Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

Suddenly, I remember my cell phone. My cell phone. Jesus, what does it say for my mental state if it took me that long to think of it?

  I pull it out and dial Jeremy. I press it to my ear and start to pace back and forth as I wait for the call to go through.

  It doesn’t ring. I wait and wait, but I don’t hear the phone ringing. Why isn’t it ringing? I look at the screen, thinking maybe I forgot to hit ‘call’… and then I see the empty triangle where the signal status should be.

  No shit you can’t make the call! An inner voice screams at me. You’re in a fucking elevator! A closed metal box!

  My eyes dart from wall to wall.

  Trapped, I think. I’m trapped, trapped, trapped!

  The weight of the steel, the sturdiness of its construction presses down on me. I feel the pressure from every side. I look at the doors. I can’t go back out there. Not without Jeremy. Not when I know there’s another collar waiting for me on this floor.

  I’m going crazy. I’m on the verge of breaking down. I try to slow my breathing, to take deep, heavy inhales and calm my frenetic thoughts.

  Nope. It doesn’t work. If anything, it heightens my anxiety. Somebody else knows about the collar. Somebody else has a copy of the collar.

  Somebody else could spring it on my neck.

  My back hits the cold, metal wall. My knees give out. I slide all the way to the floor, press my knees tight to my chest, and begin to shake.

  With a little jerk, the elevator starts to move.

  I look around dumbly. The elevator’s moving up. I can feel it through the floor. It stops, and the doors open.

  Through blurry eyes, I see Jeremy striding toward me, along the far side of the hall, moving fast. He looks determined, but also alarmed.

  Without thought, I pick myself up and rush into his arms. He holds me. I can feel his strength, his firmness against me. With every breath I take, I breathe him in, finding comfort in the familiarity of his cologne, his aftershave, and him.

  I break down and sob uncontrollably.

  “Lilly,” he says. “Talk to me. What happened? What’s wrong?”

  I want to tell him, but the words don’t come. All I am capable of is more crying. I shake my head back and forth, blubbering against him.

  He seems to understand. “Come on,” he says, gently guiding me. “We’ll go in my office. We’ll have complete privacy there.”

  I nod, still sniffling, and follow his direction.

  The walk there is a blur. Going through the sliding doors and being lowered into a sofa seat is a blur. Everything is a blur. I don’t even know how I got the glass of water in my hands. I’m operating on a level more basic than autopilot. It’s like my conscious mind has shut down, retracted from what it perceives as an unfathomable threat. I’m little more than a zombie.

  The glass. I focus on the glass. The liquid inside is clear. I should drink it. Shouldn’t I? I bring it to my lips, take a sip—and nearly choke when I find it’s not water, but some type of liquor.

  “Drink, Lilly.” Jeremy’s voice is firm. I feel his hand wrap around mine and guide the glass to my lips. “Drink. It’ll calm you.”

  I find comfort in that strong, authoritative voice. It feels natural to do what he says. It feels natural to comply.

  So, I drink all of whatever it is Jeremy gave me. The harsh liquid burns my throat. When it’s all down, a bit of clarity settles over me.

  I blink once or twice, clearing my eyes. Jeremy comes into view.

  He’s kneeling beside me, his public mask flung away, concern shining through his dark, beautiful eyes. He looks a vision, as always, and I have a surreal moment when I consider that this man actually and truly cares for me.

  “Lilly.” He takes my hand and holds it between his, stroking his thumb over my knuckle. “Lilly-Flower. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. When I saw you through the elevator camera, I nearly lost it.”

  “That’s—that’s how you knew?” I blubber. “That’s how you knew to get me?”

  “I get alerted whenever somebody tries to come to the top floor. I have to approve or deny the request. Usually, the calls only come with my invitations, or by an accidental button strike. When I heard the call come again, and again, and again, when I looked through the camera and saw that it was you, I knew something was wrong. So tell me. What the hell happened?”

  I use the back of my free hand to wipe away the tears.

  Damn, I must look a mess. I bet there’s mascara all over my face.

