by J. Saman
“I do,” I whisper against her lips. “I believe in trust. Sometimes there is no other option. So, I’m going to trust you and take you up to my apartment. I’m going to make you breakfast and then we’re going to sit outside and watch the sunrise together.”
I open my eyes and find hers right there, inches from mine, our lips still fastened together. Her eyes pierce into me, trying to see everything I’ve ever hidden from everyone else. “Okay.” She says it so softly that, even though our bodies are practically one, I still have to strain to hear her.
“Okay.” I smile. I can’t help it. That one okay feels like a yes. It’s not. I know it’s not. That okay is filled with a world of trepidation and a lifetime of broken promises. But right now, I’ll take the small win. I won’t even gloat about it.
My hand slides down her face, over her neck, down her arm until my fingers intertwine with hers. I press my lips to hers one last time, because I absolutely have to, and then I’m leading her out of this alcove, back into the fray that is a casino in Las Vegas on a Friday night at nearly four in the morning. It’s bright, noisy and disorienting. It’s filled with drunken chatter and voracious cheers of excitement.
But we find our way through, over to the private elevators that are reserved for VIPs, celebrities, and me. Once we step inside, I hit the button for my floor and punch in my private code. “Who are you?” she asks hesitantly, almost like she doesn’t want to know the answer, but needs to at the same time.
“I’m a lot of things.” She peers up at me through her long dark eyelashes. “I’m a waiter. Lately a bartender. I’m a bouncer in a club and pit boss in a casino.”
“You’re more than that. Aren’t you?”
“I am,” I say it with a smile that is meant to reassure her. That kiss, man. Hell.
I wait her out. I wait to see if she asks more questions, but she doesn’t and the only reason I can come up with is she doesn’t want me to reciprocate.
The elevator doors slide open and I step out, taking her with me. Her eyes wander around my place before they come up to mine, examining me. Figuring me out. And when she opens her mouth, I expect accusations. But instead, I get, “What are you making me for breakfast? I’m starving.”
Sunshine…Holy hell, Sunshine.
Chapter Thirteen
I met Niklas when I was a teenager. He blew in like a storm. Like a tornado, destroying everything in his path while covering up his destruction with perfect manners, a beautiful smile and brains. I was sixteen and he was twenty-six, but that didn’t matter to me. Or him. My father found Niklas, bred him to eventually take over his empire. As a result, Niklas became one of the sole fixtures in our home.
You see, I didn’t have a lot of people in my life. Very few other than my maid and her son, but after he and I were discovered spending time together, he was no longer allowed to return. My parents had already pulled me out of school by that point, stating I would be better served with tutors. I protested vehemently, but my cries of discontent fell upon deaf ears. My mother did not want to be bothered tending to my homework or anything else that required parental supervision, and my father despised me being out in public.
The day I was photographed going into my school was the day my father pulled me out of school. After that, I didn’t have interactions with people my own age. Practically none. Until Niklas came along. Not that he was my age.
My mother was never someone I could turn to. Not someone I was able to discuss the concerns a young girls finds herself consumed by.
My maid educated me about sex. Enlightened me on periods and tampons and what boys are really after. But she was my maid and I never felt comfortable asking her the questions that burned holes in my brain. The internet wasn’t much better. Romance books? Well, those bastards gave me hope. A hope I didn’t need and certainly should never have clung to. I saw light when there was nothing but darkness lingering just beneath the surface.
But that light… God, did I need it.
Niklas filled me the illusion of that light. He gave me attention. He smiled at me and flirted with me. Something I had definitely never experienced in my sixteen years. He told me I was beautiful. He told me I was special and that he loved me. He told me I would one day be his, and then he’d take me away from my lonely life, giving me the world.
It was everything my young, naïve, self had fantasized of and more.
My father never seemed to care if I spent time with Niklas. My mother was too self-absorbed to notice anything I did, unless it was to criticize me.
Niklas caught my attention the first moment I saw him. I felt those blue eyes of his. They snaked a path straight into me and never let go. He gave me that first smile at my sweet-sixteen ball which was comprised entirely of my parents’ business associates and social friends. When Niklas moved across the crowded dance floor, heading directly for me, I practically vibrated out of my heels from excitement.
“Do you want to dance?” he asked, and I smiled so big, nodding my head like the young, eager teenager I was. He had an accent. One I wasn’t familiar with, but it didn’t take me long to discover it was German. I thought it was the sexiest thing I had ever heard in my life.
I had no idea Niklas was a predator. A dangerous beast of a man who was capable of things I still can’t begin to grasp. In my mind, I never figured a man who looked like that could be dangerous. That title always fell more in line with men who looked like Jake. Jake is the quintessential tall, dark, and mysterious. And those tattoos. To me, a man like him has dangerous written all over him.
Niklas looked like an angel to me. Fair and perfect.
Just goes to show you what bullshit appearances are. Because here I am, in Jake’s multi-million-dollar apartment on the very top floor of the Turner Grand hotel. My dark devil, who more accurately fits the mold of a dark knight. A savior instead of punisher. Almost like Batman. A beautiful vigilante with a secret pain he tries to bury. He kissed me with what was easily the most gentle and tender kiss I’ve ever experienced, and now he’s cooking me breakfast while I hide in his bathroom, trying to rein in my overwhelming anxiety.
