by Brynne Asher
My hip gets another squeeze and he leans in, this time firmly planting a kiss on my forehead. I fight the urge to tip my head, inviting him to really kiss me, to lay claim to me like he did earlier, just one more time.
But I don’t and he backs away, unlocking my door. When he turns the knob, the beeps of the security system pull me back to reality. Crew stays where he is as I step inside to punch in my code.
“I’ll be by tomorrow,” he promises when I turn to him.
I say nothing, but simply look at him. Doing my best, I let my eyes drag over his body. He blends in with the night sky in his black suit as I memorize every beautiful inch—his dark eyes and hair, his broad frame, and long powerful legs. When I look down, I’m hypnotized by his hands, remembering how they felt on me, commanding, strong, and warm.
“You okay? You didn’t get banged up in the car?” His voice cuts through the quiet and I look up quickly.
I ignore him, my voice coming out short and clipped. “Thank you. For tonight.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Goodbye, Crew.”
“Tomorrow,” he reiterates.
With that, I inch the door closed until I lose sight of him. I lean my forehead to the door, needing to calm myself. Taking a moment, a much needed pause, I wait for Crew to leave and prepare for the painful task I’m dreading. I dread it to my toes, my insides twisted and turned with torment. As much as I don’t want to, after what happened tonight, I know what I must do. Forcing my body to move, quietly, I lock the knob and deadbolt and arm the security system before ripping at my shoes.
All of a sudden—I’m in such a state—I break the clasp on one silver heel trying to get it off my ankle. Leaving them by the front door, I sprint up the stairs to the second floor bedroom I use for storage. Heaven knows I don’t need all these extra rooms—I never have overnight company. Rushing to the closet, I grab my two largest suitcases plus another small one, doing my best to manage them up to the third floor.
Running to my large walk-in closet, I reach on my tippy toes for my mom’s box. I have loads of my mom’s things around the house, but I can’t leave without this. It has everything important to me in this world. My favorite pictures of us together, a few of all three of us before my dad died, her wedding ring, a tattered copy of Gone with the Wind that she read more times than I’ll ever know, and every single postcard she sent while I was in college. She never missed a day. Not one. She always said she had fun looking for the silliest and most obscure cards she could find. And every day the mail was delivered while I was at UCLA for four years, I knew she was thinking of me. Now that she’s gone, I’m so thankful I kept them all.
Needless to say, the box is big as I heave it down off the shelf. I set it in the middle of the room and dash back for clothes and shoes. I pack fast, throwing only the essentials in the largest of the suitcases and head to my bathroom. Snatching a tote out of the linen closet, I mindlessly shovel in all the makeup and bath necessities that will fit. It’s bulging out the top, but it’ll do for now.
It’s after midnight. I wonder how far I can get tonight before I’ll need to stop for sleep. The thought makes my eyes sting, but I fight it back, needing to concentrate on what I’m doing.
Finally, I grab the last suitcase and go to my dresser, tossing armfuls of clothes inside.
“You goin’ somewhere?”
I shriek at the deep voice breaking into my freak-out, spinning around instantly. When I see him, I back into my dresser violently, my hands grasping in an effort to steady myself. Picture frames, jewelry holders and perfume bottles rock, something behind me crashes to the floor from the force of my body.
He’s standing in my doorway, leaning casually against the jamb. My heart beats desperately making my head spin, my lungs barely catching up with my frenzied body.
The control I normally hold so dear is gone.
Disintegrated.
Desperately, my eyes comb the room realizing I have no escape. There’s only one way out and he’s blocking it.
“Well?”
My eyes dart back at the sound of his voice. The jacket and tie are gone—his black shirt is rolled at the cuffs and unbuttoned at the collar. Where he was sweet and tender on my doorstep just minutes ago, he’s sharp as he stands in the entrance of my bedroom, looking anything but relaxed.
“How did you get in here?” I whisper, barely hearing my own voice.
“Where are you going, Addison?”
Pulling my lips between my teeth, I ignore his question and try to remember how he made me feel safe just a short time ago. Swallowing hard, realization washes over me and I panic.
“I set the alarm. How did you get in?”
Since he hasn’t moved a muscle, it’s easy to see his eyes narrow. “I have my ways. Tell me what happened at the White House. What did O’Rourke say to you?”
I shake my head quickly. “Nothing.”
“He knows you.”
“Get out of my house,” I try to demand, but it doesn’t sound convincing. It sounds feeble and weak, which is how I feel, down to my toes.
My eyes pool with tears as I keep shaking my head. “I have no idea who he is. I’ve never laid eyes on him before this week.”
“I didn’t say you knew him. I said he knows you.” His head tips the other way. “Did he threaten you?”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” I tell him the truth.
“Is there a reason someone was chasing and shooting at us tonight?”
I keep shaking my head and beg, “Please, leave.”
“I want to know what he said to you, what happened on the way home, and why you’re so scared you think you’re leaving. Because I promise you, Addison, you’re not going anywhere.”
