Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel

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Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel Page 9

by Stephanie Tyler

"So I'm a last-minute invite."

  "All invites went out last minute to maintain the integrity of the project," Brayden read from the invite. "This was hand-delivered to the doorman."

  "Fine," I said through gritted teeth.

  "I can't go with you though," Brayden said.

  "Bray!"

  "I figured you'd want Lucas."

  "I don't know if we're doing that," I said truthfully.

  He shrugged. "As good a time as any to find out."

  I was stressed at the thought of the book party, so much so that I threw myself into my work and didn't come out until the following morning. I slept for a while and then I decided I needed to run to get rid of the excess nervous energy.

  I still hadn't heard from Lucas. Hadn't called him either. Because what if he couldn't go with me tonight?

  What if you'd just asked him yesterday as soon as Brayden told you?

  Because I was the queen of procrastination, dammit. And I needed some time to be alone, to process the fact that I'd be seeing the one man I'd thought I loved so much that I revealed my past—or lack of—to.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I dressed and put my headphones on, plugged my iPod in. Rap and classic rock alternately blasted through the Beats as my feet hit the pavement first on the way to the park, and then the soft dirt of the trails, in rhythm to the songs.

  I sang the lyrics in my head as the pleasant burn in my muscles kicked in. I left everything behind—everything and everyone—letting it fall away from my shoulders. I started singing silently along with the lyrics. No one would give me a second glance in New York doing this. Everyone seemed to be talking to themselves.

  But after a time I became aware of an echo on the ground, another heavy set of feet running behind me. I turned down my music and yes, I heard the footsteps.

  But Central Park, mid-afternoon, jogging…hello.

  And still, something in my gut didn't sit right. Not at all. I kept my pace as I ran up, right behind a group of women. Safety in numbers.

  When they stopped, I stopped. Looked around under the pretense of stretching and saw nothing beyond other joggers, walkers. Moms with strollers. People rollerblading. And unless they were together, no one was giving anyone a second look.

  Alone in a crowd.

  I wasn't usually paranoid. Not like this. Maybe the thought of the party was making me crazy, but I couldn't deny that my skin crawled. I fought off the panic attack as I walked briskly out of the park and into the crowded streets.

  Nothing can happen to you here for sure. Look at all the people.

  People dropped out of sight in broad daylight every day. I knew that was true.

  I started to jog again. I didn't look over my shoulder. Suppose I saw someone I wasn't supposed to…

  Suppose I turned around to find my past, hot on my heels? The thought was the nail in the coffin. My panic washed over me like a wave and I stumbled under the powerful weight of the tide.

  My chest was tight.

  My lungs hurt.

  My breath rasps. I'm frantic.

  Someone's getting closer, and I'm screaming. But the screams are only in my mind, and they echo my panic, my deepest, darkest fears, deafening me internally.

  This kind of fear makes me hysterical. For several minutes, it threatens to freeze me, render me limp. Useless.

  Prey.

  But I'm stronger than that. Sharks smell blood in the water. I won't let myself be a victim. Not when there's breath left in me.

  I was so thankful than Brayden had helped me to map out the closest police stations to where I liked to run—I also made sure I knew how to get there without my phone but it seemed silly to stop and call the police.

  I didn't want to stop running.

  When I got to the front steps of the police station, I mingled with a few police in uniform walking up the steps. I tried to remain calm but I wasn't succeeding because one of them said, "Ma'am, do you need some help?" and I looked over my shoulder, saw no one and nodded.

  A few minutes later, I was parked next to an officer's desk, paper towels and water in hand, followed by some orange juice. They'd also given me a police department sweatshirt to wear, because I'd started to shiver from my post-run cool down.

  "So someone's broken into your apartment twice, but you didn't report it." The police officer named Lenny Burns repeated my story a few minutes later, making it—and me—sound incredibly stupid. "And then someone followed you today in the park. Was anything taken from your apartment?"

  "Not exactly. No. I mean, something was left. Flowers."

  "Flowers," he repeated. "Both times?"

