The Empire

by Lisa Renee Jones

  And so we sit there, staring out at the city in a few minutes of comfortable, relaxed quiet, each of us sipping from our glasses, enjoying a delicious red blend wine. Eric and I have just set our glasses on a small round stone table that is to his right, when he drags my leg across his lap. “Can you learn to love this city, Harper?”

  “You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

  “Bennett has operations all over the world,” he says. “If you end up hating this city, we’ll move.”

  That offer speaks worlds to me. He’s all in with me. We really are the team that I doubted just hours ago. I lean forward and press my hand to his. “We can go where we decide we want to be, but I love that this place is your life. I love that it can be my life.”

  “It’s already your life,” he says, cupping my hand and kissing my knuckles. “It’s our life, Harper.”

  “And I love that, but being here with you lets me learn all about you. I want to know your favorite places. I want to know your friends. I want to see your brilliant mind work and—” I consider a moment, then continue, “I want to know what every tattoo on your body says and the story that goes with it.” I point to a row of numbers. “This one. What does it mean?”

  He laughs, low and rough, so damn sexy. “That one: mud puddles.”

  I frown. “What? What does that mean?”

  “Family.” He doesn’t wait for the obvious next question. He launches into the story. “I was on a mission during a particularly bad rainy season in Europe. Me and three other SEALs had to drag each other through mud puddles that felt like quicksand to complete a mission and survive.”

  “And you helped each other,” I supply. “The way family is supposed to help family.”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “I’d pull you through mud puddles, or well, I’d probably just fall in it with you.”

  He laughs. “I’d stay in the mud puddles if you were with me, baby.”

  “What happened to those SEALs?”

  “We stay connected, but it’s more—a pack. We live our lives separately, but we have a communication system. If we ever need each other, we’re there for each other, no questions asked.”

  I’m in awe of this discovery. He has SEAL buddies—no, brothers—that would come to help him if needed, and while I wonder if he’s considered that now, with the mob, I find myself resisting the idea of letting that hell into our evening. As it is, I expect the phone to ring at any moment and while I welcome answers, I really do want this time alone with Eric.

  We spend almost two hours drinking wine and talking about everything but the Kingstons. He gravitates toward telling me funny stories about a few of his Navy pals, which I believe is because they are so far removed from this life, this world. He meant it when he said he needed an escape. In turn, I avoid the Kingstons and share stories of my frequent outings with my father, who I went to a Sunday movie with two times a month.

  “Movies,” Eric murmurs, stroking a strand of hair from my eyes. “I haven’t been to the movies in years.”

  “Me either,” I say. “Not since he died. I just—I can’t.”

  “What if we went together? A way to bring your father to me, since I can’t meet him.”

  If the man is trying to make me fall more in love with him, it’s working. “I’d like that,” I say, my eyes burning, emotions expanding in my chest. “Very much.”

  “Well then, it’s Friday night. Why don’t we make it a Saturday night date?”

  “I’d like that very much,” I repeat, hoping it can happen. “But Eric, we’re living in hell right now. Don’t we need to deal with that hell?”

  “We do. We will. In fact, right now,” he stands and pulls me to my feet, “I’m going to put you in a hot bath and do some thinking while you’re relaxing.”

  A few minutes later, we’re in the bathroom where a luxurious bubble bath has been created with floral-scented bubbles we purchased while shopping. “This tub has never been used,” he says, as I settle into the sunken egg-shaped sensation filled with warm water and he sets my newly filled wine glass next to me.

  “Join me,” I suggest. “Come try out your own tub.”

  “Our tub, baby,” he says, sitting on the edge next to me. “And you just enjoy the bath. My head is clear for the first time in twenty-four hours. I’m going to put that empty space to use.”

  “That space that is your head is never empty, but I get it. Go. Do. Be the savant. I hope you find answers.”

  “Me, too, baby. Me, too.”

