I sidle over, unsure of what’s coming next. Resting one knee on the empty side of the bed, I stop and wait. “What’s up?”
“Can you lie down with me?”
I slouch down from my kneeling position to lie opposite him, my head on my hand. He smiles as he tucks a wayward lock of my wet hair behind my ear. “I’m happy to have you home, Marley. I missed you… and I was worried about you. I’m truly sorry that I jumped to the wrong conclusion at the party. I was hurt… and I was jealous.”
I stay stock still. I’m shocked by what he’s saying, what he’s admitting to, and I don’t know how to respond. Since I don’t know what to say or do, I just lie there quietly and listen to our collective breathing, letting him take the lead as to where we go from here.
And where we go is into silence. He reaches his muscled arm around me and pulls me close to him, and I feel safe and warm.
After a long time, probably a half hour or so, he speaks softly in my ear. “Tell me your story, everything, and then I’ll tell you mine.”
I swallow hard. Talking about bad things in my life is my least favorite thing in the world to do. But he wants to know, and I suppose it is relevant to fixing my problems with Rico. I’ll just have to suck it up and tell him.
So I do.
“I met Rico the minute I stepped foot in Chicago—literally. Tara and I took a bus here, and Rico was there, lying in wait, right outside the terminal. I suspected but wasn’t sure at the time, but now I know without a doubt that he went there to hunt, his prey being innocent girls—either runaways or those searching for a better life. But yeah, being young and naïve, I was impressed by him. He managed to overcome my initial doubts about him.”
I pause to remember how it was, how I felt scared and then rescued by this attractive young man who seemed to take a genuine interest in me. The memory starts to close my throat, and I drag in a deep breath. Flashes of Rico doing terrible things to me appear in my mind’s eye, going around like an insane carousel. I hope I’m not going crazy. “I keep having flashbacks of my time with him.”
“I think you have PTSD.” His voice is soft. Compassionate.
“I thought that was caused by shock waves.”
“Some is caused by blast trauma. But post-traumatic stress disorder can be entirely psychological, triggered by an extreme event.” He leans down so his eyes are level with mine, and I immediately look away. “Go on.”
“At the bus terminal, the first thing he did after introducing himself was to offer to buy us breakfast. He looked safe enough—he was charming and joking… wearing an expensive suit—so we agreed.”
I drum up the nerve to take another peek at him and surprisingly, I don’t see disgust on his face. That’s a good sign.
“But what does safe look like, right? Just because a man is in a suit, it doesn’t make him safe.” I laugh lightly because I don’t consider Fletcher to be all that safe either. At least not safe for my heart.
“So you and Tara went to breakfast with him…”
“Yes. He seemed interested in both of us at first, but sometime during the meal, he began to hone in on me, as if he’d decided between the two of us. I gave him phony names for both of us, and he took us to one of his hotels and comped us a room. Told me to call him, and he’d help me find a job and a place to live. He didn’t pressure me or be aggressive in any way, so I did contact him. Big mistake. Huge.”
“It would appear so.”
“As soon as I could, I cut out. Ran away and hid from him. I hadn’t seen him for years until he showed up at that party.” As the words leave my lips, a memory flits through my head. “Actually, that’s not true. I saw him a few weeks before in the street, but he didn’t see me. I felt like I dodged a bullet. Anyway, you could figure out the rest.” Clearing my throat, I reach for the glass of water I keep on my bedside table. Take a sip. “What are you going to do? Or should I say… are you going to do anything?”
“At the moment you’re my wife, and that comes with my protection. I have resources to see to it that you are safe from him. Right now, my security staff is exploring possibilities. That’s about all I could say for the time being. There’ll be more to come.”
At the moment, he said. Which means my status as his wife is very temporary, and so is his protection. “Okay. Am I supposed to stay here with you while that happens?”
His neck stiffens. “Of course. We’re married… where else would you be? Is there more to the story?”
