Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series)

by Rosa, A.

  He laughs again, but this time it’s apologetic. "Ah, Marcus." The troublemaker.

  "I think I got in the way, but I couldn't leave her alone. Then one thing led to another. We started a … I don't know"—I shrug, pausing to take another sip of my beer, then continue—"a relationship, and in the end she had to confess everything. And now I am helping out, and all I really want is the girl."

  I notice that my dad's mouth is now set in a hard line. "You like the complicated ones, don't you? You couldn't have chosen a more complicated situation."

  "I'm aware, Dad, but I've never liked a girl the way I like this one."

  "Who wouldn't? You be careful with that one though."

  His ringing tone is a reminder of what I already suspect. Then I remember the real reason I am here, Alex aside. "What do you think about what Marcus is doing? How did you know what he was up to?" I'm curious.

  He sets his beer down, and runs his hand through his graying hair. "That's the thing. I didn't really. I stumbled upon it. A routine e-mail profiling flagged some of Marcus's e-mails, and upon further investigation, it wasn't looking good. There were suspicious e-mails about a task with no real identifying verbiage, and then there were odd shipment orders. Eventually, the e-mail communication stopped right in the middle of what they were discussing. I assume this is because it involved something that couldn't be discussed on a private, monitored server like ours. And combine that with the incident report of what Marcus did when he found out he lost the Nobel Prize nomination."

  Ah yes, Marcus's first explosion. He received the call that the committee wasn't considering him for the award, and the next thing you know he'd busted into his lab and broke things. Chucking beakers and petri dishes across the room, spilling samples and hazardous materials everywhere. The company had to have a small hazmat team come in and sanitize his lab. Company policy dictated that he had to have a psychiatric evaluation, which he wasn't too thrilled about. Alex must have known about that too.

  My dad takes a nervous sip of his beer, and I notice his eyes scanning the open doors and windows. "What the agents don't know is how I really figured out we had a bigger problem on our hands. It was Marcus's lab partner, David, who noticed us snooping around. At the time, we had no idea what was really going on, but he was worried. David spilled the beans to someone, who I won't rat out, and it was enough for us to begin looking into it. We pieced it together. David is implicated in the investigation because he knows about the project, but luckily, Marcus doesn't know we know. I had only been snooping and doing my own investigating from afar, here in Arizona, via e-mail and teleconference. I have been having Tom, our head of security, monitor the situation. Then I passed it off to the appropriate authorities, and I’m sure Marcus doesn't see it coming. He thinks he is smarter than everyone, always has."

  "Dad, why do you think he's doing this? It must bother you. He was practically part of this family." I know it bothers me. He is—was—like a brother to me.

  An expression of pain etches across his face. "I'm extremely bothered. I don't know what possessed him to do such a thing, and a part of me thought I owed it to him to protect him. Then I realized, no, no, no, Marcus is a grown man and I have done the best I could. Marcus has always had this chip on his shoulder, looking for that moment to prove himself. As if he could still prove his parents wrong in their afterlife. And what he doesn't realize is he doesn't have to prove anything to anyone. I have done my best to show him love, but I can't control who he becomes. I can only guide him. I thought things were going well. Though, I knew something was up when he had that shit-fit in his lab. That hazmat team was a fortune." He shrugs as if he has already had this deliberation with himself many times. "I spent many a sleepless night feeling guilty about it, but I had to remind myself what was at stake. I love him, but he is the one who brought himself to the brink."

  I take a moment to absorb what my father has spilled to me. He's right. I feel terrible about it, but how bad should I really feel?

