“Why don’t I take these back to the kitchen and have them rewarmed?”
He was gone before Peter or I could answer, though I was pretty sure I couldn’t have spoken a single word in that moment. My tongue was tied in a ridiculously tight knot, my hands shaking as I tried to figure out if Peter had just been playing with me or if he was dead serious about the things he’d said. Peter was far outside my range of experience. I’d had a few sexual experiences in my life—some enjoyable, some not—but none as intense as this moment with Peter.
Peter leaned across the table and took my hand.
“Let’s get out of here.”
“You still want to be with me after everything I just told you?”
“More than before.”
I couldn’t believe what he was saying. I wanted to believe it was the wine talking or the atmosphere or … something. But there was something about the way he was looking at me …
“You and I are more alike than you will ever know. We were both held captive against our will and neither one of us knows how to set ourselves free. But maybe, together, we can figure it out.”
He stood then and held out his hand. I took it, my heart in my throat as I followed him through the restaurant. I was in a bit of a daze, not even paying attention to the money he left on the table or the words he spoke to the maître’d as we waited for Peter’s car to be brought around.
His hand brushed my bottom as he helped me into the passenger seat, but he kept both hands on the wheel the entire drive back to my apartment. He didn’t even look at me. It gave me the opportunity to stare at him, though, to study the angles of his jaw, the muscles in his arms, the tendons in his hands.
I didn’t know this man. I had no idea who he was, other than the basics that were provided in his personnel file. He was thirty-seven. Unmarried. No children or other dependents. He was a high school graduate, and he’d attended the University of Texas at Austin.
He’d worked for a telecommunications company for more than ten years before he quit and took a series of temp jobs. And he lived at an exclusive address across town that even Mr. Malcolm was impressed by … and he was never impressed by anything.
This man … he was an enigma. Mr. Malcolm hypothesized that he was a startup exec who’d made millions and worked just to have something to fill his days. Miss Johnson thought it was more of a romantic thing, that he’d split from his fiancée and decided to do temp work because he didn’t want to become emotionally attached to anyone again.
I wasn’t sure what I believed. But I wished I knew more about him.
“Are your parents still alive?” I asked suddenly, not even aware I was going to speak until the words were out of my mouth.
He glanced at me. “Yes.”
“Are you close?”
He shrugged. “As in, do I go home for Thanksgiving and Christmas every year?”
I nodded.
“We are.”
“And your brother and sister? You see them regularly?”
He glanced at me. “Why?”
I brushed a piece of hair away from my face. “I just want to know about you.”
He slowed the car to stop at a traffic light. He reached over and took my hand.
“All you need to know is that I won’t hurt you. I only want to be with you for as long as you’re willing to have me around. I just want to make you feel good and to treat you like a queen.” He leaned close and brushed his lips against my jaw. “I only want to be with you.”
I nodded, my lower belly turning to liquid. He kissed me again even as a car behind us honked its frustration as the light cycled from red to green to yellow. Peter cleared his throat, straightening up and blowing through the intersection just as the light turned red. More horns honked at us, but he ignored them, speeding through traffic before turning into the parking lot of my apartment complex.
Once again, I was in something of a daze as he led the way up the stairs to my door, slipping the key out of my hand to unlock the door. James was the only guy who’d ever been this kind to me, who’d ever cared enough to show me that kind of respect. The boys I went to high school with … they all knew my story.
Some newspaper reporter got ahold of the story when I was fifteen, just as my mom was sentenced in federal court for her crime. He came to my school, took pictures of me, and published them before James’ father, Robert, could send his lawyer after the reporter and his paper, before he could quash everything they printed on me. And, somehow, the story kept showing up online all through my youth and into college. It was due to happen again soon. It’d been four years since the last time.
When people learned the truth about my past, they tended to treat me differently. But Peter … his hands were just as gentle on my back, his kiss just as soft on my jaw.
We slipped through the front door. He pulled me with him into the living room, kicking the door shut with his heel. I blushed when I looked at the dining room table. Every time I looked at it, I remembered the feel of his touch, the intensity of his mouth on mine. It had the power to turn my bones to rubber.
