused.

  "Anything else you can tell us, Amber, before we bring in Detective Pierce?" Nick asked, breaking through my frantic inner monologue.

  I swallowed, tried to concentrate on his question, but all I could say was, "He wasn't the man I thought he was." More in an effort to convince me than anything else.

  "No, he wasn't," Nick agreed kindly. "But you're free now. You're not going back. He can't reach you here."

  I nodded, numbed to the bone, but I couldn't find even a shadow of comfort and relief in his words. I felt sick to my stomach, and a headache had started behind my left eye, and I couldn't help dwelling on the fact that I'd been fooled.

  All I could do was breathe through the nausea, close my eyes from the piercingly bright light in the room, and pray this would all go away and Jaxon would start acting like the man I knew. Or at least, like a man who knows he's lost his woman and simply walks away to save face.

  I didn't know Jaxon Harding like I thought I did. I didn't even know his real name, it seemed.

  Jason and Nick stood up, having said something to Ric but I was too busy unravelling to comprehend the words. They left us alone, silence filling the space, pressing in on my temples, crushing against my chest.

  I forced myself to open my eyes and look at Ric. He'd not said a single word since he'd brought me down from my panic attack. Just what was he thinking of me now?

  "I didn't know," I whispered into the still air. It felt oppressive. Heavy, in a way air should not.

  "What?" he asked, as if only just realising I was there and had asked a question.

  "I swear I didn't know what I was doing for him until it was too late. I only put two and two together when I found that file. And now the file is a fake."

  "Maybe," he murmured, still not looking at me.

  I frowned at his non-answer. "I'm not a bad person," I said, but wondered if the words were to myself.

  Then Ric surprised me by saying, "No, you're not. Far from it."

  "Then why won't you look at me?" I demanded, finally realising why I was feeling so lost and alone, even though he was still sitting right there.

  Slowly, so very slowly, his eyes came up to my face. Still green. Still beautiful, but now in a haunted, agonised way.

  "What's wrong?" I whispered, reaching for him.

  He immediately sprang up from his chair, ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. A long indrawn breath of air, and then he expelled it in a rush. As though angry.

  With me?

  Maybe he hadn't realised how involved I'd become in C&C. Maybe he thought I'd been above doing any nefarious code work or dirty hacking for a man he obviously despised. Maybe he was angry to find out I was fooled by that file, unable to see the truth. Naive.

  I felt disappointed with myself. I felt like I'd let my Ric, RiC3.1415, down.

  "Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked from the far side of the room.

  I shook my head.

  "When did you last eat?"

  I couldn't remember, so I shrugged.

  "Amber!" he growled. "You have to eat."

  "I'm not hungry," I insisted. How could I eat with such turbulent and conflicting emotions rolling around inside?

  "I'm going to get you a plate of food," Ric announced, moving to the door. "Stay put," he ordered, and then he was gone.

  For a second I just sat there. My breathing on hold, a frown on my face.

  And then I realised in a rush that he'd had to get away from me. That he'd been so desperate to put space between us he'd fabricated a reason to take him out of the room. I sank back in my chair as a burst of air escaped on a wretched hitched sob.

  My hand pressed into my lips to still their trembling. My mind racing, frantically trying to find an adequate alternate explanation, but coming up blank. My heart fracturing, reality a knife slicing through my chest and burying itself hilt deep.

  Ric didn't want me. He'd changed his mind.

  Oh, God. This made it all so much harder. So much more... unbearable. I hadn't realised I relied on him so much to get me through. But it was selfish of me to think he could be my crutch when all of this was because of choices I'd made and the blinkers I'd worn.

  It wasn't fair to put any of this on Ric. He was just a friend I'd met on-line and I'd pushed him into more. My mind played over those first few moments of meeting him face to face, trying to decide if I'd acted in a way he felt compelled to follow. Backed him into a corner he wouldn't have chosen for himself.

  Unfortunately, my mind was pretty clear. Picture perfect clear. I'd been desperate. I'd been beside myself. I'd had a panic attack and when he'd appeared thrown myself in his arms. I'd appealed to his protective side, made him want to take care of me.

  I quickly went over every other encounter and by the end of the reruns I was more confused than enlightened. Had he said he needed me because of how he felt when he kept saving me? Had I filled a void inside him, a void that had been carved out under a butcher's knife all those years ago in a POW prison?

  I rubbed two hands over my face to clear the conflicting images and decided even with such stellar mental recall capabilities I was still pretty much a pathetic, young girl. Unable to tell if a man had genuine feelings or not. Reading too much into every exchange. Twisting things until they could inflict the most harm.

  I'm not stupid. Naive, I will accept. But I am not dumb.

  Jaxon Harding was using me, then fell a little too hard.

  And Eric Shaw... Eric Shaw? Ah, fuck. I was going with Eric Shaw was in love with me, but my mind had turned to useless mush.

  I leaned forward and rested my head on my crossed arms, on top of the table, and closed my eyes. I hurt. All over. And not all of it was because of the psychopath in my life.

  A throat clearing woke me. I jolted upright, the room spun and my vision blurred. I might have groaned.