  "I didn't tell you, because I knew you would have the same dilemma I had. Marcus is your best friend. In this situation, I thought ignorance might be bliss.” My dad rubs at his stubbly jaw, as if questioning his words, but continues, “You've been doing great at work. The board is proud—I’m proud; stock is up, and we are growing exponentially. Why would I add more to your plate by pinning all this on Marcus? Granted, thinking about it now, it feels foolish. I wanted you to focus on things that are more important. I was hoping I could nip this in the bud before it became a problem, but then again, it was a lot more than it seemed. Hell, I didn’t know I was going to uncover Marcus working on creating a biological weapon. The thought never crossed my mind, and even now, I cannot believe it is happening. That being said, I would have told you eventually. I regret not telling you from the start.” He repeats himself sternly, as if scolding himself. “It was damn foolish of me. And now, well"—he lets out what seems like a cathartic laugh—"now you seem to have managed to get right in the middle of it, and I worry about you."

  His last statement catches my attention. "I'm not upset you didn't tell me. Well, I was, and I have to admit I originally came here to yell at you, but it doesn't really matter now. But why would you worry? I’ve obviously got it under control." Do I?

  He finishes off his beer and tosses it in the recycle bin. "Isn't it obvious? We've come full circle, haven't we? Isn't this about the girl?"

  "What are you guys talking about?" The voice wraps around me like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.

  Our heads whip toward the patio door to see Alex with that slow, lazy smile directed at me as she leans against the doorframe.

  How long has she been standing there?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Girls & Guns

  ALEX TURNER

  I slither into the room, enjoying their discomfort. No secret spy gadgets necessary to know what these men were talking about. I feel guilty for snooping, but it's brief. Snooping is what I'm best at.

  I catch sight of Jeremy's smile, and it warms me from the inside out. How does he do that?

  I don't care what his dad meant by what he said. Jeremy's confused smile tells me he doesn't care either. Previous argument settled, then.

  As if his dad isn't standing right there, Jeremy flashes a pearly white grin and his eyes heat. "We are talking about you, of course."

  I wrinkle my nose and shake my head. "I am boring. I am sure there are much more interesting things to talk about."

  "Miss Turner, you are anything but boring," William chimes in, maybe to cut through whatever force field that Jeremy and I created.

  I like William. He is a kind, caring man with a quick wit and a warm smile. He is almost more likable than Jeremy on a first impression. Maybe it's in his experienced, commanding, deep-brown eyes. He exudes wisdom and control, but seems kind and willing to listen. He is as intimidating and successful, but obviously has less to prove than his son. Jeremy, on the other hand, like his eyes, can seem arctic and cold with his approach, but when you get him to smile, his eyes melt into something wonderful.

  I see Jeremy's smile all the time, but I think at work it's more of a rare occurrence. You don't make it to the top being Mr. Nice-guy, I guess, especially with the weight his dad left on his shoulders. It probably helps being the CEO’s son too.

  "What's your plan for today?" I ask. I don't want to hint that I heard everything that William said to his son. It's not my business. Well, actually it kind of is.

  A glint appears in William's eyes. Oh, so it's hereditary, then. "I was hoping you could convince my son to come shooting out back. That is, if you're game, Miss Turner."

  My eyes light up like Christmas morning. It's no secret how much I love guns. I could use a little release.

  Jeremy's face contorts in disgust. "No, no, no. I don't do the gun thing. You know that, Dad, and you should know that too, Alex." He shoots me a glare, but I can sense his smile behind it. I like threatening Jeremy.

  "It
could be fun, Jere," his dad goads.

  Jeremy downs the rest of his beer, and his eyes frost. "It's not fun to me. I hate the damn things. Is that what you do out here in the desert, Dad?"

  "Sometimes, especially when I have willing visitors." William has the audacity to wink at me. My eyes go wide as I stifle another giggle.

  Jeremy looks shocked as he turns to look at me. "You shoot guns with my dad?"

  I don't know how to answer, but it seems that William is willing to answer for me. He shrugs and says sarcastically, "She's like the daughter I never had."

  Did he just say that?

  Jeremy scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says, "Well, aren't you two peas in a pod. I am still going to pass on this endeavor. They scare the shit out of me. So, no." He pouts like a child.

