Kiss a Stranger

by R. J. Lewis

  “What?” I let out, closing my eyes to the feel of his hands roaming me.

  “Me.”

  I stilled and opened my eyes. We both paused for a long moment.

  “Yeah,” I finally admitted, swallowing hard again. “I do.”

  “Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Unequivocally?”

  “Unimaginably.”

  He stroked my hair away from my face and nodded. “I love you too, Claire Landon,” he declared with conviction. “Beyond the depths of my soul, I truly do.”

  “Really?”

  “Have I ever lied?”

  “No.”

  “Then there you go.”

  I felt warm everywhere. This was by far the best moment of my life.

  He captured my lips with his and kissed me softly and slowly. No tongue action, no hastiness for more. Just light brushing of the lips, feeling them move and press against my own. I sighed contentedly against him, before he moved away and dropped down next to me. He grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over top of him.

  Those long hands roved up and down my back, his finger in particular inching over my spine. It tingled under his touch. Oh, I liked this intimacy. This slow, no worded dance of the lips and hands. I rested my breasts against his chest and they ached at the contact.

  He flicked his tongue against my mouth, and my body heated immediately. Something about his tongue drove me wild. It made our kiss transition immediately into something more. His eagerness bellowed out of him, until it was teeth and tongue and licks.

  “Put my cock inside you,” he demanded.

  I sat up and gripped his length in my hand. I pumped him twice before I situated myself over him. I slowly took his tip to me and sank down. We both moaned at the same time as I took him all the way inside. I was all feeling now, my eyes glazed over, my body moving slowly with no particular rhythm. He gripped my hip tightly with one hand and helped me along. Thrusting in, thrusting out. He breathed hard, trying not to take over as his other hand drifted up my body, traveling to my breast, my collarbone, my neck and back down again.

  Just like always, he looked at me. Not my body. But into my eyes. Panting heavily in his pool of pleasure, his eyes remained solidly locked to mine.

  And it didn’t ever feel like an invasion. It felt good and right. I stared back into the warmth of his beautiful grey irises and moved at my own pace, quietly breathing and quietly groaning.

  “Perfect,” he whispered as he drove himself into me, losing every ounce of control as we neared the end. “Take me all the way in.”

  I savoured the times we made love. He never went too hard, and I never raced to have my needs met selfishly. This was real sex. This was a real connection. This wasn’t banshee screaming, over-the-top fucking.

  Everything about this was real.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Because this concerns your life

  It was mid-morning when Ben left to the airport. I offered to drop him off, but he adamantly refused, insisting on taking a random taxi. I always wondered why, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

  I thought about it a lot on the way home, but I kept drawing blanks. Just like the damn phone thing. I’d tried cornering him about it once, saying if there was an emergency, I needed a phone to contact him on. He ended up giving me a number, but it was to his home phone.

  Who the hell still used home phones these days?

  But it was a small victory, so I couldn’t really be that upset. Plus I was still on cloud nine since he’d told me he loved me. Nothing seemed to matter as much as that. Someone loved me, and he wasn’t just anyone, he was my dream man. It was surreal.

  Just as I neared the main road that connected to my residential street, sirens erupted. I looked at my rear view, shocked to find a police car right at my bumper signalling for me to pull over. What the hell?

  I parked on the emergency lane and turned the car off. The police officer stepped out of his car and walked over. He tapped on the window and I wound it down.

  “Have I done something wrong?” I asked cautiously.

  “Do you know how fast you were going over the speed limit, Miss?” he sternly replied.

  My brows came together. “I wasn’t speeding, officer.”

  “You were speeding,” he adamantly stressed. “Ten kilometres over the limit.”

  Bullshit! “Seriously, sir, I was not speeding –”

  “Licence and registration, Miss.”

  Dickhead.

  I took out my licence and registration form and passed them to him. I tried my hardest not to give him a stink eye and run him over five times. This was bullshit. Was he drunk? Or was he in the mood to abuse his power today?

  He turned around and ambled back to his car. I waited for some time before he came back over and said, “Miss Landon, I’m going to ask that you step out of the car and come with me, please.”

  I gaped at him. “What?”

  As though I was mentally inept, he said it slower. “Step out of the car and come with me, Miss Landon.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “The police want to have a word with you.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to find out.”

  Feeling slightly panicked, I stepped out of the car. “You’re not going to cuff me or anything, are you?” I asked him.

  He looked irritably at me. “Just come with me.”

  I followed him to the car and sat in the back like a damn criminal. If anyone was around, I’d have been humiliated.

  “What about my car?” I said as he drove past it.

  “It’ll be there when you’re done,” he replied.

  Yeah, but would it be in one piece? The amount of times I’d seen cars on the side of the road that were graffiti-ridden with windows smashed gave me more than enough cause for concern.

  He didn’t drive long before we stopped in front of a small, local police station. We walked in, passing a few officers and an empty receptionist desk. I was led into a small, windowless room and asked to sit behind a creaky, old table. Then I was left alone, with nothing to read and nothing to do.