My tears spill over as the anxiety crawls through me, the way it does when I lose control. Between the Red Room incident and being chased and shot at on the way home, I can’t handle it. It’s happened since I was five. I’ve controlled it for years, probably since I was in high school, but I recognize it like it was yesterday. The panic is seeping in, beginning to strangle me.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I cry.
His piercing eyes soften, transforming his rugged, beautiful face. There’s no edge to his deep rumbly voice as he informs me, “I do know what I’m talking about. I know more than you think I do. In fact, I know more than you. There’s no way I’m letting you go anywhere.”
“You don’t know anything,” I throw my words at him, my tears coming strong.
“I do,” he insists. “I promise, if they found you here, they’ll find you again. I not only know more than you, but I know more than them. This means, I know more than everyone and trust me when I say, you’re safest here.”
“What are you talking about? Who are they, and…and why should I trust you? I don’t understand what’s going on. What do you know? How do you know anything?” My voice rises with each question, laced with terror. He can’t know anything. Especially about my parents, my past, the part of my life Sheldon O’Rourke clearly knows something about. Although I have no idea why or how he knows anything, I do know I’m not sticking around to find out. I have no idea why we were chased home, but I can only assume it has something to do with O’Rourke.
He doesn’t answer but he does push away from the jamb heading straight for me. I’m paralyzed in my spot. There’s no use in trying, I know I won’t get away, even if I wanted to.
When he reaches me, his eyes are compassionate, almost sympathetic. His hand comes to my chin, lifting my tear-stained face to his.
“I’m not letting you go anywhere. What I’m trying to tell you, is that I know everything. Everything,” he stresses before turning my world upside-down. “Abby.”
Holy! Fuck!
*****
Crew –
The instant I say her name, her real name, she lets out a choked sob and her whole body jolts. The color drains from her face when she gasps, “What did you say?”
I can te
ll she’s about to lose it and pull her to me. Her arms are pinned between us when I give her a squeeze and soften my voice. “You heard me.”
Her body goes limp and her tears keep on as she slowly shakes her head, before whispering as if she’s talking to herself, “No.”
“Yes,” I counter immediately, looking into her terrified eyes. “I know it all.”
Her head keeps shaking and she slowly looks down, away from me. Her eyes go unfocused, jumpy, and searching.
“No.” She stares at my chest, chewing on her lip. Fisting my shirt, she keeps on, “This can’t be. This isn’t happening.”
“Addison,” I try again, giving her a squeeze.
This gets her attention—her body turning rigid in my arms. Looking up at me, she screams, “No!”
I don’t have a chance to respond because her body bucks. She pushes, she pulls, she wrestles. Still in her dress, the material falls away from her shoulder on one side as she fights violently in my arms. I hold her easily as she uses all her might to get away, but there’s no way I’m giving her what she wants. Especially now.
“Let me go,” she cries, struggling in my arms.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” I grasp both her wrists in one hand, pulling her away from me long enough to turn her back to my front. When Addison’s legs attempt to kick, I wrap my other arm around her waist, lifting her off the ground.
“Please,” she begs through her sobs. Her body thrashes and twists, trying to get away from me. “I need to leave. I need to go—I can’t be here. I never thought this would happen—it’s been too long. Please let me go.”
Putting my lips to her ear, I whisper, “Stop, baby, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Eventually, her struggling slows as her sobs become deeper. She finally turns limp in my arms where I can loosen my hold so as not to hurt her. Sliding her down my body, her legs give out when her feet hit the floor. Quickly, I reach down and scoop her up under her knees. Going to the only place in the room to sit, I move to her bed and settle her in my lap as she continues to cry. Pulling her dress back up her shoulder, I hold her tight, letting her do what she needs to do.
Minutes go by, my shirt is soaked with her tears when she finally starts to calm. Through her struggles, her hair’s a mess and falling from where she had it up earlier. I try to pull out as many pins as I can, running my fingers through her thick hair as it falls over my arm and shoulder. I keep at this until her breathing evens and her tears slow.
“I barely know you,” she mumbles into my neck after a hiccup, trying to catch her breath.
I sigh and give her a squeeze. “I know.”
“How do you know me?” she asks, gripping my shirt. “No one knows me. I don’t remember the last time anyone knew me besides my mom.”
I look over her head, deciding what to say, but I don’t stop with her hair. It’s heavy and thick and feels good on my skin.
“Crew?”
She shifts, looking up at me.
Taking a big breath, I start carefully. “I have a fair amount of clearance.”
Her face is red, splotchy, and her eyes are swollen. Smeared makeup clouds her face. But even as she frowns at me, sitting here in my arms in her twisted and wrinkled dress, she’s beautiful.
“I thought you were a government contractor.” Her voice is rough and scratchy from crying.
I let my eyes narrow. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” she asks, confused.
I shift her in my lap to see her better and change the subject. “You’re not leaving.”
Her face starts to twist again. “I can’t stay.”
“You won’t be safe if you leave.”
“I’m not safe here,” she counters.
“You’re safer here than anywhere. And after what happened tonight, there’s no denying it,” I insist. “Trust me on this.”
She quickly shakes her head frowning. “How do you know who I am?”
I don’t answer. I’m not ready to answer that yet, even if I knew how. Instead, I fall back and to the side, taking her with me.