  He stands and walks toward the door, his naked muscular torso etched with ink, and while I can ask for the story of each tattooed message, I don’t know if I will ever fully know his mind. I want to know his mind. I want to know all of him but I think about how we talked tonight, and I come to one conclusion: he doesn’t need me to know what’s in his mind. He needs me to understand and accept how his mind works, how he copes. He needs me to understand him, not the numbers. I think what he needs more than anything is for me to embrace that part of him so that he, too, can embrace that part of him.

  A long time later, I’ve finished off my wine and Eric hasn’t returned. I expect he’s gone downstairs to work, but I suddenly worry that there’s news he might have gotten while I was in the tub. News that I don’t know yet, that might affect him. If his dad were to die, I’m not sure how his mind, how the savant part of him, would cope. I climb out of the tub, and grab a robe from the closet, from one of the bags, and hurry to the door. I just really need to see Eric and I hope, I really hope, all I find is a man who needs to be thoroughly kissed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Harper

  I don’t have to go far to find Eric. He’s sitting in a corner of the bedroom, on a chair facing the window with a Rubik’s cube in his hand. With an easy view of my exit from the bathroom, his eyes warm on me. “How was the bath, baby?”

  There is not one ounce of distress in him and relief washes over me. My bath, and our few hours of escape, haven’t imploded, or exploded, and become more hell. “It was wonderful,” I say, crossing to join him, settling on the chair next to him, my hand covering the cube in his hand. “Any brilliant conclusions you’ve come to?”

  “Nothing worthy of my savant status,” he admits. “I’m failing to impress you on that end.”

  “Solving an equation and figuring out the many layers of fucked-up that is many a human being are two different things.”

  “You mean, that is a Kingston,” he amends. “It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to talk around their level of fucked-up-ness. I know. I promise not to go off on the deep end on you again. I told you, that had to do with my father dying, and all the weird ways it’s affecting me.”

  “I know. You know I know. Heck, my mother is confusing me now. I love her. I thought she was a good person. Now, I’m not sure anymore.” I cut him a look. “But my father was wonderful. I wish you could have known him.”

  “I’ll know him through you and movies, and any other way you can show me the man who gave me you. Because he did. He’s the reason you stuck it out with the Kingstons, which led you back to me.”

  His cellphone buzzes with a text and he grabs it from the table sitting next to him. He says nothing but he grimaces. I sit up straighter. “What is it?” I ask urgently.

  His hand comes down on my knee. “Relax, baby. It’s about the NFL deal. Believe it or not, I’m dealing with something other than the Kingston family. I’m going to have to go into the office tomorrow.” He replies to the message and sets his phone on the arm of the chair. “It’ll be a good time for you to get the lay of the land and pick an office.”

  Pick an office, an idea that comes with a hint of trepidation. “You know, I can look for a job. I think maybe I should. I need to know that I earn my place.”

  “You will, Harper. I have no doubt and what I care most about, what Grayson will care most about, is you finding your passion.”

  “It’s a law firm, Eric. I’m not a lawy
er.”

  “We’re opening hotels and we’re about to be part owners in an NFL team. How do you feel about football?”

  “Go Pats!”

  He laughs. “Ah, you like Brady.”

  “Love me some Brady.”

  “Want to go see him play?”

  My eyes go wide. “Really?”

  “Of course, really. I’ll see if I can get us tickets.”

  “Won’t that be a conflict of interest with your new football team?” I ask.

  “Research,” he says. “I have to check out the competition from here on out and you’ll have to help me. Give me your expert opinions.”

  I laugh. “That’s a tough job, but if it comes with stadium nachos I might be able to live with it.”

  “I think we can arrange an order or two.”

  He winks and my belly does this fluttery thing that only this man can stir in me. Everything with this man is exciting and wonderful. I mean, how amazing is a football game—a football game with Brady playing before he retires—and this man? This really, truly excites me but there is also a tiny piece of reality that stabs at me. I cover his hand with mine. “To celebrate when this is over. As much as I’m enjoying this time together, Eric, a part of me is aware of the hammer about to drop.”

