The Empire

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “What? Say what?”

  “Home. You want to go home, to our home.”

  My hand settles on his warm, hard chest, over the thundering of his heart. “I do. I want to go home, to our home. I don’t want to go back to Denver. I thought I’d hate leaving my house behind, but I don’t. I need away from that place. I need away and I didn’t realize how much.”

  “Come on. Let’s find that office and then get out of here.” He opens his door and we walk down a hallway, the desk and open area we travel empty of people. It’s a ghost town and I like it. We spend a good hour just looking at a few offices, and talking about who sits where, and what they do, what he thinks of their jobs and performances. It’s an oddly calming process. I don’t know how he knew it would be, but it is, and he was right. I don’t let myself think about where my mother is right this minute. I don’t think about when she will arrive. I just sink into this time with Eric. And that’s easy to do. He speaks of each person he works with, who I now work with, in relation to their work effort and skills, but they aren’t statistics to him. He knows personal things, like how Julie at the corner desk has three kids and Ellen in a particular office is a criminal attorney driven by being the daughter of a man wrongly accused of murder, and later a killer.

  I notice these personal observations about him and I fall more in love with this man. He’s a savant who sees himself as a machine, but he’s not a machine at all. He’s more human than most people I know and one day he’ll see this. I’ll see it for him until he can, until he does. “What do you think?” he asks when we pause by a break room. “Which office is yours?”

  “I think I should want the one farthest from yours, to fight off gossip and prove myself on my own two feet, but I know how hard I work. I know how hard I’ll go at any project I take on. I’ll prove myself as more than your girlfriend. My work will do that. I want the office you showed me close to yours.”

  His arm gently wraps my neck and he pulls me close. “I want you in the office close to me, too, princess.”

  “Princess?”

  “You are my princess. And for the record, girlfriend isn’t enough, but we’ll talk about that. We have time. We have forever, and you’ll know that soon.” He kisses me. “Let’s go home.”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Please. Let’s go home. I really want to be there with you right now.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re on the street walking in the chilly early evening, our arms linked, the city of New York a chatter of sounds and smells, collapsing around us. I try to focus on the way those things are assaulting our senses, but I can’t live in the moment. I know I have to deal with my mother soon. I know I have to face her. I have to face what she’s become. I even welcome it. This is about to end. I know that when I talk to her, I’ll break her. I’ll make her give me everything. I’m not ready yet, though. I want Eric. I want to feel our bond. I want to revel in what comes next, and that’s him. He’s what is now. He’s what’s next. I want him naked and in the bed we now share as our own.

  I want nothing more. Just him. Just us.

  He glances down at me, lifts our hands and kisses my knuckles and the look he gives me is tender and yet ravishing. I didn’t know such a look existed. I didn’t know anyone could be everything to me at once, but he is. Eric is all I could ever want and need. The irony is, he doesn’t believe that. He doesn’t know how perfect he is, but tonight…tonight I’m going to show him in every physical way possible. I double-step and pull him with me. I can’t get him to the apartment and alone fast enough.

  He drags me to him and stops in the middle of a busy sidewalk, maneuvering us until I’m against a wall. “I’m so fucking crazy about you, I can’t breathe without you,” he says. And right there, on a busy Manhattan sidewalk with people bustling everywhere, we kiss like we’ve never kissed before, like we will never kiss again. He claims me. I claim him. There is a desperation between us I can’t explain. And when we finally part on a breath, he whispers, “We don’t talk about any of this when we get home. We just do us.”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He kisses me again and then links my fingers with his, setting us back in motion. We walk the short walk to our apartment and I swear the sexual tension between us is so damn intense that I’m hot and wet and aching by the time we’re at our door. God, our door. I live with this man. I love this man. It’s too soon to even say we love each other, but we have, and maybe that’s where we’re at. We’re both seeking that validation that we’re forever, that when this is over, we aren’t over. Love is love, it’s not temporary. It’s not about the eye of the storm. It’s real. We’re real.

  We both need to know before the explosion we both know is coming arrives that we’re solid. We’re unbreakable.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Harper

  The minute the apartment door is open, we’re inside, and Eric must have hit the light, because a dim glow highlights the room, and the man, my man, as he shuts the door and then I’m suddenly against it, Eric kissing me, his hands on my body, and yet some part of me is aware of him locking the door. The very fact that I feel relief when he does, that I have to feel fear that someone will come for us, is only driven home by my hand hitting the gun at his back.

  I draw back and stare up at him. “I hate that gun.”

  He kisses me and then shrugs out of his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack before he pulls the gun from his pants, walking to a table a few feet away and setting it on top. He doesn’t put it inside the drawer. He sets it on top. That’s a decision for access and I have about ten realizations in this moment. I step toward him, even as he steps to me. “It bothers you that I can kill, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” I say honestly. “No,” I add more firmly. “I just had about ten thoughts. The top two: it sucks to have to be nervous in our own home. And then, thank God, you’ll win if we are. I’m glad you know how to use that gun. The third is maybe the most important. You make me feel safe, Eric, and that has nothing to do with that gun. It has everything to do with trusting you and—”

  His mouth closes down on mine, and there is no holding back, not by him. Not by me. We explode into passion. I can’t kiss him deeply enough. I can’t taste that brutal and yet somehow tender, taste of him enough. I lick against his tongue. I touch him, pressing my hands under his T-shirt, all that hot, taut skin over hard muscle as addictive as his mouth on my mouth. He pushes my jacket off my shoulders, and turns me, dragging it down my arms.