  But the shot of alcohol is having its effect. I’m starting to feel better. Stronger. More like myself. More in control.

  Or maybe it’s not the alcohol that’s doing that. Maybe it’s Jeremy’s presence.

  My bet is on the latter.

  “Hugh,” I say simply.

  Jeremy blinks, and then frowns. “Hugh?” he asks.

  “Yes, Hugh,” I say. “Mr. Hugh? One of your board members?”

  Jeremy looks uncertain. “Lilly…” he says slowly. “I don’t have a board member named Hugh.”

  “Mr. Blackthorne?” I try. “He said some people know him by that.”

  Jeremy’s expression shifts instantly. His eyes narrow. His jaw sets. He looks at me with unwavering intensity.

  “Who told you that name?” he whispers.

  “Hugh did!” I exclaim. “Weren’t you listening? Hugh, or Mr. Hugh, or Mr. Blackthorne, or whoever he is. That’s not the important bit. Jeremy, he had—”

  “That is the important bit,” he says softly, cutting me off. “That name,” he nearly grimaces, “is not to be spoken in my presence. I’ll ask you once more, Lilly. This time, I expect the truth. Where did you learn that name?”

  “Hugh told me!” I say again, irritation with Jeremy’s obstinacy starting to overtake my other emotions. “Why won’t you let me finish? Why does it matter what his name is? Jeremy, he had—”

  “It matters to me.” His voice is like steel cutting through soft silk. He stands, and walks away from me. He looks out the window, both hands clasped behind his back.

  “What are you telling me?” he asks. There’s a dangerous undercurrent to his voice that I heard last when I knew him as Stonehart. “Is this a trick, Lilly? Running to me in distress, interrupting my work, only to mock me…” his voice rises, filling the words with unbridled scorn, “…with that filthy name? Where did you find it? Is that my reward for granting you your freedom? Is that what you’ve been doing all last week? Snooping and researching online while I thought you were working?”

  “Jeremy, no!” I protest, standing up. It’s obvious that mention of that name has put him on edge. Why, I haven’t the faintest clue.

  I come up to him and rub his arm. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I—”

  “Don’t touch me,” he snarls, ripping away.

  I freeze.

  Jeremy stalks away. He goes straight to the bar and pours himself a drink, then downs it in one swallow. He pours a second, and repeats the process. He does all this facing away from me.

  He places his hands on the counter, and lowers his head. I’m impressed—and frightened—by the sheer bulk of his body. He is so tall. As his back rises and falls with his even breathing, I’m reminded of an angered bear.

  I remember a documentary I once saw. It was about a man who lived in the wild and adopted two bear cubs when they were young. For years, he raised them, filming the process and his interactions with them. The three would wrestle. They’d play fight. Even as the bears grew, their friendship continued. Once they got big enough, the man would ride their backs and go hunting with them.

  The story did not have a happy ending. One day, for some reason or other, one of the grown bears got angry. Or maybe it was an accident, where the bear misjudged his own strength. Whatever it was, it was all caught on tape and then retracted from the documentary.

  The man was killed by the bears. It did not matter that they had spent fifteen years together. It did not matter that he had raised them from birth. It did not matt
er that they had a kinship.

  Now that I think of it, it was not the bear that misjudged anything. It was the man. He’d tried to tame two wild beasts. Though, for the longest time, it looked like he’d succeeded, in the end, his mistake cost him his life.

  That is the moral of the story. You cannot adopt a wild animal as a pet. It does not matter how strong your connection might be. Beasts are not meant to be tamed. No matter what you do, you cannot change that nature.

  That is how I feel with Jeremy at the moment. I haven’t tamed the man. I cannot change who he is. The potential for violence, for anger, for a return to Stonehart is always there.

  And it will continue to be there, lying latent somewhere inside, for all his life. Until a trigger provokes a reaction.

  Like the name has done now.

  So I don’t approach him. If anything, I take a small step back.

  I see his fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. He’s trying to regain control.

  I pray, mostly for my sake, that he succeeds.

