by Mia Sheridan
There was a bar, green LED under-lights casting the area in a strange, alien glow. Scarlett took one of the glasses of champagne from a tray, holding it up near her face as she entered the room beyond. She did a double take when she saw a famous Hollywood director sitting on a sofa, laughing, a young woman on each knee.
Scarlett looked away, jolting when she saw the man sitting on the other end of the couch, alone, head hung low. He looked up and their gazes locked. Royce Reynolds.
His eyes widened and he stood, moving toward her. “Scarlett?” he asked, voice slurred. His gaze jumped from one feature to another as if he was trying to piece her together, to decide if it was really her. “Scarlett?” he repeated, and she was honestly shocked he’d recognized her much less remembered her name.
“Royce,” she said. She couldn’t believe this. She was standing there with Royce after all these years. She’d found him, she had so many questions, she wasn’t sure where or how to start. “I, hi—"
His eyes darted around the room. “I can see them, you know,” he whispered, leaning in, his gaze flitting over her shoulder quickly.
Scarlett frowned. “See who?”
“The monsters. Sometimes they’re right underneath their skin.” He’d lowered his voice even more, and now he grabbed her arm, pulling her to the side, against a nearby wall. “I see them.” He let out a ragged breath, leaning his forehead against hers. Scarlett froze, shock, and a modicum of fear rolling through her. She smelled the alcohol heavy on his breath, saw the way his pupils were so enlarged they appeared mystical, almost entirely sea-glass green. Clear and startling. Apparently, rehab hadn’t taken. This man was not well. “Not you though.” He dragged his knuckle down her cheek and for one hitched breath, she swore he was going to cry. “There’s only light in you. I noticed it, even then. I saw.” He closed his eyes, leaning away, swaying slightly. “This isn’t real, is it? It’s not. I’m dreaming you again.” For a second his expression collapsed, but he seemed to gather himself, opening his eyes and meeting hers. “I’ve wondered if you had a boy or a girl. I wonder about that, you know. I’m not supposed to, but I do.”
She paused, surprised that in his state, he’d even remembered she was the woman—dream or not—who’d had his baby in real life. “A girl,” she said quietly. “I had a girl.”
A faint smile came to his lips and he leaned back. “A daughter.” He was quiet for a minute. “That would be nice,” he said. “I’d like that.” He looked at her and even through the drug and alcohol haze, she saw fear in his eyes. “Is she . . . okay, I wonder?”
“Why wouldn’t she be, Royce?”
“Because she might be like me.”
Her heart sank. Yes, yes, she might be. “What does that mean? Please tell me.”
He closed his eyes, shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. I’d tell you if I did.”
He swayed on his feet, reached out and took a drink out of some guy’s hand who was walking by. The man started to protest, his eyes widening when he saw who it was, and continued on.
She took a moment to look at him, really look. And what she saw was not a larger-than-life star, just a broken, self-destructive man with problems he obviously had no idea how to manage. She felt compassion for him, but she was no one in his life. She was nothing but the figment of a dream. In real life, in his sober moments, he’d written her off. He’d written his daughter off. He’d let others take charge of his life, probably with the excuse that they were “protecting him.” And more than that, whatever demons he was battling he didn’t know how to identify them. “Yes,” she finally said. “She’s fine. She’s perfect.” Because she was. She was.
Maybe Haddie had inherited something from him, maybe she hadn’t. Either way, they were going to play the hand they’d been dealt. They were going to face whatever challenges they were given, together.
She suddenly felt so incredibly sad, and all she wanted to do was run away. She shouldn’t have come here. This man couldn’t help her. He certainly couldn’t help his daughter. He couldn’t even help himself. An older man appeared, leaning toward Royce and whispering something in his ear. Royce nodded and the man began pulling him away. Royce grabbed her arm. “Don’t wake me. Stay. Meet me in my room.”