  He’s barely pulled it away when his hands are on my belly, under my shirt, his touch scorching me inside and out even before he pulls it over my head. Before long, my bra is gone, and he’s cupping my breasts, his big body arched around mine. His lips are brushing my ear, warm breath teasing my neck as he whispers, “You belong here now. I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

  I belong here now.

  My lashes lower with the impact of those words and the emotions they stir. I haven’t belonged anywhere in a really long time. That’s where we connect. Despite his success and bond with Grayson, in his mind, he’s always been an outsider. I twist in his arms and stare up at him. “You belong here with me. We fit. You fit me, Eric. More than you know, but I’m not going anywhere. You’ll know. You’ll believe it.”

  His gaze lowers, not to my naked breasts, but to my mouth, lingering, lifting slowly, his eyes search mine and I don’t know what he wants to find, what he’s looking for, but I have nothing but sincerity to offer him. Nothing but love. I let him see it. I will him to see it and then suddenly, his mouth crashes back down on mine, and it’s as if a charge explodes between us. We can’t kiss each other deep enough, thoroughly enough. There just isn’t enough to be found and we are wild, tugging at each other’s clothes. His shirt comes off, and I stroke his body, his ink, that beautiful ink, his story, his life I’m now living with him.

  “Eric,” I whisper, and I yelp as he scoops me up and starts walking, carrying me across the roo
m. I’ve never had a man carry me like this, but then, I’ve never connected with anyone the way I do with this man. I couldn’t connect with anyone after meeting him. He was too present, even when he was on the other side of the country.

  I snuggle into the hard lines of his body and hold on, the way I plan to keep holding on, my mouth wanting his mouth. It’s all I can do not to press my lips to his, but I settle for burying my face in his neck and breathing in that earthy, spicy scent of him, letting it pour through me. I know the moment we’re in the bedroom, I just feel it, the intimacy, the shared bed, our bed.

  He settles me on the mattress and he comes down on top of me, his mouth finally back on my mouth, his tongue finally stroking my tongue. And then it’s just pure instinct. We are touching and pressing our bodies together, his mouth dragging down my neck, hands cupping my breasts, teeth scraping my nipple, licks and suckles following until I’m dying with need.

  “Eric,” I pant, my fingers slicing through the thick strands of his light brown hair, his lips pressing to my belly, fingers work under my waistband, his tongue licking the delicate skin there.

  I moan with the anticipation of what comes next, but more so with what I need, with needing him. He drags my pants down my legs and in a quick movement, my shoes and my pants are gone. Then he’s gone, and I feel the loss of his touch. I suck in air, trying to calm my body, slow my heartbeat before I sit up, right as he’s pressing me back down against the mattress, naked now, the thick ridge of his erection settling thick between my legs.

  “You think I’m going to push you away,” he says, his lips lingering above mine.

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No, baby. You do fit me. I’m holding onto you. And you’ll know that.” He brushes his lips over mine, his tongue teasing me with a kiss that doesn’t follow. “You’ll believe soon.” He seals that promise with his mouth, and my fingers slide into his hair, my leg wrapping his leg, hips arching into the slow slide and pump of his cock.

  Time fades into the connection I share with this man, and we kiss and move in this slow, sexy, passionate sway of our bodies. We make love and it’s consuming, he’s consuming, and we savor it until we can savor no more. Until the slow, tender touches become urgent, frenzied, desperate. We’re desperate the way we were when we entered the apartment. We can’t get enough of each other and that burning need explodes into the kind of intense grinding and swaying that leaves no room for anything but physical need. His mouth is everywhere. His hands on my breasts. Fingers pinching my nipples. Cock stroking my sex and I tumble into a mind-blowing orgasm. It steals my very breath and when it’s over, when I can breathe again, Eric is right there with me, following me into release, and it’s pure, raw, masculine perfection, his groan low and guttural. The muscles of his inked arms flexing. The intensity of his expression as he shudders into release.

  We end up curled together, facing each other, each of us pressing a hand to the other’s face. I’m not sure how long we lay there and stare at each other, but at some point, his cellphone rings. He presses his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to answer it, but we both know—”

  “You have to.” I kiss him. “Answer.”

  He’s forced to scoot off the bed and he grabs his pants. I scoot up to the headboard and lean against it, curling my legs to my chest. “It was Blake,” Eric says, pulling on his jeans and tossing me his shirt. “And he just sent a text telling me to call him.”

  He sits down next to me and I pull on the shirt, eager for the shelter it offers, from whatever is coming. And something is. I feel it. Eric dials Blake and they talk a minute at most before Eric sets his phone down and turns to face me. “She’s on an American Airlines flight here, but she has a layover in Texas. She’s won’t be here until nearly one in the morning. We have time to talk through our strategy. You can meet her tomorrow.”