  “Lilly,” he says. “I do not control you, anymore. But I still hope—hope!—that some of the things you’ve learned about me when I did hold sway over you remain. You know how I hate repeating myself.” He turns his head, slowly. His eyes pierce into me. “So don’t make me do it.”

  I bite my lip and try to think, urging my brain to work faster. I know what he’s talking about. The question he posed, for which I haven’t been able to provide a satisfactory answer.

  But what do I do when the truth fails? I do not want to lie.

  “I…” I stammer, and then I catch myself. Jeremy does not want a frail, pathetic, weak woman in front of him. So what if Hugh—whoever he is—has a replica of the collar? It’s not going to harm me. It’s not like he’ll tackle me to the floor and force it around my neck.

  The image of that small, old man, trying to grapple me to the floor is so ridiculous it makes me want to laugh. He’s no taller than my shoulder! And he’s got to be pushing seventy.

  He’s no threat. Not physically, anyway. Besides, I’ve dealt with much, much worse while under Jeremy’s care. And who did I run to then? Nobody! I relied on myself. I got myself out of that situation.

  That is exactly what I’ll do here. Running to Jeremy was a cop-out. It was a sign of weakness, of dependence. I must squash it in the future.

  So I straighten. I roll my shoulders back. I address Jeremy in a calm, cool voice.

  “A man told me,” I say.

  “A man.” Jeremy nearly chuckles. He turns back to the bar. His hand hovers over a series of bottles before clasping the neck of one. He picks it up, takes his tumbler, and walks to sit behind his desk.

  He does this all without once casting a look at me.

  He leans in his seat, and then, to my surprise, kicks his legs up on the table. He pours the brandy, closely watching the dark, golden liquid.

  “Are you trying to evoke a reaction from me?” he asks. “Is that why you’re here, Lilly? Do you want to see how much power you still hold?”

  He swirls the liquid in the glass, continuing to watch only it. “Well, I know a better way for you to do it. Come here, Lilly.”

  My back stiffens at the callous sound of his request. I walk over to him regardless.

  He only looks at me when I’m a foot away.

  “Blow me,” he says.

  I blink. “What?”

  “Get on your fucking knees and blow me!” Jeremy roars.

  The outburst makes me instantly drop down. Jeremy twirls in his chair and places his open legs on either side of my head.

  “I’m sorry,” he chuckles. “I shouldn’t have yelled. But I think it’s preferable to…the alternative.”

  I nearly open my mouth to ask ‘what alternative’, before realizing I don’t want to know.

  Jeremy unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down. I’m astounded to see that he’s already semi-hard.

  “You know this type of thing gets my blood going,” he says, as if reading my thoughts. “And all day long I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that perky, little mouth of yours wrapping around my cock. You owe me for the weekend, Lilly. You and I…” he strokes a hand through my hair, “…have some much-needed catching up to do.”

  Chapter Five

  I scream as Jeremy pounds me. We’ve fucked everywhere. On the sofa. Across his desk. Against the glass wall.

  Right now, I’m back on the desk for a second round. I can’t believe Jeremy has the stamina to keep going. Then again, knowing his voracious appetite, why am I surprised? He was right: We are catching up for lost time over the weekend.

  “Harder,” I beg. Jeremy grabs my waist and pins me down, then proceeds to quicken the already break-neck speed he’s going at. “Harder! Oh yes! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!”

  We’ve long since discarded our clothes. All the muscles of Jeremy’s body are glistening with sweat. His shoulders strain as he pounds into me. Each pulse sends his cock deep inside. Continuous waves of pleasure scorch my body.

  “Ah…Lilly…I’m going to come!” He pulls out. “Get down!”

  I comply without hesitation, dropping to my knees before him and letting him splatter his semen all over my face.

  He staggers forward when it’s done, leaning over me, against the desk, for support.

  His ragged breathing slowly calms.

  He opens his eyes, “Come on, then. Time for you to get cleaned up.”

  As I stand, wiping the semen from my eyes with the back of my hand, he slaps my ass. I jump.

  “Damn, but you’re fucking sexy when you’re all broken like that,” he says.