“Some, but I’m not comfortable sharing it with you, to be honest. Just sordid details and nothing important for you to know. As for being married… last I heard you wanted me to sign divorce papers and move out of your house as soon as possible.”
“Marley,” he starts, and I can hear the fatigue in his voice, “I know—”
I cut him off. “I’ll think about telling you the rest of it. Meantime, I need to make a few phone calls. Do you have my phone from Tara’s?”
“I left it at my office. But here…” He reaches over to the other bedside table and removes a brand-new phone from the drawer. “I’ve had all your data transferred over to this one.” He waves the phone in the air to punctuate his point. “Do not let it out of your sight. Hendel or maybe others were able to put tracking devices on your personal items, and that’s how they found you so quickly. There was one in your lipstick, by the way. What I don’t know yet is why this guy is going to so much trouble to grab you. That’s why I need you to tell me all you know.”
Yeah, it must really puzzle him since to Fletcher, I’m just another conniving blonde. Dime a dozen. Nothing special about me. I’ll bet he can’t even imagine a man wanting me so much he’d resort to illegal means to have me.
Then again, neither can I. Truly, I don’t get why Rico is so obsessed with me. I mean, he’s rich as fuck and physically attractive too—although to me he’s so tainted by evil that I can’t see beyond that. But he’s big and blond with a complexion that always looks tanned. Five-foot-eleven and muscled. He could easily get women anywhere he goes. So why is he so focused on me and committing serious crimes in the process?
I think the answer lies in the mentality of the man. He doesn’t want a woman who wants him; he wants one who doesn’t. Inflicting misery on a woman is what trips his trigger. If she wants it, well, that just spoils all the fun.
Plus, there’s the whole revenge aspect with me, served very cold after almost six years.
Fletcher suddenly pulls me closer to him again and kisses me. One time and then again. He stares into my eyes, and I’m confused by what I see swirling in the depths of his. I pull back slightly. “I don’t understand, Fletcher. Why the abrupt change in you? Is your affection born of guilt?”
“I do feel guilty about my behavior, and I’ve apologized. I’m kissing you because I missed you and am very happy to have you back here with me, safe and sound. I think you know by now that I have feelings for you. I was under the impression that you might too—for me. Set me straight if I’m wrong.”
He has feelings for me? Could that be true?
“Well… are you going to let me twist in the wind here?” He smiles, and a slight dimple reveals itself on his cheek. I have a sudden urge to tickle him. “No,” I finally say, “you’re not wrong.”
He releases a long breath. Was he nervous about my answer?
He slides his hand down my shoulder, runs it back up to my throat, and leaves it around my neck. For some reason it feels so intimate and erotic. “Tell me the rest,” he prompts.
I turn away from his intensity. The glass of water on the marble tabletop has left a water ring. I drink some more of the water and put it back down on the ring it created, thinking about what came next in my story. No, I just can’t.
“Can we do the rest later? I’m feeling drained right now.”
His hand reaches over and gently caresses my face. “All right.”
That’s all he says, but his hand keeps moving, sliding down from my face to my shoulder. With on
e finger he follows my breastbone and then dips between my breasts. From there his hand cups one breast while he leans in and gently nips the other one.
I could feel my respiration pick up as his caresses begin to spark reactions in my body—little fires bursting up everywhere. Wetness pools between my legs, and my uterus pinches as it sharply contracts. It’s as if his roaming hand and mouth are directly interacting with parts deep inside my body.
“Take off the shirt,” he whispers.
I sit up and pull it off. He follows me to a sitting position and yanks down my bra so my breasts spill out and his mouth attacks one and then the other. I grasp his head, raking my fingers through his lush hair and kissing whatever part of him I could reach.
Abruptly, he pushes me onto my back, grabbing at my jeans and dragging them down my legs. He’s wearing a pair of drawstring cotton joggers and he pushes them down far enough so that his cock is released. I must admit that it’s a beautiful cock—straight, thickly veined, and big, pointing up at a ninety-degree angle. His hand reaches between my legs, snaring the crotch of my panties and slides it over. Positioning himself above me, he pushes his cock inside me in one vigorous thrust.