Scarlett felt tears burn the back of her eyes. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
He smiled at her. It was Haddie’s gorgeous smile, and her heart clenched. His hand dropped as the man guiding him away glanced back at her once and then gave Royce another hard yank. She watched as Royce broke free from his hold, taking the few steps back to her and grasping her upper arms. He leaned in and whispered, “Walk in the water. The dogs can’t track you there.” Then Royce was pulled away again, leaving Scarlett blinking in confusion as they disappeared into the darkness beyond the pulsing lights. He was delirious. Sick and unhinged.
She turned, tears blurring her vision. A man reached out, his hand sliding over her ass as she jumped away, out of his reach, hurrying forward. “Come on, baby,” he called behind her. “Don’t act like you’re not bought and paid for.” Laughter. She scooted around a couple who was embracing, her head thrown back, his face planted in the hollow of her throat. Next to them, a man leaned over a table and snorted a line of white powder off the glass surface.
Out, out, get me out.
Scarlett stepped into a darkened corner where she had a view of the entryway and sighed in relief to see that, other than Johnny, it was clear. The members of Royce’s security team—the ones who may or may not recognize her—were no longer there. She stepped away from where she’d attempted to merge with the shadows, when a hand clamped down on her arm and she was pulled to the side, her back hitting the wall. She let out a fearful whimper. A man pressed his body to hers, leaning in close so his mouth was at her ear. “What are you doing, Scarlett?” he grated.
Scarlett froze, the fight response she’d been about to give in to fading as her breath escaped her mouth in a sudden whoosh of air. Camden? Shock infused her cells. But how? Why? It couldn’t be . . . but . . . she knew his voice, remembered the feel of his body over hers, knew the particular scent of his skin, though she’d only smelled him this close on one other occasion. Oh yes, it was him. She’d thought she’d seen him in the lobby, had recognized the particular way he held himself and she’d been right. Despite herself, despite the fear and the confusion of this situation, every part that made her a woman responded to the man pressed against her. And something even deeper than that, experienced a soft wave of relief at his presence. She shoved the feelings down. All of them. She couldn’t trust herself because she couldn’t trust him.
Why was he here? In LA? At a Hollywood party with call girls? Her stomach soured. He was a liar and dammit she’d liked him. She’d liked him more than she wanted to admit. “I’m not working this party if that’s what you think. I came here to see if I could find Royce and ask him some questions about Haddie,” she admitted. “My outfit gained me admittance, nothing else.” Dammit, why was she explaining herself to him?
His head came back, eyes intense. “I didn’t think you were working this party.” He paused. “Did you? Find him?” He looked over her shoulder as if searching the party for the man.
She nodded, her expression crumbling slightly before she gathered herself. “Yes. I did. He was drunk and high. Useless. It was a bad idea. Now what are you doing here?”
His eyes scrutinized her face and something gentled in his expression. He reached up and dragged a thumb under her eye. “Scarlett. What happened?”
More tears threatened. She was sad and mad and deeply confused and she just wanted to get out of there. “Why are you here, Camden?” she repeated.
A muscle ticked in his jaw and he glanced up and around. “I followed you . . . I’m trying to protect you.”
Protect her? “From what?”
His gaze darted around behind her. “I can’t tell you. Not here.”
A sound of frustration came up her throat. Enough
of these useless men who couldn’t or wouldn’t help her with the basic truth. “God. I’ve had enough of your protection. Let me leave.”
He pressed his lips together and then nodded to two more men standing by the elevator. “I’ll cover you.”
Scarlett paused but she really didn’t want to risk being seen or questioned by anyone, so she moved under his arm when he lifted it, and leaned her head into him as though they were having an intimate conversation. They walked together to the elevator where Johnny gave him a nod, barely sparing her a glance. Obviously, she and the other women there were nothing more than entertainment, no more important than if he’d had a beer bottle in his hand.