  An hour passed. Maybe two. It felt like a slow eternity spent memorizing the bland room, looking over every inch of it. I felt confused and panicked. For the first fifteen minutes I wondered if I’d done something wrong. What the hell was wrong with my licence? Had it expired? No way. Impossible. Hypothetically, even if it had, they wouldn’t be doing this to me right now.

  The rest of the time I was facing the wall of ignorance I’d put up the last few months. This had something to do with Ben. I knew it from the bottom of my soul, and forcing myself to come to grips with this wasn’t easy. It meant having to admit I knew all along I was right – that what he had been up to was no good.

  But just how bad was it? That was the real question, and I dreaded the answer.

  When the door finally opened, I sat up straight in my chair and looked at the man walking through. Who I saw made me go instantly still with shock.

  I shook my head, feeling like my whole world was suddenly spinning off its axis.

  “Do you need anything?” I’d asked him that day in Harbour town.

  “Not yet,” he’d said.

  Fuck.

  He was in another cheap suit, carrying a file in his hands. He smiled at me in greeting and said, “Hi, Miss Landon, I’m Detective Malcolm Hardman –”

  “And a stalker,” I interrupted angrily. “Don’t think for a second I don’t remember you in Harbour town, following me around. Next time a bit of discreetness wouldn’t kill.”

  Looking unbothered, he took a seat opposite of me and laid the file down on the table. “I was just doing my job, Miss Landon,” he replied with ease.

  “Why would following me be a part of your job?”

  “It just was that day.”

  Sure it was. I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair again, glowerin
g at him.

  “I’ve got some questions I need to ask you,” he started, bringing his hands together over the file.

  “I’m not under arrest,” I retorted. “I don’t have to answer shit. In fact, I should get up and leave right now.”

  He chuckled. “You’re not under arrest, and you’re not being recorded right now either. This is strictly between you and me. We have confidentiality between us –”

  “Just cut to the chase, Detective.”

  He nodded, boring those blue eyes into mine. For a middle-aged, cheap suited Detective, he wasn’t that hard on the eyes. Not just in appearance, but his body language was relaxed and friendly. He was the type that could easily make someone feel at ease, and I didn’t want that someone to be me.

  “You’ve been in a relationship with Ben Costigan for some time now, isn’t that right.” It sounded more like a statement than a question.

  I shrugged and offered no response.

  “We have it on very good authority that he’s a dangerous man, Miss Landon.”

  “Okay,” I muttered indifferently. I knew exactly what was going on. They wanted Ben. They wanted to pump me for information. To sell him out. There was no way in hell any of that was going to happen.

  Besides, I’d allowed myself to be ignorant about that side of him. So if they were seeking answers, they weren’t going to find any from me.

  “He’s a murderer,” Detective Hardman stressed.

  Oh, whatever.

  “No, he’s not,” I snapped back, and I instantly regretted doing it. I didn’t want him to see me so affected by his accusations. I preferred keeping my feelings for Ben close to my chest.

  He sighed and looked sympathetically at me. “I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. The man is linked to gangs all throughout the country, Miss Landon, and all across the world. He launders money for mafias – the real nasty kind you don’t come back unscathed from – and sometimes he plays a little dirty for a bigger slice of the pie. I’ll spare you those photos.”

  I cut my emotions off and stared into space, ignoring his words. Ben wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a murderer! Bullshit. I slept next to that man almost every single day for the last couple months. He wasn’t crazy. He was everything good in this world.

  I’d have known if I’d been with a crazy person. I really would, I stressed to myself.

  Right?

  “Now I’m here to help you,” he continued, taking on a more serious note. “The last thing I want to do is work against you.”

  I sneered. “Work against me? You’ve got nothing on me, Detective.”

  “When Ben Costigan goes down – and I promise you with every fibre of my being that he will one day – do you think you’ll come out of this untouched? Someone who has been there for him, perhaps collaborating with him –”

  “Collaborating with him? That’s bullshit and you know it,” I interrupted with a cutting glare. “I’m sorry, Hardman, but you’re not getting shit out of me. You’ve stooped this low by resorting to me because you’re desperate, and desperate means you don’t have shit on Ben. And you don’t have shit on Ben because he’s nothing like you say he is. He’s a good man. So how about we stop wasting our time here. I’ve got a life to get back to –”

  “I’m not finished, Miss Landon –”

  “Yeah, well I am! And now if you’ll excuse me, tell the guys out there to let me go and give me back my licence and car keys. And if I find out anything has happened to my car –”

  “Believe me, you’ll want to hear this.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this concerns your life.”

  I rolled my eyes and scoffed. I looked up at the ceiling and started counting the tiles while I heard him open the file and shuffle through papers.

  “I’m going to show you a photo, and I want you to tell me if you recognize this man,” he said.

  With an exaggerated sigh, I peered at the photo he slid to me. It was of a dark haired man with dark brown eyes and a bit of stubble on his face. I raised a brow at Hardman.

  “I don’t know him,” I told him. God, what a waste of time this was.