  I try to bite back what I want to say, because I worry it's too serious of a topic, but it comes out anyway. I grab Jeremy's hand, and as sweet as possible say, "I could teach you how to shoot. It could be good for you. So that if you ever need to, you could, I don't know, protect yourself, if necessary." I nibble my lip, hoping it softens my words and he'll give in. I want Jeremy to be safe, even when I'm not around.

  His whole body tenses.

  "I agree, Jeremy," William cuts in.

  Jeremy shakes his head, but I'm relieved to see he also seems to smile. He lifts my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles delicately a few times, and then slides off the barstool.

  I glance over at William. I can barely handle displays of affection in private, but in public? In front of his dad? This is a completely new world to me, and I blush. William seems unfazed, and maybe even holds back a smile as I watch him watch his son. My heart flutters and I don't know why. What is happening to me?

  "Nice try, you two, but before I get outright mad about the subject: I don't do guns. Never have and never will." Jeremy leans down, kisses me on my forehead, and continues, "That's why I have you."

  My breath catches in my throat. He grins, lets go of my hand, and meanders out of the room, leaving his dad and me in the kitchen. Why do I feel speechless? Jeremy is better at this relationship thing than he thinks.

  "Well, Miss Turner, seems like you and my son are getting along."

  I notice his grin, and I can't help the rush of heat to my cheeks. I wish I could control this stupid blushing thing. I try to regain my equilibrium. "I guess you could say that."

  He squints, as if sizing me up. "Keep my boy safe, and out of trouble, will you?" He laughs.

  I run my hand over my knuckles, because they still tingle from Jeremy's lips. My eyebrows furrow and confusion floods my face, recounting Williams's odd laughter. "That's exactly what I plan on doing. Sir, why are you laughing?"

  He shrugs and says, "No offense, Miss Turner, but I never thought I would say that to a woman. But I know how capable you are, and how sharp your aim is." He rewards me with a warm grin and a wink.

  Glad to know he approves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Scars & Stories

  ALEX TURNER

  I sit at the end of William Hunt's expansive dinner table. The table is too grand for just the three of us. William must have extravagant dinner parties to necessitate such a table. The house is huge, and I wonder why a single, widowed man would need so much space. Maybe when you have millions of dollars to call your own, you do it because you can.

  The table is a thick mahogany, and the chairs match the table's grandeur, with maroon silk seats. I wish we were eating in the TV room or in the kitchen, because this room overwhelms and intimidates me. Eating pizza in it seems silly. I feel like I should place a napkin in my lap and consume my food with a knife and fork.

  Lucky for me, two beers and some lighthearted banter are enough to level out my mood. My face feels warm from the alcohol consumption and full belly.

  I've enjoyed keeping more or less quiet as I watch father and son recount business debacles and fun vacations. It almost feels normal.

  I haven't had a moment alone with Jeremy since our discussion outside, and it's driving me a crazy. In a glass-half-full sort of way, it has at least given me the wonderful opportunity to stare at Jeremy. The version of him around his family is incredible to witness. As annoyed as he gets at the mention of his father, it's obvious he adores him.

  I watch Jeremy talk of good times, and I can't help but be distracted by the stubble on his chin, noticing it is thicker than usual, and suddenly I can't help but imagine it against my skin. My wayward thoughts become impossible to stop, like a daydream, and I become mesmerized watching the way his lips move crisply around each word. I want his sculpted lips, and I want them on me.

  You are at a family function. Please get a grip.

  Every time he catches me staring, even if he is in the middle of talking, I can see the corners of his mouth perk up, and my heart flutters each time.

  They talk through the sunset and into the evening. It really is a pleasure to listen, but I am getting impatient, and want Jeremy to myself.

  Jeremy's hand comes to my knee under the table as if he can sense my impatience, and squeezes. I peek up at him as nonchalantly as possible.

  He continues speaking, unfazed as he thrums his fingers on my inner thigh. How unfair of him. I smile, glancing at him, and catch him masking a wry smile. The rascal. William has noticed nothing as they babble back and forth. This is not the time for this, Jeremy.