  “Okay, baby.” He brushes a finger down my cheek. “To celebrate when this is over.”

  He doesn’t deny the hammer about to drop. He knows it’s real. We both know it’s ever-present. “Let’s end it,” I say, suddenly feeling urgent. “Let’s make this calm last forever. Let’s—”

  He kisses me, his hand coming down on my head, his tongue licking into my mouth before he says, “We will. I will.” He rotates me and then the next thing I know, he’s on one knee between my legs, his hands on my knees, spreading me wide. “But right now,” he says, kissing my knee, his blue eyes meeting mine, heat smoldering in their depths, “you’re mine. Just mine.”

  He lifts my leg to his shoulder and forces me to catch my weight on my hands. I barely have time to process him tugging lose the tie of my robe and kissing my belly before his lips are back on my knee, the space between—my sex—now aching and wet.

  I officially decide the rest of the world can wait. We make the bad guys go away tomorrow, right after Eric becomes part owner of an NFL team or at least moves closer to that goal. I want to be there, by his side when it happens. I want so much with this man but right now, he’s kissing a path up my thigh, the fingers of one of his hands caressing a tingling path up the opposite thigh. I can’t think of anything but where I want his mouth, and how much I want him inside me. Okay, his mouth. I need his mouth on me and it’s almost as if he heard me say those words, or maybe I did. I don’t know, but his tongue licks my clit, sending sensations waving through me. And then his mouth closes down on me and I’m lost. He’s suckling me, licking me, his fingers sliding inside me. My hands and arms give out, and I fall back on the cushion.

  Eric lifts one of my legs to his shoulder, and cups my backside, his tongue never leaving my body. It’s pretty much the end of me then, or perhaps the beginning of a new me, a thought I don’t have the ability to analyze at the moment. I shatter with another lick of his tongue and every part of me trembles with the pleasure that seeps into every pore of my body.

  When my body calms, it’s with a new ache, an emptiness that only Eric can fill. Already he’s lifting me and carrying me to the bed. My robe doesn’t make it. It falls to the floor and in another few moments I’m lying on my back with Eric coming down on top of me. “This is where you belong,” he says. “Here, in this bed, in this life, with me. Say it.”

  “This is where I belong, in this bed, in this life, with you.” It hits me then that this demand is about him, about the way he never belonged anywhere, so I quickly add, “And this is where you belong. In this bed, in this life, with me. Say it.”

  “I belong with you, Harper, no matter who tries to say differently.”

  I don’t know what that means. Who wants to keep us apart? But I don’t get to ask. His mouth closes down on mine, and the long lick of his tongue drugs me, seduces me, though I manage one coherent thought: the new me is the me that’s a part of him. And whoever it is he thinks wants to divide us, or doesn’t believe we belong together, will find out that I’m never stepping aside. I’m fighting as hard as I have to fight for this man and this new life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Harper

  I don’t know how Eric and I manage to not only have an evening alone, but we manage to carry it over to morning light. I wake up to his big, strong arms around me, the earthy male scent of him teasing my nostrils, and it’s heaven. “Morning,” I murmur, lifting my head to stare into those piercing blue eyes of his.

  “Morning, beautiful,” he says, brushing my hair from my eyes. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Perfect.” I kiss his chest. “I’m here in bed with you. Is there any other way I could sleep?”

  He rolls me to my back, his big body leaning over mine, a warmth in his eyes that isn’t about worry, torment, or the Kingston family. I’m not ready to go back to the reality that includes murder and mayhem. I want to cling to this little escape he insisted we live inside the past several hours. “I could wake up with you next to me every day for the rest of my life and die a happy man.”

  This man is like sunshine in the never-ending storm that’s been my life since my father died. “I guess I’ll have to stay around and find out if that’s true.”

