“Not for me. I can’t even find a decent date.” I huff before slumping in my chair.
“You will.”
“I always pick the worst guys.” The external scars left by Kyle’s fists have healed, but the wounds to my heart are still raw. Since then, I’ve kept my distance from men.
“That’s because you aren’t listening to your heart. You don’t value yourself enough. Remember that.” His tone becomes stern. “And don’t be swayed by pretty words. It’s their actions that matter. A good man will care more about your well-being than his own.”
The nurse enters the room, ending his lecture. We fall silent while she takes his blood pressure and checks his pulse. When she’s finished, she gives me a polite smile. “Visiting hours are almost over, and Mr. Mercer needs his rest.”
“Of course.” I give his hand a final squeeze before standing. “I’ll stop by and see you tomorrow.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Exhaustion weights his eyelids. With a sigh, he settles into the pillows. He looks small, fragile, and pale against the white bed linens. I hate leaving him here alone. A flash of anger directed at his family stirs my temper. He deserves better. I consider contacting them before I reconsider. For now, I’ll respect his wishes and leave them where they belong—in his past. Goodness knows, I understand.
Four
Jagger
The best parts of my day are the small, quiet moments in my house. The two-bedroom, one-bath cottage is the first place I’ve been able to claim as mine. All mine. No mortgage. No landlord. Just twelve hundred square feet of heaven to roam alongside Emeline and Lucy, my dog. With a sigh of satisfaction, I carry my coffee cup to the back deck and lean against the railing. Lucy sniffs around my feet. Like all Chihuahuas, she hates the cold and shivers incessantly, but her worries over the chilly air are tempered by her joy as a sparrow flits along the shrubbery. At the bottom of the sloping yard, the river winds its way toward the covered bridge. The gurgle of water playing over stones provides a soothing backdrop. I sigh before drawing in a deep breath of fresh country air.
Spring is days away, the snow has melted, and rebellious sprouts of hyacinths and daffodils push through the grass. In a few months, this cozy hamlet will be filled with tourists eager to visit the nearby art colony, galleries, and craft shops. With them, they’ll bring a much-needed influx of cash to our struggling business.
The beauty of the evening is tempered by my anxiety over Cash. It’s been six days since he came to the store. I don’t have the money. When he calls, I’ll explain the situation. He’ll understand. He has to.
“Hey, get back here.” Lucy tries to leap from the deck but skids to a stop. My command brings her back to my side. When I bend to pick her up, she licks my fingertips in a half-hearted apology. “Don’t even think about it, missy.”
My phone rings from the depths of my sweater pocket. It’s Emeline again. She’s called four times in the last hour to ask random questions. I scowl and accept the call. “What?”
“I need you to come down here. Right now.”
“Why?” It’s her turn to close the store. I’ve been looking forward to a quiet night of Netflix, solitude, and rest. “Can’t it wait until the morning?”
“No.” She draws out the single syllable to emphasize her impatience. “He’s here.”
“Who?” I straighten, set the coffee mug on the railing, and give her my full attention. It can’t be him. I have another twenty-four hours to meet his deadline.
“You know who.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “He’s asking for you.”
My stomach does a tiny flip. “Okay. On my way.”
When I get to the store, he’s in the office with Emeline, his feet on the desk like he owns the place. This time, he’s wearing a black button-down shirt, tailored slacks, and a knit cap pulled low over his forehead. His eyes crinkle at the corners when I open the door. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s happy to see me, and I have to admit, thinking he’s attracted to me does crazy things to my insides.
“There you are. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.” His voice is quieter than I remember, a little hoarse and unsettling.
“No. It’s fine. I just live down the street.” I pat the messy bun on top of my head, wishing I’d taken the time to brush it out and put on makeup. The craziness of wanting to impress my extortionist is just another symptom of my fucked-up childhood. “What can I do for you?” His dark eyes cut sideways to Emeline then back to me. He wants her to leave. “Um, Em, could you go out front and clean the display cases?”