Three minutes later they were stepping out of the elevator and walking through the lobby. Scarlett had never wanted to get farther away from a place more than she did at that moment. Rain splashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows as she picked up her pace, moving through the revolving door and stepping out into the warm, rainy night.
“Scarlett.”
At the sound of her name, she picked up her pace, her heels clicking on the sidewalk as she jogged as fast as she could in shoes not meant for jogging, coming out from under the covering that shielded the valet stand and drop-off lanes and continuing up the deserted side street, the rain mixing with the tears sliding down her cheeks. The rain picked up, coming down in sheets, drenching her immediately. She heard her name again but didn’t turn.
She felt him right behind her, easily keeping her pace, and after another minute, she turned, their bodies practically colliding as he came up short. His clothes stuck to his body, showcasing the definition of his muscles and the lean lines of his masculine form. His eyelashes were studded with raindrops, his hair slicked back from his face . . . and he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. He looked positively tortured, and some ridiculous part of her wanted to comfort him, but from what she had no idea, and the only why she could think of was that she was certifiably insane. And partially buzzed, though that was—unfortunately—wearing off.
She’d been thinking about him as she sat alone at that bar though, the wine aiding in breaking through her hurt so that she might look at his actions more rationally. Or drunkenly. That was possible too; she couldn’t be sure.
She swore loudly into the quiet street, her voice rising above the slowing downpour.
“Why are you following me?”
“Because I was asked to.”
“Asked to? By who?” She looked around as though the mysterious who might step from the shadows at any moment.
“The guild. I’ll tell you more, but not here.”
She regarded him. Guild members? From Farrow? Wanting her followed? Okay, yes, she absolutely needed to know why that was happening. If it was happening. But could she trust this man to tell her the truth? He’d already lied to her. Numerous times.
“If you’re merely following me, how’d you get into that party?”
He paused, looked away. “I got a good education in sneaking around unseen,” he murmured.
She felt her face screw up. “What does that mean?”
He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please, Scarlett. I’ll tell you more,” he repeated. “Can we go somewhere?”
“Why? Why tell me more? Why protect me? Over and over? Why install locks on my house, and show up when I call in the middle of the night, and . . . and . . . feed baby birds in my kitchen, and tell me things I don’t think your friends would want me to know? Because that stuff? It really doesn’t make much sense if your goal is to get access to my house and eventually run me out of town. Before I listen to anything from you, I need to know . . . was it all a lie, Camden? All of it?”
He stepped closer, his chest rising and falling, his masculinity rolling off him in waves. His gaze raked over her body, eyes meeting hers. “Do you think I want to feel the things I feel for you, Scarlett? Do you think it’s convenient for me? I can’t help this any more than you can. I wish to hell I could.”
The breath left her. Her shoulders dropped and a sound came up her throat, part breath, part humorless laugh. I can’t help this any more than you can. Of course he knew how she felt about him, or at least . . . how her body responded to his. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But the admittance of his feelings for her? His confession brought confusion and surprise and yes . . . a whisper of happiness too. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “None of it makes sense. Tell me what I got myself into when I bought Lilith House. When I moved my daughter and me to Farrow.”
He scrubbed his hand down his face, taking a small step back. He suddenly looked so incredibly weary. He exhaled slowly, running his hand over his dark hair, water flying out around him as the rainfall dwindled to nothing. He looked suddenly defeated. “I’ll explain it to you. All of it.” He looked down at his clothes, and then at her. His gaze went to her bare skin where she could feel the water droplets sliding over her neck, her décolletage, and pooling between her breasts. Camden looked away and when he spoke, his voice was gritty. “Can we please go somewhere where we can both get dried off? I have a hotel room up the street.”