  "Yes. They were placed in my apartment. I didn't put them there and my friend is the only other one with a key."

  "And he definitely didn't put them there?"

  I didn't ask him… "No, he didn't."

  "Any idea who could've done that? Do you have enemies?"

  I stared at him. "Yes…no." God, this was a mistake.

  "Do you have the flowers?"

  "No. One set disappeared and I threw the others out."

  The officer didn't blink, just sat back and put his pen down deliberately when I said disappeared.

  I sounded crazy. "It's true," I insisted.

  "I can't do anything without evidence."

  "I just want to know what my options are."

  "Sweetheart, this isn't a takeout menu, it's the police station. People come here to report real crimes, not just discuss their options." He sat back. "I'm going to be frank with you. I'm not sure if you're really believing this or if you're purposely wasting my time."

  "I'm not. I'm just scared."

  His expression softened. "I see that. Maybe you should talk to someone about all this…"

  He thinks I'm crazy. And I couldn't totally deny that. I sometimes joked with Brayden that he should watch out for me, that I could be an escaped mental patient. "I'm sorry. I know how this sounds."

  "There are restraining orders, but you have to know who's stalking you. Look, if you spot the person, or if there's a history, you can tell me."

  No, I couldn't. "Thanks for your help."

  "Is there someone you can call to pick you up?"

  The implication was clear—You're a fragile flower who'll melt down at shadows in the street and then you'll come in again.

  I pulled my phone out and dialed Lucas.

  He picked up on the first ring. "What's wrong?"

  "I'm at the police station. Can you come get me?"

  He didn't ask anything beyond, "Are you hurt?" and when I told him I wasn’t he said, "Give me ten."

  And ten minutes later, he was there, his hand on my shoulder but addressing Lenny Burns. "What happened?"

  The officer stood. "She says she was followed."

  Lucas's eyes narrowed and the officer realized he'd made a mistake in thinking he had an ally. "You don't believe her? She says she's being followed, then she's being followed."

  "Why not call the police when her apartment got broken into?"

  "Because of the same dismissive treatment she's just received, I'd imagine," Lucas said.

  "I realize Ms. Taylor's gained some notoriety over the past weeks, but she's going to have to hire private security to deal with the kinds of issues she's describing. They'll be able to collect the evidence she's saying she was, ah, unable to save."

  Lucas remained stone-faced, which made the officer shift after several moments. Only after that did Lucas tell him, "Thanks. I'll take it from here."

  Lucas drove us back to my apartment, pulled up front and gave his keys to my doorman. I'd been quiet on the ride, unable to wrap my mind around all of it and now, Lucas put his arm around me reassuringly. He was strong. I knew that. Strong enough to handle me and my past…but would he want to?

  "Thanks for the rescue," I managed as I tried to get my key into the lock on my apartment door. Lucas took it from me and got us inside in seconds. "Again."

  "You're shaken up. Don't b
e so hard on yourself."

  "I guess I should've been working out with you at three in the morning instead."

  He frowned. "I don't want to take away your freedom of doing things alone, Ryn."

  The 'but' was implied. But, it would happen. It wasn't safe for me to be alone and it seemed like Lucas believed that. Believed me. "I didn't tell Brayden about the flowers either."

  "Why not?"

  "I didn't want to worry him. I figured there must be an explanation. And…" I drew in a deep breath. "I do have panic attacks. I haven't taken meds for them in a while, so sometimes I can overreact. But I didn't dream the flowers. Or the person following me."

  Lucas just nodded.

  "Do you think it has anything to do with those guys from the other night?" I asked now.

  "Definitely not. They're taken care of."

  I wasn't sure I wanted to know exactly what that meant but I chose to believe him. "Okay, so…"

  "I'll get you a treadmill. I'll run with you outside. I'll set up cameras in your apartment. But…" That damned word again. "You have to tell Brayden this. I won't let you keep stuff from someone who's got your back."

  That was true. More than anyone, Brayden would support me through thick and thin. "Deal."