“What are you doing?” she exclaims, trying to push away.
I hold her close, settling us, Addison tight to my side. There’s no way I’m leaving or risking her going somewhere. Not that she could with the surveillance—but this is easier and I’m tired. I push my shoes off, kicking them to the end of her bed thinking I could get used to this.
She tries to pull away from me one more time, complaining, “If you aren’t going to tell me, you need to go.”
Rolling, I pull her up so we’re eye-to-eye. Her face is still etched with fear, but now since I’ve situated us in her bed, it’s mixed with confusion. Looking at her, I decide I’d better give her something so she’ll stop fighting me and this fucking night will be over. I’ll figure the rest out in the morning after we’ve slept.
“I told you, I have clearance in my job. I had to know who my neighbors were before I bought. It came about differently than it normally does, but I’ve read your background and we’ll talk about that tomorrow. For now, you’re not going anywhere. You’ve had a rough night—we both need some sleep.”
“Sleep? You’re staying?” She frowns deeper.
“Do you trust me?”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat and then answers quietly. “I did, but now I’m not sure.”
With my hand in her hair, I pull her to me as I meet her, putting my mouth on hers. This time I kiss her slow. She tastes and feels like she did earlier—perfect—but salty from her tears.
“You can trust me. I’ll prove it to you,” I say against her lips.
“I want to.” She pauses, breathing deep before continuing. “But I’m scared. I don’t know what to believe.”
“All you have to know is you’re safest here with me.” I give her a squeeze to echo my words. “Believe in that for tonight. But for now, get that I know what happened to your dad, I know all about you and your mom, and I know Sheldon O’Rourke had a hand in it all. He’s not a good man, Addison. I don’t want you anywhere near him. The White House dinner tonight was no coincidence, nor was that shit on the drive home. O’Rourke somehow learned you were close and lured you out. There’s a whole lot more I can’t tell you, but realize this won’t go on forever. Until then, you’re without a doubt safest here.”
“You came to the dinner tonight because of me,” she guesses.
“I did.”
“You somehow arranged to be at a White House dinner because you knew it might not be safe for me to be there on my own.”
“I absolutely knew it wouldn’t be safe for you to be there on your own. I’m mad at myself I stepped away to take a call. I had my eye on you until someone pulled me into a fucking conversation.” I frown at the memory of my mistake.
“You’ve only known me a week,” she goes on.
I breathe deep, careful with my answer. “I don’t like bad guys.”
It’s easy to feel her let a bit of tension go from her body when she sighs. “Me either.”
Shifting her closer to settle us in, my voice dips when I add, “I’m developing a real soft spot for the good guys. I don’t deal with the good guys, Addison. Only the bad guys.” Her swollen eyes flare at my words. “You’re not leaving. And I want you to trust me. Trust me for tonight and I’ll prove it to you later.”
She throws me a bone after thinking it over for a moment. “For tonight, until you can explain more tomorrow. I’m too exhausted to go anywhere.”
I shake my head, not looking forward to convincing her tomorrow. I’m not sure how to make that happen, but I’ll figure it out.
I lean in to kiss her forehead, even though what I really want to do is roll her over, take her mouth and eventually her, proving I’ll protect her from anything. “Sleep.”
Some of the tension leaves her body—I feel it as she sinks into me. Minutes later when I finally close my eyes, waiting for her to find sleep, I hear her call softly, “Crew?”
“I’m sorry about your car.”
I sigh. “It’s just a car. Not a big deal.”
Then she fists my shirt as she whispers, “And I’m sorry about your dad.”
Fuck. It’s my turn to tense.
Turning my head, I bury my face in her hair, responding in my own whisper, “Addison.”
“I wanted to tell you earlier that I understood. Now I get to tell you.”
“Baby.”
She turns her head, nuzzling her face in my neck. “You shaved.”
Finally, I relax because I’ve felt the way she’s looked at me. I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed the hell out of it and I plan on enjoying more of it soon. As soon as I can. Letting my hand work its way from her lower back to her ass, I give her a squeeze, leaving my hand there.
“Went to the White House with you on my arm, Addison. That called for shaving.”
“Oh…um…of course,” she stutters.
I can’t fight my smile any longer. “It’ll grow back.”
Her body once again tenses against mine.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper.
“Thank you,” she says quickly into my neck before her voice turns soft. “For tonight. For everything.”
“Always,” I promise.
Chapter 9 – Innocent
Addy –
Coming down the last staircase, I hear voices—a loud, high pitched female’s mingling with the low rumbly one of my neighbor. I hadn’t thought about having a drama like last night’s or my new neighbor sleeping in my bed when I invited my employees, who have become my friends, to come on in whenever they pleased.
It didn’t take me long to pass out last night. I haven’t had a panic attack in years, well over a decade, but they always exhaust me. Plus, I was lying in Crew’s arms, I was warm and it felt good. I slept hard, but had no trouble remembering last night’s disturbing events the second my eyes opened. Even if I hadn’t, the mess created from my escape plan was enough to jolt me back to reality. I’m not sure when Crew left my bed, but the moment I looked in the mirror, I was mortified he slept with me.