“You did that yesterday. I watched—” Catching my frown, she nods in understanding. “Sure. If you need anything, just holler.”
Once she’s out of earshot, Cash lifts an eyebrow. I swallow and prepare to make my case. “I don’t have your money. Not yet.”
“No?” From the back of his waistband, he withdraws a pistol and sets it on the desk with a clunk. I wince at the sound. I lick my lips and force myself to remain calm. Guys like this feed on fear. He sighs. “Try again.”
“I’ve been thinking that maybe we could set up some kind of payment arrangement. You know, an installment plan.”
“Do I look like a lending institution to you, Jagger?” The solemn softness of his voice is more terrifying than the loudest scream. “You must have me confused with the Baxter’s Corner Bank and Trust.”
“No, of course not, but any reasonable person would understand—” I choke on the last word as he stands. In two swift strides, he’s around the desk and nose to nose with me, glaring down from his towering height.
“Don’t talk to me about reasonable. Under the circumstances, I think I’ve been extremely understanding. Downright generous, in fact.” His lips press into a thin line. He draws in a deep breath then exhales, like his patience is wearing thin.
“I don’t have any money.”
“Find a way to get it.”
“I’m not rich.” It’s a struggle to keep the anger from my voice. “I make forty thousand a year. That’s barely enough to live on. This store is struggling to stay above water. Even if I gave you every penny of my salary, it would take me five years to pay you off.”
“Longer.” A wry smirk twists the corners of his lips. “Don’t forget the interest.”
“I thought you weren’t a bank.” His chuckle reverberates through the room. I scowl. “It’s not funny.”
“Agreed. This is some serious shit.” The way he licks his lips makes my knees weak. I place a hand on the counter to keep from melting onto the floor in a puddle of lust and fright. If only he were ugly or old or less Cash. His smirk doesn’t help. “Maybe you should call your sister. She’s the one who got you into this. I’d love a reunion.”
“Not an option.” The last thing I want is to involve Calliope. I can handle this. “We aren’t in contact. We haven’t spoken in years.”
“That right?” He rubs his jaw with a tattooed hand. “I thought you two were tight.”
“Not anymore.” I duck my head in case the pain in my heart is visible on my face.
In a flash, his hand snakes to my throat. The metal edge of the desk bites into my bottom as he forces me backward. “Don’t play games with me, Jagger.” Spots swim in front of my eyes as his grip tightens, his thumb pressing on my jugular vein. I grip the edge of the desk with both hands to keep from tumbling backward. “Maybe we should call your pretty friend back in here. Is that what it will take to motivate you? Do I need to hurt someone you love?”
“Please,” I croak. He knows I’ll do anything to keep Emeline safe.
His gaze flickers to my lips. Only for an instant but long enough for me to see the desire hidden there. He wants me. I’m sure of it. With a deep exhale, he releases my neck, backs away. “Now what are we going to do about this, Jagger? Tell me quick.”
The seconds tick by slowly. The rush of blood in my ears drowns out the rapid beating of my heart. His thick eyelashes lower, shielding his thoughts.
I have no doubt that he’ll hurt me if I don’t comply. “I don’t have the money, but maybe I could pay you back another way.”
He cocks his head, interest piqued. “Are we negotiating? You should know I don’t do that.”
“Um, well, I could make jewelry for you.” It’s a shitty suggestion, but I’m out of ideas, and it’s the only talent I possess.
“You got the money to make jewelry but not the money to pay me?”
“Well, no, but I have a line of credit with my—”
“I’m done here.” With a jerk of his head, he gestures toward the back door. “Let’s go.”
I cling to the desk, desperate for an anchor in a chaotic world. “Wait.” I can’t believe what I’m about to say. “I’ll do anything. I’ll—I’ll have sex with you.”
He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but sex seems like a better solution than death. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve used sex as a bargaining tool throughout my life—the mechanic who replaced my transmission, a former landlord, the cable guy. None of them were as hot as Cash, but I’d been desperate and broke and they’d been more than happy to waive my debts in exchange for sexual favors.