  "Uh?" I managed.

  "Are you going to vomit?" a man asked in a deep voice I didn't recognise.

  "Possibly," I murmured, sinking back into my chair as my vision started to clear.

  A tall, broad shouldered guy with brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee beard walked around the table and placed a rubbish bin to my side. God, how embarrassing.

  "Try to aim straight," he said. I was sure I saw a twitch of his lips, but he soon resumed a crossed armed position on the other side of the table and just stared.

  I ignored the bin and stared back. Intimidation tactics no longer worked. Not when you've held the gaze of a man you thought killed for fun and then threatened your dad when you found out.

  "Ms Lane," the guy said. "I am Detective Sergeant Ryan Pierce of the Auckland CIB."

  Criminal Investigations Bureau. Did that make me a criminal, officially?

  I studied him, refusing to talk unless absolutely necessary. He wore jeans, a polo shirt and a suit jacket. I could see the bulge of his service weapon at his waist. There's something menacing about a plain clothed cop, and it wasn't until that second that I realised what it was. The unknown. The hidden meaning. The fact they were something but looked like something else.

  Just like Jaxon.

  I sucked in a deep breath and wished I had that glass of water about now. Where was Ric?

  "What can you tell me about Jaxon Harding?" he asked, still standing, still arms crossed. Still in plain clothes.

  "What haven't you heard from Nick Anscombe?" I
shot back, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He smiled. It changed his entire demeanour. Turned him from a falsely represented unknown commodity to a wicked bad-boy with a sexy side. I don't think it improved my situation at all.

  "Why don't you start at the beginning, Ms Lane, and I'll let you know if Nick missed anything out."

  Yeah, just as I thought. Nick had given this guy a run down already of what I had passed on. I so did not want to repeat it all over again. Even less because this guy was a cop and I still didn't know how much trouble I'd get into for the things Jaxon had made me do. I decided I'd follow the rule book.

  That is the rule book of crime drama TV.

  "I want a lawyer," I blurted.

  He sighed, rubbed at his goatee, and finally moved forward to take a seat opposite me.

  I leaned back in my chair attempting to keep the same distance between us. I was acutely aware that I failed. He seemed to loom over the table, even though he was doing nothing more than sitting there. I felt my pulse speed up in my throat and a cool stickiness to coat my skin.

  The nausea was back and that just made me think of Jaxon and what he had done. Hadn't done? Ah, dammit. I was still so fucking confused.

  Where was Ric? I glanced around the small room, knowing he wasn't there but somehow thinking he'd appear. Because I needed him. He'd always appeared when I needed him in the past. Why wasn't he appearing now?

  "I could really use your help, Ms Lane," the detective said, drawing my attention back to him. "I thought I knew something and it turns out I was wrong. But for the life of me, I can't believe this new reality. It doesn't work."

  Welcome to my world.

  I just tilted my head slightly and raised an eyebrow. I was not going to speak unless he provided me with a lawyer. I knew my rights.

  Those were my rights, right?

  "I don't like your boyfriend," he said evenly. Unaware he'd made my pulse spike even higher.

  Boyfriend. That nausea was rising up my throat.

  "I think he's a very evil man," he added. "I think you know this. I think that's why you ran. Correct?"

  I didn't move a muscle.

  "Give me something to work with here, Amber," he said, as though we were friends and he was simply asking for my help with a difficult mate. A mate who was apparently a high-functioning psychopath and was off limits to the cops.

  I was tired. I hadn't eaten for what felt like days. I was sore all over. Inside and out. But most of all my heart was aching and I was too scared to acknowledge the real reason why. I felt sick. I wanted nothing more than to curl up under the covers and pretend this new world didn't exist.

  "He threatened my father," I said. The only thing I could think of to make this man understand. "He put a bomb in Sweet Seduction," I added, thinking maybe if he knew Jaxon had used the bomb as a coercion he'd realise that's why I transferred those funds. "He hit me," I managed to say, but the detective was already talking and I think missed that last one.

  "What do you know about the bomb?"

  "I saw the counter. On his computer."

  "He activated it remotely from his office computer?" he confirmed. I nodded. "And you were there?"

  Oh, I didn't like that last statement. There'd been fire behind his eyes. Judgement, I think.

  I lifted my chin, uncrossed my arms and leaned forward - into the danger zone - and glared at the man.

  "I deactivated it," I said in a low, quiet voice. Even to me it sounded pissed off. "I spent precious minutes locating each and every single remote code he had linked to the bomb to ensure he couldn't reactivate it again. Minutes I could have used to escape. I sacrificed my chance of getting away to protect those people. Me. So, don't you damn well sit there with your superior attitude and judge me, Detective. I was so shit scared, but I didn't run. Because he would have done it. He'd already hit the button once."

  The cop just looked at me, scratching at his bed contemplatively.

  "You good with computers, Amber?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Really good, I hear."

  I threw my hands up and sat back sullenly in my chair. He wasn't listening. He'd already decided what side of the line I stood on. He'd condemned me before he even met me. Because of the person I'd chosen to bed.