  ***

  After we’ve both showered in his private bathroom, and dressed, we return to the main part of his office. Jeremy, with his hair still wet, looks as good as I’ve ever seen him. More than that, he looks…satisfied. Satiated.

  After all the sex we’ve just had, it’s no surprise.

  Still, it’s a reminder of how much his mood can be influenced by such a simple act. Okay, maybe not simple—not with him—but something that I can offer on demand, when needed as it suits me.

  Come on, a voice whispers. It’s not like you didn’t enjoy it, too.

  I stifle a giggle and then drape myself on the leather sofa.

  “So,” Jeremy says. He adjusts his hair with both hands and then crosses his arms, looking at me. “Miss Ryder. Are you ready to now tell me where you learned that name?”

  “Blackthorne?” I ask.

  Jeremy shifts on his feet. I can see him fighting some internal irritation. “Yes,” he says softly. “Blackthorne.”

  “I told you, but you don’t believe me,” I say. I sit up. The time for languidity is over. A storm has started outside. A flash of lightning breaks through the downpour.

  I shiver. I’ve never felt safe in the middle of a storm.

  Jeremy exhales slowly. “That’s the story you’re sticking to?” he asks.

  “Jeremy, you saw me in the elevator! You saw how distraught I was. Do you think I’d just make something like that up?”

  “The mind is capable of extraordinary things, Lilly,” he says. “Perhaps I overestimated your capacity for returning to work so early. Perhaps, after learning what Fey told you, you should have stayed home.”

  My back stiffens. “Are you saying I’m not capable,” I begin.

  “I’m saying that you’re stressed,” he interrupts. “Something happened to you today. You weren’t yourself. It’s understandable, Lilly. Admirable, even, that you’ve put on a strong face for so long. You had a breakdown in the elevator. That’s all.”

  It frustrates me how he can speak of it so…clinically. So dispassionately. As if we didn’t just share one of the most intense fucking sessions in recent memory.

  It’s as if, once the suit came back on, and we returned to his office, the dynamic of our relationship shifted right into that of employer-employee.

  “Now tell me,” he continues. “Is this som
ething else you got from Fey? Did her fiancé do some more digging?”

  “No,” I say. I want to grind my teeth in frustration. “Jeremy, why won’t you listen to me? Look, this is what happened. I was waiting by the elevator, ready to leave, when a man approached me. He looked familiar. It took me a moment to place him. I saw him once, months ago, when you introduced me to your board! Don’t you remember?”

  “Don’t mock me now,” Jeremy says. His voice is soft and dangerous. “Of course I remember. I remember everything that has to do with this company. I remember everything that has to do with you.”

  “That’s very sweet,” I say sarcastically. “May I continue?”

  Jeremy gestures in an off-handed manner.

  “He asked me to go with him. I didn’t know what he wanted, so I said ‘no’. I was ready to leave. I wanted to go home…to see you.”

  Jeremy curls his lips back into the thinnest facsimile of a smile. “How sweet,” he mimics.

  I ignore the provocation. “He told me it was about you. Then he called you by your first name. To my face.”

  I expected some reaction from Jeremy when I said that.

  He gives none. He just looks at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to continue.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little bit unusual?” I ask.

  “As long as it’s not done in my presence, people can call me whatever they want,” Jeremy says. “So what, Lilly? Get to the point. My patience is wearing thin.”

  “The point,” I say, growing angry, “is that he knew about us. About me and you. About our relationship outside of work.”

  Jeremy looks unimpressed. “So?” he asks. “Anybody with half a brain could put two and two together. It’s only on your insistence that we maintain the charade of formality in this building.”

  “Not that,” I hiss. “He knew about us…about you…about…” My nerves almost fail me. “…The collar.”

  That gets his attention. “What did you say?”

  “The man…Hugh Blackthorne—whoever—had photographs of us, Jeremy. On your island. He gave them to me.” I look around, searching for the envelope, but can’t find it right away. “Even worse, just before I left, he reached into his desk and took out…the collar.”