  I grabbed my phone and prepared to text Brayden when I saw his most recent text. Reminding my about Jared's book party. That was tonight.

  I didn't want to go. God, I'd rather do anything else. But the odd timing of the invite and the tightness in my throat…something urged me to go.

  Shit.

  Maybe it was nothing. But these days, whenever I had this feeling, it never was. "I have to go to a book party tonight," I blurted out.

  "Didn't realize that was required."

  I was too worried to joke back. "It's an ex." A frown crossed his face. "Years ago. Short relationship."

  "Okay," he said slowly.

  "I don't know why, but I have to go," I blurted out. His gaze narrowed, and then he nodded. Lucas lived by his gut—he would always understand a confession like the one I'd just given him.

  "I'll be with you."

  "So we're doing this?"

  Lucas frowned. "What's this?"

  "Going places together."

  "Yes."

  "Okay then." I took a deep breath. "Thanks. Hopefully, it'll be nothing," I tacked on quickly.

  He didn't rush in to reassure me.

  While I slept, Grant had dropped off clothes for Lucas. I found them draped over my couch and heard the shower running when I woke.

  I entertained joining him in the shower, but before I could make a move, there was a knock on my door. I figured it must be Brayden, since no one buzzed me from downstairs. But when I opened the door, I cursed myself for not checking first. Because it was Dan Turner. "How'd you get up here?"

  "The doorman knows me," he said with a shrug. "We talked about how you had a scare today."

  "Do you think it was the person who stole my painting?" I asked irritably, in no mood to play nice.

  "Good comeback. It doesn't change the fact that you're in trouble."

  I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that, when the officer who took my statement didn't even believe me?"

  "Like I told you the first time we met, you're hanging out with questionable people," he retorted.

  "And Brayden and Lucas are following me now to scare me?"

  Dan Turner shook his head. "You just don't get it. You're under investigation."

  "By the police?"

  "By the insurance company I represent. Eventually, the case will get turned over to the police."

  "I haven't done anything wrong."

  "We'll see about that. And I'm not sure you can say the same about your friends. Lucas is a violent, dangerous man. He's unpredictable."

  "Obviously, I'm a good match, seeing as I've been called violent and unpredictable myself in several recent articles," I told him evenly. "Now get the fuck out of my hallway."

  As my voice rose on those last words, Lucas came barreling out of the bathroom, obviously fresh from the shower, still dripping, a towel barely hanging around his waist. I moved aside, since it was obvious who his target was. He stopped mere inches from Turner, who had the nerve to smile.

  I wouldn't have, not the way Lucas's eyes glittered. Then again, the way Lucas was acting proved Turner's point about the danger. Granted, it was nothing I hadn't known about or accepted.

  "Don't come near her again," Lucas warned Turner, his voice a dangerous growl that took my breath away.

  "You're really going to put yourself in this position? Again?" Turner's laugh was nasty and sent a different kind of chill down my spine than Lucas's voice had.

  I wanted to pull Lucas away, to protect him, which seemed ridiculous. But the need was so urgent I found myself tugging on his arm, trying to get between him and Turner.

  "To protect Ryn? Damned right, Turner. Step off."

  "Just to be clear—that's a threat, correct?"

  "It's a truth." Lucas tore his gaze away from Turner's to meet mine, since I hadn't stopped pulling on his arm. Immediately, his expression softened and he let me lead him away from Turner, who slowly backed himself out of my doorway.

  Lucas closed the door purposefully in his face and locked it.

  "I'm losing track of all the times you've saved me at this point."

  I swore I heard the smile in his voice when he said, "Is that how it's supposed to work—me saving you?"

  "I don't know how it's supposed to work," I said honestly.

  "No one's ever defended you?"

  "Not like this."

  “Get used to it,” he growled, and then he bent his head and kissed me deeply. He was going to prove his words to me, whether I liked it or not. As his tongue stroked mine, his hands slid along my hips, holding them tight, rocking me against his hardness.

  His arms tightened around me, holding me. Protecting me.