Where was this anxiety when I needed it all those years ago?
Nonexistent, that’s where. I saw a pretty face and a gorgeous smile and those blue eyes and a way out, and I was done. Bought and sold in seconds. That’s all it took for me to fall for him. The way Niklas held me when we danced? I would have done anything he asked of me.
He didn’t try to kiss me that night. I was sixteen to his twenty-six and there were eyes all around us. His hand never crossed those imaginary lines on my body. He never asked me for any of the things I was dying to give him. He just demanded my number and when I all-too happily gave it to him, he promised to call. I was heartbroken. I mean, I’d always read in books and watched in angsty teen movies, boys say they’re going to call and never do, right?
That was my first incorrect assumption about him. Because Niklas Vaughn was a man and not a boy and he did call me. That very night, in fact. I spent hours hiding in my bathroom talking to him. I fell in love with him that night in my very adolescent way.
But then my parents died two years later in a plane crash and everything between us changed. I was eighteen and he no longer had to hide me from the world. He moved in, into my parent’s house and my father’s business and my bed and took over everything. At first, it was a relief. I was a lost girl in a lost world and I didn’t know up from down or day from night. It was all… too much. Especially for a sheltered, neglected and partially broken girl who’d secretly hated her parents and the world they forced her to live.
That relief did not last long.
But I didn’t lose myself completely until that ring was on my finger.
I was not allowed to go to college or work. I was not allowed to have my own money, in fact, any cash I inherited, Niklas took over. I couldn’t even argue it with him. He made sure of that. I was not allowed to have my own computer and he tracked my cell phone. I was not
allowed to leave the house unless he was with me. It was worse than when my parents were alive, because though my father would smack me around from time to time, and I was generally unloved and blatantly ignored, they were never as cruel as Niklas could be.
I was a prisoner. Physically, financially, and mentally. I knew how deep in I was, and I had no clue how to climb my way out. No one ever imagines that they’ll become that girl. The one trapped with an abusive man and terrified for their life on a daily basis. It’s easy to judge her. To see what the outside world sees. But the inside is something else entirely. The inside is a fear so raw and acute you spend every moment of every day in a heightened state of awareness. A constant state of second guessing every decision, whether it’s insignificant or not. The perpetual panic is all-consuming. Because one perceived misdeed and your life is literally on the line.
Those beatings. Just thinking back on them makes my body shudder. He was brutal and I was powerless. The one time I attempted to leave him, he beat me within an inch of my life, and once I came to, he promised in no uncertain terms he would kill me if I tried it again. Because he owned me. I was his forever. Till death do us part.
I believed him.
That leads me back to Jake. And that kiss. And that Brent guy. And fucking Vegas.
I’m not dead. Only my parents are. Which is why I should walk right out of this bathroom, get back on that elevator and leave. Except, I can’t make myself do that. Jake is the one who gave me that hotel room. I know it. There is no one else it could possibly be. Brent would have taken credit. But why would Jake do that? Especially for a woman like me. Sex? Possibly. I can’t come up with much else.
Then why not tell me it was him?
Why not throw down the hero card and see if that gets me to spread my legs?
He did it anonymously, and even though I know there is so much he’s not telling me, I also know none of it is dark. He is the opposite of Niklas in every way. At least, I hope so. Because I see light when I look into his dark eyes. And this light is real. It’s not a façade. I see the end of the tunnel I’m stuck in. Is that selfish? Without a doubt. Desperation lends itself to moral ambiguity. I should not bring this man into my ugly world.
And I won’t. I will have breakfast with him. I will watch that sunrise. And then I will go back downstairs to my room and sleep off the emotional hangover Jake will no doubt leave me with. I wasn’t lying when I said I no longer believe in trust. That’s very true. But I want to believe Jake could be something good.
I splash some water on my face, wipe away the remnants of the mascara I cried off and stare at myself in the mirror, tired of everything I see.
I left Niklas. And since then I’ve been trying to be strong. Brave. Self-possessed. Badass. But sometimes I feel like I don’t know who I really am beneath the layers of polished politeness and perfect-girl routine. I need to find myself. Figure out who I want to be and how to get there. I’m trying. Maybe this breakfast is a step in that direction.
I exit the bathroom and follow the aroma of bacon all the way back to the top-of-the-line kitchen. I don’t say anything as I approach him. I just stand here and watch as he moves with the ease and confidence of a man who knows what he’s doing. I’ll give Jake I-have-no-idea-what-his-last-name-is credit. He’s certainly unexpected.
He spots me watching him and grins, walking around the large island and the counter until he’s standing tall over me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low, his hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.
I turn away and his hand drops back to his side. I cannot handle his touch. It leaves me defenseless. Like that night in the bathroom when he fixed my hand. I’ve fallen for kind touches before. For gentle hands and perfect words and longing looks. I’ve fallen for all of it. Like jumping off a cliff, that fall was fast and hard, and I landed in a sea of hurricane waters.
“You doing okay?”