  This was useless. I'd turned to Ric for help because I had no one else. And I'd failed to see the danger before it was too late. ASI were the good guys, all right. I didn't doubt it. But unfortunately I no longer was. I was considered the enemy and I didn't have the strength left to fight that injustice.

  "Do you think you'd be able to..." he started to say, but the door crashed open and suddenly there he was. Ric.

  God alone knows where he'd been. But he was back and immediately my world was right again. Everything so much easier to face. I even thought I might be able to battle the detective a little longer, if Ric remained at my side.

  I shouldn't have needed him like that. But the simple, undeniable truth was, I did.

  "Eric?" the cop asked.

  But Ric's eyes were on me. Hadn't moved in fact. And I'd failed until that second to realise what they said. Anger. Rage, in fact. A boiling mass of fury behind livid green.

  I wanted to shrink away, but I'd literally had enough. I felt myself retreat inside, some part of me just shut itself down and shored up the walls. I couldn't do this yo-yoing anymore. I couldn't handle the mixed emotions. The extreme sensations of fear and joy, angst and exhilaration, agony and heartache.

  I just couldn't.

  "Shaw?" the cop snapped, waiting for Eric to acknowledge him.

  Ric lifted up a cellphone, I realised it was mine.

  "Phone call for you," he said, walking the short distance towards me, his limp more pronounced than before.

  He held the device out and I knew, just knew, I did not want to take it. I crossed my arms and lifted my gaze to his eyes.

  There it was. Pain. He was in such awful pain. But I couldn't tell exactly why.

  "Who is it?" I asked, knowing but stalling. My usual tactic.

  The stretch of silence was too long, and really, not nearly long enough.

  Finally, Ric said, voice rough like sandpaper, "Harding."

  I flinched. Not from surprise; I'd guessed. But from the way Ric had snarled his name.

  "You need to take the call, Amber," the cop said. "On speaker phone, please." It wasn't a request.

  My eyes flicked to his. The brown softened. He understood. I turned slowly back to Ric, still holding that fucking phone out. And his suffering swamped me.

  "I don't want to," I whispered and Ric slowly closed his eyes as though he couldn't take any more.

  Then, thank you God, thank you. He sat down beside me, reached for my good hand and wrapped his palm carefully around it, fingers lacing with mine. Then he placed the phone purposefully on the table in front of me.

  "I'm right here, Dancer," he said, voice scratchy.

  "You won't leave?" I asked, giving way too much away.

  "Fuck me," he murmured. "Sweetheart." Again such torment. "Are you sure you want me to stay?"

  What did that mean? Was he scared of what he'd hear Jaxon say? Did he think I would feel ashamed? Well yes, I would. But I needed him more than I needed to avoid embarrassment, guilt and my shame.

  "Yes, I'm sure," I replied, steadily.

  Then before he could argue, or say something else that would just confuse me further, I reached forward and hit the button on the phone that removed the mute function, placing it on speaker for the room at large to hear.

  Then swallowing down my terror-filled angst, I said, "Jaxon." And waited for my world to explode all over again.

  Chapter 25

  This. Is. Me.

  Eric

  Ah, fuck. She wouldn't look at me like that, she wouldn't want me like that, if she knew what I had done. The horror on her face when she'd remembered that picture of Harding - a fucking picture mirroring the one inside my fucking head - shredded my heart, tore the shit right outta the t
hing.

  And yet, when I walked into this room, her face lit up like a bloody Christmas tree; warm, bright, glowing and so fucking beautiful it made my heart ache in an entirely different way.

  She wanted me. But she did not know me. Not the real me. The one that haunts my dreams and fucks with my mind. The me I fear is too close to her ex.

  When she finds out, she'll run.

  Just like she ran from him.

  I couldn't face that. I'd barely gotten to know the girl. No more than forty-eight hours since I laid eyes on her on a computer screen for the first time. Saw more of her than the incredibly talented hacker she let me know for the past three years. But she'd already seeped beneath my skin. Already burrowed her way inside. And it had nothing to do with how gorgeous she was, how full of life; so young, so vital, so precious, so sweet.

  It had nothing to do with sex, and those long legs I kept picturing around my hips. Those tits and the way they jiggled beneath me as I stroked my cock inside her, one hard, long, hot pump after another. The sounds she made as she came, the look in those delectable chocolate brown eyes. The way she smiled when she floated down from heaven as the climax slowly subsided.

  It had nothing at all to do with any of that.

  And yet, it had everything to do with all of that.

  Amber Lane was mine. Pure and simple. She was my hacker. My on-line friend. The woman I couldn't stop fantasising about. The one who made me come without the necessity of pain.

  The second time we'd done it, in the safe room, carpet burning her back, my thrusts pushing her harder and harder into the solid floor beneath her, all I'd felt was euphoria. A type of bliss I had forgotten existed. The type of ecstasy you think is a lie, a falsehood. Something others tell you about just to make them feel better about themselves. It couldn't possibly be real.

  But it was. And Amber had shown me. Woken me up from my pity party, drawn me out into the brightness of her touch. The sensation of her warmth, the wet welcome of her tight pussy. That smooth skin, those soft lips, those curves and long legs and trim waist and supple limbs.