I’m wet and ready for him, and he feels so good filling and stretching me. Closely watching his face, my eyes only escape long enough to admire his taut belly peeking out with his every forward motion from beneath his loose T-shirt, long enough to admire the beautiful stiff cock sliding in and out of me with such perfect purpose. When it all becomes too intense, my eyes close, and I savor the sensations he’s inducing in me. Within a minute, my back arches as if it has a mind its own, and the moan that comes from deep in my throat is unrecognizable to me. He continues to move in and out, getting faster and faster, his perfect rhythm unbroken until he slams into me one final time, roars, and freezes.
I reach up and lazily finger his hair when he collapses onto me. At the moment, I feel too good riding the crest of my endorphin wave to bring up the pesky issue of birth control, but it’s a conversation we’ll be having in the very near future—if it’s not already too late.
If before I wasn’t fully aware of my bodyguards, I am now. They stick to me like polyester on a hot summer day. And I’m glad. I mean, it could be my paranoia, but I think I see men watching me when I’m in public spaces, just waiting for an opportunity to present itself. Fletcher doesn’t think it’s paranoia, and that’s why he told Tristan that under no circumstances was he to leave my side, even in public restrooms. Which is why I hold it in when I’m not home.
Fletcher has been sweet to me, but I see him even less lately than ever before. Next week will mark our six-month anniversary—with no mention of divorce. I feel like I’m on tenterhooks waiting for the other shoe to drop.
On an otherwise boring Tuesday, Tristan sends me a text to come to the kitchen. Curious, I throw a robe over my silk shorts and camisole and go downstairs. I find both Tristan and Hugo in the kitchen drinking coffee.
“What’s up?” I ask as I breeze into the room and go to the cabinet for a glass.
“There’s a car waiting outside to take you to lunch.”
“Lunch?” I echo. I spin around and look at the men. “I don’t understand.”
“Your husband sent a car to pick you up for lunch. Didn’t he tell you?”
I purse my lips and shake my head. “Nope. Not a word.”
“Well, unless you’re standing him up, I suggest you get ready. We don’t want to leave the driver waiting too long. Or Mr. Creed.”
I fill my glass at the refrigerator, gulp it, and zip upstairs. Taking the fastest shower on record, I throw on my clothes—black leggings, riding boots, and a long sweater—and pull my wet hair back. I’m ready in a half hour.
The car takes me to a super posh restaurant for lunch. Fletcher’s reserved a private room for just the two of us. And our bodyguards. Very romantic.
“Wow,” I say as I enter. Fletcher stands and kisses my cheek as the waiter pulls out my chair to seat me opposite my husband. “This is a surprise.”
Fletcher beams and nods at our two security men. One sits inside by the door and the other is immediately outside it. “A good one, I hope. I’m glad you were available last minute.”
I match his wide smile. “I’m glad too. What’s the occasion?”
“I wanted to see you. Tell you what’s going on with our investigation. First things first, though. Let’s begin with a glass of wine.” He signals the waiter, and the man brings over a bottle, showing him the label and then pouring a small amount into Fletcher’s glass.
Fletcher sips it and nods. The man pours out a glass for each of us.
“Cheers.”
We clink glasses and I take a full sip. The wine is delicious, but it always is. Fletcher knows how to select it.
He doesn’t bring up the investigation right away. We drink our wine, then the food is served, and we’re on our second glass of the pinot noir when he starts.
“Now that our moods have been adjusted, I’m asking you to tell me the rest of the story. About Rico Holland.”
I see his design. He plied me with wine until I got tipsy and then asked me to spill, knowing that my filter would be compromised. Clever.
“I told you most of it already. It’s not a pretty story, but the upshot is it took me less than a month to realize what a huge mistake I made. By that time, he was abusing me on a regular basis.”
“Abusing you how… mentally? Physically? Sexually?”