  “I guess you will,” he approves. “The assassin. Blake got him on an airport camera. He left. They’re tracking him.”

  “We’re free? We’re safe?”

  “This doesn’t mean the coast is clear. He may have felt he’d been exposed and had to pull back. He could have been replaced, but it’s a positive sign that we’re not the targets. Most paid assassins, and he was, don’t pull back until the job is done.”

  “But your dad is still alive, right?”

  “He is. He’s stable.” He kisses my nose. “We have until two to get to the office. I need a workout. You said you wanted to workout, too. Want to workout together?”

  “Yes. Perfect. I need a workout after the way we’ve been eating.”

  A few minutes later, he’s updated me with news that’s been texted to him while we slept. His father is stable, which I already knew. My mother is sedated again. No word on the birth certificates yet. Blake will have updates on that soon, but he’s been saying that. It’s frustrating, but it’s also why we had our peace last night. There’s just no movement. And finally, Savage has a lead on the guy from the hospital he’s following up on now. By the time I have the news, if one can call that news, we’re in a private gym in his apartment, which is quite extensive and well equipped, and it feels good to do these normal things together. Like we’re starting a real life. I hit the treadmill beside Eric, and we’re both running a good twenty minutes when his cellphone buzzes with a text. He reads it and stops running, turning to face me. I immediately stop, too, and turn to face him. “Car accident,” he says.

  “What?”

  “That’s how Isaac’s mother died.”

  “Oh.” My brow furrows. “Why did that make you stop running?”

  “I don’t know. It was a car accident. There’s no reason for that to bother me.”

  “But it does,” I supply.

  “Yes, it does.”

  My brow furrows. “You think it could have been murder?”

  “No, but then again, I don’t know what the fuck to believe with this family or why this is bugging the fuck out of me. I need to think.” He grimaces and turns back to the treadmill, and restarts the machine. I don’t feel shut out. I want him to think. I want answers.

  So I do the same. I turn my machine back on and start running, but there is no question, murder is in the air, and it wants to stay there.

  ***

  Two hours later, we’re not only done with our workout, we’re showering together. We don’t tal
k about Isaac. We don’t fuck. We’re just together. We’re under the spray. We’re holding each other. He’s thinking. I sense this. I understand it. I feel that I need to give him the space to use that brain of his, that I have to be the person who understands when his mind takes over. This doesn’t take away from the intimacy, though. He’s present. He’s with me even when he’s in his own mind. If anything, our ability to be together and say nothing, deepens the connection between us.

  Once we’re done showering, we complete our morning routine together at the bathroom sinks, side by side. We share these intimate looks in the mirror that have my stomach fluttering and my heart expanding. This is where I belong. No one is going to change that. I feel that now, though I’m certain, too, that this family will try. They will fail.

  Eric doesn’t shave, leaving a sexy, thick three-day growth of whiskers on his jaw. It’s rugged and rough, a reminder that he is both the boy who lived in a trailer, the SEAL that roughed it in enemy territory, and the man who has become a self-made billionaire. He heads to the back of the closet, and I finish drying my hair before using the random new make-up items I’ve purchased, or rather, he purchased. I’m still trying to find my way with his money, which makes me eager for this visit to the office. I need to find my way with my money. I need to contribute. I need my path by his side.

  With that in mind, I head to the closet and Eric and I end up dressing together, right after he shoves me into a corner and thoroughly fucks me. We still don’t talk but when it’s over, we laugh and smile. And then we get dressed. Him in dark blue jeans, black boots, and a navy Bennett logo shirt. Me in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and black knee-high boots, all of which we bought at the Chanel store yesterday. Once we’re both ready, we’ve managed to maintain the quiet of the outside world, but that has to end at the office. We decide to leave early, venturing out to head to a diner Eric loves on the way to the office, which I’m feeling both nervous and excited to experience.