  “Look a little harder, Miss Landon,” he pressed, tapping the photo in front of me, “and while you’re looking hard at him, I want you to think of the description you gave police the night you were attacked twelve months ago.”

  My eyes shot up to his. “What does my attack have anything to do with Ben?”

  He didn’t respond for a moment, allowing my mind to wrap itself around what he’d told me to do. I tried to remember the description I had given of the women that attacked me and the man I’d almost had sex with. I was really drunk that night, so my descriptions were murky at best. All I recalled of the man was that he had dark hair and dark eyes.

  I glanced back down at the photo. Was this him? How long had the police known this?

  “Why are you bringing this to me now?” I asked incredulously. “How long have you known about him?”

  Hardman suddenly looked conflicted. “What I’m about to say will hurt, Miss Landon.”

  “I don’t care. Just say it.” No, I did care actually. I was terrified, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for what was about to come.

  He tapped the photo once more. “That here is Joshua Malik and…” he paused. “One year ago he worked for Ben Costigan. He disappeared out of the country a week after you were attacked.”

  Time was slowing down all around me. My breathing thinned as I continued to stare at the photo. There were no thoughts, just feelings – and the most prominent one was confusion.

  “No,” I said with a shake of my head, “Ben doesn’t have men working for him, just his store employees –”

  “Of course he has men working for him. Don’t be naïve, Miss Landon. You think he’d allow them around you? Has he ever allowed you to see into his work life at all?”

  “No, but –”

  “He has kept his work separate from you.”

  I shook my head again. “So you’re telling me this man worked for Ben, and I’m still trying to understand what you’re getting at.”

  Now he scoffed and leaned back into his chair. “Come on, darling, do I have to spell it out for you? Your attack was a set up.”

  My heart lurched. “A set up for what? What would Ben gain out of it?”

  He pointed at my face. “That, Claire.”

  The walls around me were really starting to cave in. I continued to shake my head, denial overtaking every emotion inside of me.

  “This is ridiculous and pathetic,” I retorted. “You really think I’m going to believe Ben told one of his men to seduce me in order to have me attacked by a bunch of women?”

  Hardman opened the folder again and pulled out a different photo. “This here is Melinda Warren.”

  The name shot through my system like an ice cold current. Melinda. The name Jamie had dropped the night I met him. She’s pretty. Prettier than Melinda.

  Hardman placed the photo right over the man’s. I looked down at a smiling photo of a beautiful blonde with bright green eyes.

  “She was beautiful, right?” he said. “Just like you. Sort of even looks like you.”

  “Again,” I numbly let out, “what relevance is this?”

  Hardman exhaled slowly, looking more and more troubled. “That’s not all.”

  I raised my brows, waiting for the rest.

  Opening the folder once more, Hardman looked between me and the photo he’d yet to show me.

  “And this,” he said in a low voice, “is what she looked like after her attack.”

  I shook even long before the photo was placed before me. I already knew what was coming, and I was moving my head in all kinds of directions as the fear of what might be in front of me took over.

  Hardman slid it down the table and rested it next to Melinda’s picture.

  Teeth chattering, I stared at him for the longest time, trying hard to prolong the inevitable. Then I swallowed and looked down.


  My vision blurred and tears fell as I observed Melinda’s new face. One half perfect and untouched, and the other half marred and broken.

  Chapter Nineteen

  My heart hurts

  “You need to breathe,” he kept telling me. “Just breathe, Claire.”

  How was I meant to breathe when the reason I’d been breathing in life was nothing but a lie?

  The panic attack had me red in the face. My stomach churned and my head felt light. I gripped the table with both my hands, waiting for my vision to steady itself.

  “Please tell me this isn’t true,” I begged him as the tears kept falling. “Please.”

  The look of remorse on his face was answer enough.

  Oh, my God. Oh, my God.

  “We learned a long time ago that he has a thing for scarred women. He’s been known for frequenting whore houses in different countries, always looking for the marked ones. And you and Melinda aren’t the only ones he’s responsible for… marring.”

  I put a hand over my mouth in shock. My world tore itself apart from all around me. I stood up and paced the room, shutting my eyes as the oxygen found a way inside my lungs. I pushed away the thoughts, and I pushed away the emotions. I didn’t want to crumble in front of someone.

  “What is it that you want from me?” I demanded hysterically. “You’ve given me the truth, but at what cost?”

  “Costigan is a monster,” he told me firmly. “He needs to be put away.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to sell him out after all he’s done to me? This just makes me want to run away.”

  “He won’t let you get away. In his eyes, you’re his property. He’ll kill you, Miss Landon, just like he killed Melinda.” My eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, don’t look so surprised. He had this piece of fluff for six months before she disappeared without a trace. This is what he does. He likes his woman marked. You’re his trophy, for now. He’ll shower you with false love, make you believe the man he pretends to be around you. Then he’ll tire of you, and it’ll be too late for you when that happens. We want to be there for you now.”

  He’d kill me? His property? How the hell had I missed those signs?