“Smells good,” I say instead, and he doesn’t skip a beat.
“Glad to hear that.” He winks at me. “Have a seat, Sunshine. It’s almost ready.”
Sunshine. That’s what he calls me now. Is that what this is? Something light and bright and warm?
“I was in the Army for two years,” he says to me as he continues to cook our breakfast with a smile like he didn’t just knock the wind out of me. I instantly freeze, my ass halfway between the air and my seat.
He’s talking to me.
“Yeah,” he says, watching me closely with an indiscernible expression. “I was shot in the shoulder in Afghanistan and sent home. After that I went to MIT and then Wharton. I didn’t know what else to do after I was discharged from the Army, so I went at my father’s request. After I graduated, I dicked around New York City, bartending and waiting tables. It wasn’t a bad way to spend time, and I was pretty damn happy doing it, but then my father died.”
My ass hits that seat because if it doesn’t, I’ll fall over. He piles a bunch of scrambled eggs onto my plate along with some very crispy bacon and a piece of buttered toast. The bastard buttered my toast for me. And coffee. He gives me a big white mug of coffee, but when I spin the mug around to slip my fingers in the handle, I see it’s not a blank mug. It says, “I do marathons (On Netflix)”. A burst of laughter leaves my lips as I read this, and he winks at me again like he’s easy and not dangerous at all.
Biting my bottom lip, I try to hide my smile, and once that’s under control, I take a bite of the yellow fluffy eggs in front of me. He can cook. And he’s so good looking it’s almost unfair. I love running with him in the mornings. And when he smiles at me with those twin dimples, my stomach turns into a quivering, jittery mass of excitement. Or melted butter as the metaphor fits.
This does not bode well for me and my plan to never look back.
“I loved MIT,” he continues on despite my silence. “I was really good at school. And college was just…fun, you know?” I wish I did. “Even if I was a little older than the other kids there. Endless parties and crazy smart kids who all thought they were going to change the world. I never wanted it to end.”
I hate that he’s telling me these things. I can’t stand that he’s doing this. I don’t want to know about Jake. I don’t want to like him for more than what I already know. Don’t make me get attached to you, Jake.
“For a while, I had illusions I was going to be a mechanical engineer but couldn’t really find my way there. Wharton was to make my father happy when I couldn’t come up with a real plan after graduation. He didn’t like me waiting tables. He didn’t like me riding motorcycles. He didn’t like me doing anything I was doing. So, I went to business school and hated every goddamn second of it.”
He takes a bite of his own eggs, standing across the counter from me while he eats, washing it down with a mug of coffee that says, “Accio Coffee” with a picture of a wand next to it. Who the hell has a Harry Potter mug? It makes me want to smile until my face hurts.
“Why are you telling me all this?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, but there is nothing casual about this moment or this conversation, and it’s obvious he knows this. Everything he’s doing with me right now is deliberate. “Because I’m hoping if I tell you something real about myself, you’ll grow to trust me. That you’ll give me a little something back in return.”
I shake my head.
“We’ll go slow.” He smirks, taking a sip of his coffee to hide his amusement, if that’s what that look is. “I learned a lot at Wharton,” he continues, after setting his mug back down on the stone counter with a clink. “But once I graduated, I went back to whatever the hell I was doing before. Then my father died.”
I swallow hard, the food suddenly feels like it’s choking me, and I have to guzzle down my coffee to dislodge it from my esophagus. My parents are dead, and I wish they had waited until I was twenty-five to die. That may sound wrong or fucked up, but it’s true. I hated my parents. They were not good people, but their death only made things worse.
“An
d once he died,” he continues, unaware of my internal struggle, “I realized my life would never be the same again. That everything I thought I could get away with, I couldn’t. I was glad I paid attention in business school, because I needed it.”
“You own this place, don’t you?” I accuse, interrupting him. “The hotel? That’s why you have all of those jobs and why you gave me my room.”
He smiles, his dark eyes sparkling as he crunches down on a piece of bacon. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sunshine. But you’re fucking adorable.”
“What’s your last name?”
He laughs. “If I tell you my name, will you tell me your real one?”
All the blood drains from my face, and my fork slips from my fingers, clattering against my plate. “I can’t do that.” I don’t even bother to deny it. He knows. There was no question in his expression or tone.
“Sure, you can. You can tell me anything.”
I shake my head, my hands trembling as I fold them into my lap so he can’t see.
“Harris,” he says and then sighs, setting his fork down and running a hand through his hair. His eyes meet mine and there might be a dare in them. “Harris…Turner.”
I nod. Turner. Turner Grand and Turner Palace and that other Turner on the strip. Turner Hotels. They’re a national name. Jake Harris Turner gave me my hotel suite. He gave me that food and he picked me up on the side of the road and he held me in his arms downstairs while I was losing my mind, and he made me goddamn scrambled eggs. He drinks coffee out of gimmicky mugs and he told me his real name. He told me his real name when he absolutely did not have to and no one else, as far as I can tell, knows it. I’ve never heard anyone mention to me he’s the owner of the hotels. An owner who works as a waiter and bartender as well as those other jobs he mentioned.