  Claiming me, once again, but this time it was different. It felt different. Before, sex had been all about slaking an incredible thirst. There was still a frenzied quality between us—Lucas had somehow gotten into my bloodstream and ramped me up like no one before him.

  But tonight, it was all completely different. Next level, admitting that this was far more than a series of one-night stands.

  Vulnerability was an emotion I didn’t wear well. Around Lucas, I seemed to let the walls down far too easily. I wasn’t sure if that said more about me or him, but he’d come for me today, without hesitation.

  He’d stood up for me.

  He believed me.

  What more was there?

  I pulled away from him and he stared at me. And then he smiled when I did a semi-dance with him, turning him so his back was against the wall.

  When I sank to my knees and unwrapped his towel, he groaned. When I freed his cock and rubbed the broad head with my finger first, I looked up to see him put his head back against the wall, baring his throat, as it were.

  Allowing me. King of the jungle, letting me in. Letting me take him, taste him. And I did, swallowing him first and feeling his utter control as he tried not to jut his hips. I loved this feeling of control. It had been taken from me, in the park, by the police, but never from Lucas.

  I could feel the strength in his thighs, the tension in his muscles as I suckled the sensitive bundle of nerves along the underside of his cock. I loved hearing him hiss above me. I was wet, could probably come just from doing this to him. And he was close too, but he stopped me with his hands on my head, gently urging me up off my knees.

  “You taste good,” I murmured against his ear and his groan rumbled against my chest, deep and powerful and utterly, completely for me.

  “You fucking undo me, Ryn.”

  “Trouble,” I reminded him.

  “Trouble,” he agreed as we moved together into the bathroom, our bodies still together. He reached in to start the shower and he kissed me again, and as he did so, he was also stripping me.

&
nbsp; It was a perfect metaphor, since that’s what he’d been doing to me since we’d first met at the gallery—he’d been stripping me of fearing him, of worrying about one-night stands and his reputation.

  Finally, my clothes were on the ground. We swayed together, skin to skin in the now steaming room, me with Lucas.

  Nothing had changed—from the second I’d met him, I’d known he was a man of actions to back up his words.

  Everything had changed. Between us, there was an understanding. I’d never thought anything could happen this fast. I was too careful. To untrusting.

  “You’re safe with me,” he told me, like he could read my expression. To be fair, I wasn’t trying to hide the emotion. It was too big, welling up and threatening to expose everything I’d never wanted exposed.

  But I stopped just short of that and in response, he picked me up. My legs wrapped around him. I was in post-work-out sweat and grunge and it didn’t matter. His skin smelled male and perfect and I bit his shoulder as he carried me into the shower.

  The warmth of the water hit my skin, and we stood under the spray, kissing until we couldn’t breathe. And then we kissed more, straining against each other, wanting to make all of this last.

  Chapter Ten

  We finally arrived at Jared's party, Lucas with damp hair, me flushed and looking so obviously (and recently) post sex that we might as well have worn a sign. Lucas could get away with going anywhere half naked. In his jeans and black sweater and boots, he looked perfect. I, however, needed work, but thankfully, the party was dark and moody with its low lighting and crowded space. In this high-rise penthouse, people mingled, artists, writers and the wealthy socialites who funded us.

  "Do you know a lot of these people?" He nodded but didn't look thrilled about it. "And they know you?" Now he stared at me like I had several heads. "I just…maybe you know them like a fan does?"

  "A fan?" he asked slowly, like the word was foreign to him. "Are you going to be embarrassing in here?"

  "Me? No. I mean, I don't think so."

  "Christ," he muttered and held my hand as we snaked through the crowd. He snagged me a glass of champagne and I took a couple of fast sips, aware that I hadn't eaten since morning. I wanted to be relaxed, not make a drunken fool of myself. I managed to flag down a waiter with a tray of appetizers—tiny cheese quiches—and when I turned back around, having taken my hand from Lucas's, I found him talking to a tall, dark-haired woman. She had a heavy accent, French, and she touched Lucas a bit too much for my tastes.

 

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