Callie wouldn’t approve. Not because she’s a prude or because she still loves Cash. They broke up ages ago. She wouldn’t approve because she’s overprotective of me, and Cash is a definite threat to any woman’s sanity.
“You think you’re going to repay me with a fuck?” Although his tone is incredulous, he stops then crosses his arms over his chest. “Whores are a dime a dozen in my line of work. I can have a girl in my bed within fifteen minutes who’ll do anything I want, and it won’t cost me no two hundred grand. What makes your pussy so special?”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with one thing to make me special. I’m plain, a little chubby, and my nose is crooked. “I’m desperate.”
“All right.” The tip of his tongue sweeps across his lower lip, drawing my gaze there. “Gotta say, I’ve had some great sex but never anything worth two hundred grand. It better be special. How you wanna do this? Against the wall with your panties around your ankles? Or should I bend you over the desk?”
I’ve never had sex with anyone like Cash Delacorte. Compared to him, the men of my past were boys. My breath comes in short, rapid pants. This is becoming too real for my taste. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined a moment in my life where I’d be exchanging the right to live for sex. Excitement flutters in my belly. This might be wrong, but I’m going to enjoy every minute.
He jerks his chin toward the desk. “Go on. I ain’t got all night.” When I hesitate, he snakes an arm around my waist. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” With a tug, he jerks my body against his. He digs the fingers of his free hand into the nape of my neck and angles my head to the left, aligning my lips with his. The scent of peppermint lingers on his breath. In this position, I can feel the washboard abs beneath his shirt, the strength of his thighs, and the hardness between them. I want him to kiss me. Sure it’s twisted, but I can’t help longing to see if he tastes as good as he looks. I close my eyes and wait for the brush of his mouth against mine, the slide of his tongue between my parted lips.
I expect roughness, careless groping, and domination. Instead, two velvet lips press against mine. With a little pressure, he parts my lips. His tongue slips inside my mouth, tentative at first then diving deeper. I curl my fingers into his shirt, pulling him close.
“Mmm.” A delicious growl rumbles from his throat. The fingers in my hair relinquish their hold before grabbing a handful of my bottom, forcing me onto my toes.
I gasp at the insistent rod of steel behind the fly of his pants. I don’t want to like it. He’s arrogant and scary and more man than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t want to like it, but I do. Every kiss before this one fades into oblivion. It’s a testament to how fucked up I really am.
“Nah.” He releases me as quickly as he grabbed me, keeping a hold on my hip until I regain my balance. Mortification heats my cheeks. Did I misread his signals? Isn’t he attracted to me? Am I so inadequate? He shakes his head. Darkness glitters in his eyes. With his little finger, he sweeps the hair from my forehead. “When I fuck you, baby girl, it’ll be because you begged me for it. Not because you owe me a debt.”
When I fuck you… Which leads me to believe that it’s going to happen. Maybe not tonight but someday. I run a hand over my hair in a desperate attempt to collect myself. He’s calm and cool, oblivious to the fact that he just rocked my world, while he adjusts the bulge in his pants.
“So here’s how this is going to go down. You’re going to work for me until you’ve paid off your debt.” He takes the gun from the desk and shoves it into the back of his pants. His somber gaze holds mine. The guy has his emotions on lockdown, that’s for sure. I’m both envious and frustrated by his control.
Beneath my fear of Cash and my anger at Calliope for drawing me into this mess is a buzz of excitement. Before he walked through the front door, my life had been boring and predictable. With a threat and a kiss, he’s flipped my world upside down. I love a challenge, the thrill of outwitting someone more powerful than me, and Cash Delacorte presents the perfect opportunity to flex my intellectual skills. His granite jaw and soft lips are an added bonus.
A knock on the door reminds me that we aren’t alone. Em opens the door and peeks her head around the corner. “Is everything okay? I thought I heard shouting.”