She paused, considering. She had so many questions and he seemed prepared to answer them. Yes, she was still deeply distrustful of him, but as she pictured the way he’d held the baby bird with such reverent gentleness, the way he made beautiful, impossible art with extraordinarily patient fingers and a simple blade of grass, she was filled with the certainty that he wouldn’t hurt her—at least not physically. She could ask him to go back to Merrilee’s, but it wasn’t her home, and she didn’t feel taking a stranger there was appropriate. “All right. Let’s go. But if you give me some stupid double-talk, Camden West, I’m leaving.”
Although his eyes remained grave, his lips twitched minutely before he turned, signaling her to follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Camden rubbed the towel through his hair one last time, flinging it over the shower stall and then leaning his head forward so it touched the glass. He stood that way for a moment, collecting himself before leaving the bathroom.
Scarlett sat on the patio, clad in his T-shirt and a pair of athletic shorts, folded over several times at the waist. She sipped from a bottle of water he’d taken from the mini fridge. He took a minute to stare at her, letting out a slow, controlled breath.
Jesus, he was nervous. He’d never confided in anyone other than Mason and Georgia before. With everything at stake, he knew this was a risk. But . . . God, he felt her goodness. He wanted to trust himself with that. If he couldn’t, what else did he have? A life of bitterness and revenge? Constantly feeding that voracious dark wolf inside? No, he wanted to protect this woman who’d unknowingly found herself tangled up in this unholy mess.
Scarlett stood, turning toward him, and for a moment they simply stared at each other, the cloudy LA night sky behind her, the brightest stars somehow managing to peek through the gloom.
He was tempted to look away. Camden had a hard time looking at her the same way he’d always had a hard time staring at anything beautiful. It overwhelmed him, made him want to understand its allure—its layers—so he could somehow carry it with him. And when it was taken away, he’d know it, and in this way, it could still be his. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he liked beautiful things—they always made him feel slightly desperate.
Better not to want much. Better not to yearn for things that would never be his.
He’d had to figure out a way to toughen his skin so that it didn’t sting each time he encountered something sharp. And yet, he’d only managed one thin layer. Even all these years later, the longing for things he’d been denied still tore at that insufficient protection over a wound he’d realized would never heal. Abandonment.
She came toward him, stepping over the ledge and entering the hotel room. Camden swallowed. There was wariness in her gaze and he wished he could wipe it away, but he understood why it was there. He’d fouled this up. God, he’d made a mess out of everything. �
��Should we sit inside?” she asked, nodding to the small sofa near the window. He turned, pulling the chair from the desk forward and taking a seat on it while she sat on the couch, pulling her legs beneath her. The room had seemed big when he’d first entered it. Now? Now it felt small and enclosed. Somehow this delicate-boned woman took up the entire space, filling it with her presence, overwhelming him.
He sat back. “I’m going to start with the Religious Guild. But before I tell you about the Guild, you have to know how it was formed. You have to understand the way Farrow operates, the way it always has.”
“All right.”
Camden took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Hubert Bancroft formed the Religious Guild in Farrow. It consisted of men from the thirteen original families. I told you about what they did to the natives. You read about it firsthand.”
“Taluta,” she whispered almost reverently.
“Yes, Taluta,” he confirmed. “Taluta and her people.” Camden allowed his eyes to search her face. He saw the empathy there, just as he had when he originally told her the story. This woman, she cared deeply for others, not just those she knew, but those she didn’t. Those who were long dead, their suffering ended, and thank God for that. His shoulders relaxed. It was the reason he trusted her, he realized. No person could carry that amount of compassion for people she’d never met and not have a loving heart. And though he wasn’t quite sure he deserved it, maybe she’d extend some of that understanding his way.
“When Hubert Bancroft formed the original guild, each man invited to take part also established a monopoly of trade in Farrow for their particular industry. That’s remained the case until today and because of it, Farrow is still small, even intimate you might say. Over the years, the guild has also successfully dominated local government and they exert enough control over the Farrow town council that it works to protect and maintain their interests.”
Her gaze slid away and a wrinkle formed between her brows. “Outsiders are unlikely to have success in Farrow and eventually move away.”