  I place my hand over his. He wriggles past me and squeezes tightly, making my lower abdomen clench in response. Then he slides up farther.

  I snatch his hand away, afraid that I might start panting. Jeremy chuckles, but he tries to cover it up with a cough. He's kidding himself.

  "Well, Dad, I think we are gonna call it a night. We are flying back tomorrow morning."

  William smiles wistfully. "I'm glad you came out, son, even if your original plan was to rip your old man a new one."

  I join Jeremy in a few laughs, and we stand. Jeremy gives his dad a hug. "You never know, I might come back and do just that, depending on how it goes."

  William shakes his head. "Goodnight, kids. Your stuff should be in the guest room down the hall."

  William comes up to me and hugs me. My body tenses as his arms come around me, but my manners switch on in time to reciprocate. I literally cannot remember the last time I hugged anyone. It's a foreign sense of, what? Family? Another social situation that I find hard to define.

  Clever William does not let me go until my shoulders relax, and he pulls away with a knowing smile. What is up with these Hunt men? I give him a warm smile in return.

  Jeremy takes my hand and pulls me toward our room. A sense of warmth radiates from my chest from William's hug. I can't wrap my head around it. It reminds me of a time in my life that I have forgotten, and can barely recall. When I feel ready, I will dissect these misplaced memories and rare emotions. Right now, my eyes are locked on Jeremy as I follow him. His eyes are a clear, calm crystal blue. It makes me happy that he seems happy.

  We walk down the hall until he tugs me through a door on the left. We still haven't said a word to each other. I have no time to take in my surroundings, because as soon as I hear the door shut behind me, Jeremy has me pinned against it, and his lips are on mine. I gasp in response as our lips clash for a moment, and we acclimate to a carnal rhythm.

  Between rushed breaths, Jeremy says, "I missed you."

  I smile against his lips. "How can you miss me? I've been right here the whole time."

  He pulls away, his eyes blazing. "You know what I mean." He kisses down my neck. So he felt it too, then?

  I moan and inhale, absorbing the touch of his lips on me. I get an idea. "Jeremy, I want to show you something. It could be fun."

  He halts his feverish kissing, and I can tell he is impatient for the obvious, but his eyes spark with interest.

  I form a wry smile, and tug him toward another grand piece of furniture—the king size bed with an extravagant headboard. It's so much for one house.

&nbs
p; His eyes feel hot on me, and I push him toward the bed, hard enough that he is forced to fall back and sit on the edge of the mattress. He leans back on his elbows, watching me like a skilled predator.

  I take a step back and nibble my bottom lip. "I figured out a way to get you to trust me a little more."

  His heated stare remains, but his eyebrows furrow in hesitation. "How's that?"

  "You're going to like it."

  "Go on." The corner of his mouth begins a slow ascent upward. He likes this game already; I can tell.

  His glacier eyes lock on mine, and I don't tear my stare away as I begin on the button of my jeans, slipping them off gracefully. The silence and his appreciative stare are making this hotter than I'd hoped. I reach for the bottom of my shirt, and lift it over my head, nonchalantly running my hands through my black curly mane.

  He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip slowly, devouring the sight of me in my black lacy underwear. I like his eyes on me. They are appreciative and possessive. I like being his. I can't even help pressing my thighs together in heated anticipation. I am trying to be patient with this, and not jump his bones.

  To say that Jeremy is an attractive man would not do him justice. He is strikingly beautiful, and it's entirely unfair. I want to be hot and attractive for this man, because, to be honest, he deserves it, and I want to be what he deserves. And by deserving, I don't only mean because of his perfectly angular features, or his distractingly intense eyes, but because of what he is doing for me: accepting me, regardless of all the baggage, constant hurdles, and the stressful road ahead. He deserves more from me too.

  Breaking the hot silence, I say, "I am going to let you touch me—"

  As if he is too excited, he cuts me off. "I touch you all the time."

  I smile and raise my finger to wave it back and forth. "Not like this. I am going to tell you my body's story."