“We’re fine.” My voice is sharp and loud.
“Come on in, Emeline. Join us.” The danger in his invitation raises the hackles on the back of my neck. I’m more than happy to play his games, but I won’t allow Emeline to be a part of it. “I was just asking your boss here to help me out with that gift for my grandma.” He smirks and holds up his phone to display a photo of an emerald pendant. “Think you could make this, Jagger?”
I take the phone, ignoring the sizzle of his fingertips over my skin, and study the example. I have no choice. If I say no, Em will think I’ve gone mental, and Cash will never get out of my life. “Um, yeah. Sure.” The design is simple, elegant, and classic. Nothing complicated. I can recreate it with little effort. A breath of relief skims over my lips. This seems like a reasonable compromise. I’ll make a few pieces of jewelry, using minimal effort, and be done with this man.
“It has to be exactly like this. Understand? The highest quality synthetic stone you can find. Nothing but the best for my grandma.” He pockets the phone.
I shift into business mode, eager to escape the pull of sexual chemistry between us. “Fine.”
“I need it by Tuesday.” His gruff voice speaks to my imagination. I’d love to hear his gravelly baritone in my ear after a hot and sweaty session of sex. As if he can read my thoughts, he leans closer. “Can you handle that, Jagger?”
“Yes.” My reply floats on a breathy whisper.
“Great.” The fabric of his shirt rubs my breast when he brushes past me. Once again, he’s a heady combination of charm and charisma. “I’ll be in touch.”
Emeline and I stare in disbelief at his backside as he exits the store. An indeterminable amount of time passes before she speaks. “Holy freaking hell. What just happened?”
“I know, right?” My throat is dry, my words broken.
“How in hell are you going to make a necklace like that in four days? We’re going into the weekend. Where will you get a stone like that?”
“Call Jimmy and see if he can overnight a two-carat simulated emerald.” Four days is a rush, but I have some of the components on hand. If I forgo sleep, I can meet the deadline.
Her eyes widen. “Now?”
“Yes, now.” I shove the store phone into her hands. “I’ll start working on the setting. I’ve got those materials on hand.” When she doesn’t move, I raise my eyebrows. “Emeline?”
“On it.” She rolls her lips together. “For the record, that guy might be scary, but he’s also hot AF.”
I give h
er a playful shove to lighten the mood. I don’t want her to suspect anything. “I’m making a pendant for him. How much trouble can that be?”
My personal phone pings with an incoming text from an unknown number. When I open the text, it contains the photo of the pendant and this message: Looking forward to seeing your work. C.
He has my phone number. My private phone number. I bite my lower lip to hide my unease from Emeline. If he knows my number, what other information does he have? For safety’s sake, I’m going to assume the worst. He probably has someone watching me.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Em asks.
“Fine.” I shoo her toward the desk. “Stop mothering me.”
“Don’t hate me for caring.” She sticks out her pink tongue then dials Jimmy’s number. Her chatter blurs beneath the buzzing in my ears.
The work consumes me to the exclusion of everything else. Nothing gives me more bliss than a challenging project. I love molding metal into graceful shapes, creating beauty using my bare hands. Even the threat of Cash Delacorte can’t dampen my enthusiasm. Pride in my craft forces me to do the best work possible. I stay at the store until the early hours of the morning, go home for a few hours of sleep, then return the next day to pick up where I left off. By Monday morning, I’m exhausted but triumphant. The pendant is exquisite. If he’s pleased, maybe he’ll let me off the hook.
While I’m in the workshop, Emeline fields the occasional customer who comes through the door. Despite her flighty persona, she’s a competent salesperson and accountant. We met on a city bus in Philadelphia two years ago and hit it off. She needed to escape the shadow of her overbearing ex-husband while I needed to get away from Kyle. On a whim, we did a Google search for obscure towns, chose the tiny Indiana hamlet as the perfect place to begin our lives over again, and never looked back.
Absolute Power (Absolute Power Duet Book 1) Page 3