  My brow furrows. “She thinks there’s an assassin and she booked a flight with a layover? Eric, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “She doesn’t believe there’s an assassin,” he says. “She’s not scared.”

  “My God. Did she hire the assassin?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Harper

  “Could my mother do something like that?” I ask, scooting to the edge of the bed to stare up at Eric. “Could she hire a killer, could she put a hit out on your father? On her own husband?”

  “No.” He eases me to my feet. “That didn’t happen. What motivation would your mother have to hire the assassin?”

  “Aside from your father being a bad person? Money.”

  “Who she’s madly in love with, remember?”

  “What if she’s not? Or what if he cheated on her and she found out?” My fingers curl on his chest. “God, I’m not her. I don’t want your money. I don’t want—”

  He grips my shoulders. “Easy, baby. You’re letting your fears spin out of control.”

  “My mother is involved. We both know she’s involved.” He links the fingers of one of his hands with mine and leads me to the chair by the window, sitting me down before he goes down on a knee in front of me and hands me the Rubik’s cube. “Solve the puzzle.”

  “What?”

  “Force yourself to focus on the puzzle. Don’t think about anything else.”

  “I can never solve these puzzles. This isn’t going to help.”

  “It’ll keep your mind occupied if you let it. Meanwhile, I’ll order dinner and pour us some wine.”

  He starts to get up and I grab his hand and press the cube inside it. “You need this. You’re the one who can think us out of a puzzle.”

  “Your mother is coming here for a reason. She wants to tell you what’s going on. And she’s not going to be here until the middle of the night. She’ll crash in her hotel and you’ll talk to her tomorrow. We’ll talk tonight and play out every way that could go and what you want to do. Or we can just fuck again, and then order dinner, drink wine, and game plan.”

  “I can’t have sex right now. I can’t figure out the cube right now. My mother has my full attention.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I’m sure.”

  His hands settle on my knees and he begins to caress a path up my legs. I grab his wrists. “Eric, I’m—”

  “About to forget all of this. You need to breathe. You need to calm down. And, baby, you do that for me. I know you already know that. Now, I’m going to do it for you.”

  “You do. You know you do, but—”

  He slides his T-shirt all the way up my thighs, his shoulders inching my legs wide. His tongue is suddenly licking my clit. I suck in air and my body arches against him. “Should I continue?” he teases. “Or would you rather fret?”

  “I can’t just—”

  He leans in and licks me again, and while I’m recovering from the jolt of sensations, he pulls me forward, forcing me to my back and then he’s between my legs, licking, kissing, teasing, pleasing—and for right now, there is nothing but his mouth, his fingers, my pleasure. He owns me and I don’t even care. I have never wanted to be owned the way I do with this man.

  I shatter with a quickness that is almost embarrassing and when I collapse, Eric kisses my belly, my nipples, and then actually stands up and takes me with him. “Food and wine time,” he says. “How about pizza?”

  “That’s it? What about you?”

  He strokes my hair. “Sometimes it’s all about you, princess, and that’s a good thing. It’s a damn good thing.” He kisses my hand and the way he called me princess with utter tenderness, washes away every negative undertone it’s ever held.

  I eagerly head downstairs with him and settle on to the couch where we drink wine while waiting on a pizza order. “Have you looked closely at the will?” I ask. “Does she inherit?”

  “I read enough to know that yes, she does. I need to read the entire document in more detail.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m sending it to you, too.” He opens his MacBook on the coffee table. “But
we can read it together. And if it makes you feel better, Blake’s digging into every possibility. She’s on his radar because of her meeting with the mob. He’s going to look deeper into her activity.”

  “Hasn’t he already looked into her finances?”

  “He has, but she wasn’t on the radar at all before now.”

  “But she is now,” I say, my throat suddenly tight.

  His hand comes down on my leg. “Your mother has nothing to win by involving herself in any of this.”

  “Then why attack you? Why blame you?”

  “Maybe she really thinks I’m the one who poisoned my father. They hate me, Harper. I assure you, she’s heard nothing but another form of poison where I’m concerned. Don’t assume the worst.”

  “How can you be this calm? She’s threatening you.”

  “Because not only am I innocent, there’s no way I’ll be charged for a heart attack.”

  “She inherits if he dies.” My throat goes dry. “What if she’s blaming you to keep the attention off of her?”

  “There’s no attention to be had. It’s a heart attack.”

  “That was really poison,” I amend.

  “That won’t show up in his tests. An assassin, a professional assassin, doesn’t get caught.”

  I tap the computer. “Read it. See if you find a loophole that gives her added motivation.”

  “I’ll read it if you drink that wine.”

  I sip from my glass. “Deal.”

  Thirty minutes later, we know that my mother inherits twenty-five percent of everything, which is millions, while the eldest child inherits seventy-five percent. Isaac is named, which we knew, but the exact terminology reads: Isaac Kingston or the eldest living child. Also something we knew, but reading the actual language strikes me as odd.

  “It just feels off,” I murmur.

  “As Blake said,” Eric reminds me. “It’s probably terminology placed by an attorney. It may mean nothing.”