I press my lips together and nod grimly. “All of the above. When I left my hometown, I was basically… innocent.” I keep my eyes locked on the white linen tablecloth.
“He raped you?”
“I mean… yes. Eventually. At first, he did help me by giving me a job with his company. Tara had found a place to live, but Rico convinced me to move in with him—gave me my own bedroom suite and nothing inappropriate happened. In the very beginning, he acted like a super nice guy and honestly, I thought I’d struck gold. I was young, brand new in the city, and without any resources, and here I had this wealthy, attractive man offering to take care of me… help me out. But then he started doing things…” I nearly sob as sharp pain from the memory cuts into me.
Fletcher’s voice is so low I almost don’t hear it. “What kind of things?”
“Bad things,” I whisper. “He’d tie me up, beat me with a belt, rape me, make me wear obscene things, just… utterly humiliate me.”
“On more than one occasion, I couldn’t go to work because I was too messed up to hide all the bruises he gave me. No one would miss me at work anyway because he’d just tell them I wasn’t feeling well or whatever. He was the boss so no one would question his word.
“You seemed somewhat innocent about sex when we first made love. I had the impression that you hadn’t experienced much.”
“What I told you that night was true. He just hadn’t gotten around to abusing that part of me yet. I’m certain he would’ve shortly. He went everywhere else.”
“How did you leave?”
I swallow hard. “I knew I had to get away from him. It took two weeks to plan it all and let Tara know—we hadn’t met Cilla yet. I couldn’t surface for a while, or he’d find me. I would’ve gone back to New Mexico, but I hadn’t saved much money, and things were complicated there with my parents. My father had just remarried, and my mom was in Portugal.”
I sigh, recalling the desperation I felt for those few weeks that felt like an eternity. “I ended up hiding out in the house of a friend of a friend. Actually, her mother’s house. I didn’t think Rico knew our real names, but I couldn’t take the chance of going to Tara’s.”
He nods his agreement. “Is that when you started doing the faking thing?”
“Noooo, Tara got me a job at a restaurant waiting tables and pinch-hitting for the bartenders. Her boss owned two places, and she got me into the other place—just in case Rico was watching hers. It was a customer there who I was waiting on one day who asked me about th
e faking. I was broke and ready to give up and go back home. I had already purchased the bus ticket.”
I peer into his eyes and see nothing like judgment or disgust. “What can I say? It seemed like easy money…”
“So you went for it.”
“Yes. And my life got so much better after that. Eventually I felt safe enough to live with Tara until I saved up enough to pay off my debts and get the loft.”
His hand reaches over and pats my thigh. Fletcher never used to touch me unless it was absolutely necessary. Things have changed between us. The warmth of his hand sends a jolt of liquid heat through my veins.
“Tell me exactly what happened at the party.”
“I was waiting for you, and I wanted fresh air, so I stepped outside onto the balcony. I was just standing at the railing looking out over the city when he came up behind me. At first, I thought it was you, but I knew you’d never stand that close to me, especially in public. Then he grabbed me around the waist and slid a knife up under my breast. My…I had on a silk sweater, and it gave his hand enough cover so no one could see the knife. He whispered instructions in my ear. I guess that’s when you saw us.”
To my surprise, Fletcher’s face actually flushes, but he holds my gaze. “It presented a very different picture… which was probably very intentional on his part. I’m sorry. I should have investigated it or at least sent Tristan over.”
“Hmm. So now what?”
“Now we keep you under lock and key until we can neutralize the threat.”
“Neutralize?”
His eyes are flat as he stares into mine. “Neutralize,” he repeats.
I sit there, silent. Fletcher has a way of dropping bombs like that in such a bloodless, matter-of-fact manner that I’m never sure of what he’s actually saying.
Is he planning to kill Rico?
40
Fletcher Creed
I may kill Rico Holland.
I am going to get that piece of shit who hurt Marley. He’s going to pay not only for what he did a few weeks ago but also for what he did to her six years ago.
Faker: A Fake Relationship Romance Page 26