But Peter didn’t stop at the kitchen table. He led the way down the narrow hallway to my bedroom, making me wish briefly that I’d taken the time to make my bed that morning. He didn’t seem to notice. He took a seat on the end of the bed and gestured to me.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
He gestured toward the dress I was wearing. “Take it off. I want to see you.”
I bit my lip, feeling incredibly exposed all of the sudden. But his expression was gentle, his smile almost eager. And that made me feel sexy. Powerful.
I reached behind my back and carefully began to tug at the zipper on my dress, pulling it down one tooth at a time. I chewed on my lower lip, loving the excitement that lit up his eyes. I crossed my arms when the zipper was completely free, holding my dress over my breasts for a long moment.
He reached over and tugged at my skirt, but I stepped out of his reach. I turned my back to him, letting him see what the zipper exposed, but hiding the rest. He stood and ran his fingers down my bare back, clearly aroused by the fact that I wasn’t wearing a bra. In fact, all I had on under the dress was a flimsy pair of panties.
He tugged at the shoulders of the dress, encouraging me to let it fall. I held on for a long moment, but then relaxed my hold, resting my arms at my sides. The dress slipped away, falling from my fingertips. He slid his hands over my shoulders, down the length of my back. I closed my eyes and stood still, loving the feel of his touch.
When his hands slipped around my waist, his palms sliding over my lower belly, I couldn’t help but draw in a deep breath and hold it. The anticipation was more intense than the actual touch. But that touch was … mind blowing.
His hand slid inside the front of my panties, the heat of his skin against mine so intense. And then his fingertip against my clit … I closed my eyes and leaned back against him, my breath catching in my throat.
“I’ve been thinking about this for days,” he whispered against my ear. “Thinking about the smell of you and the taste of you. The feel of you. It’s taking over everything.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. This charming, sexy man wanted me, and I was humbled by the idea. All the women at work had a crush on him. Ever since he walked onto the floor, they’d been watching him, talking about him. Speculating about him. And I knew some of the answers to their questions. I knew what it was like to feel his hands on my body, to feel him inside of me. I was the one he chose. He could have had any of them, and he chose me. That was power.
He pressed his hips against me, his erection hard and throbbing against the small of my back. And his finger, sliding over my clit, offering it the pressure and friction it so desperately wanted. I moaned, my lower belly tightening as pleasure danced through me, as heat built like a boiling pot of water, threatening to overwhelm. Then his finger slipped down, sliding effortlessly inside of me.
I reached b
ack, ran my hand over his hip, and tugged him closer against me. He moved, pressing that impressive cock against my ass, sliding down until he was wedged tight against me. He groaned against my shoulder, his breath hot as he nibbled at my flesh.
I moved my hips and listened to his pleasure as his breathing grew heavier. He moved inside of me, his hand against my clit, his finger deep inside, making my knees weak. I moved my hands to his belt, unbuckled him, my hand moving over the length of his shaft. He groaned again, his need undisguised. He tugged my panties down as I worked at his slacks, my palm eager to feel the satin length of his cock tucked against it.
Just as I got my reward and freed him, he turned our bodies and pushed me toward the bed. All I could think about as I fell onto the mattress was how desperately I needed him inside of me. There was no dignity in what came next. I pulled my knees under my body and lifted my hips, presenting a picture that should have left him no doubt regarding what I wanted.
I heard his movements, the sound of his clothes rustling just before he climbed onto the bed behind me. His hands on my hips, he slid inside of me with a deep groan. He stayed still for a long moment, his cock jumping and twitching inside of me. And then he began to move, thrusting roughly against me, the sounds slipping from his lips matched only by the sounds coming from mine.
I grabbed great handfuls of the sheet beneath me, fighting the building pleasure, fighting the end that was inevitable. I wanted it to last forever, but I knew it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. It was too intense. It would break me if it lasted too long. It would break my sanity. It was just so good.
I pressed my hips back against him as my orgasm exploded deep in my belly, expanding in shockwaves throughout my body, shutting down everything that didn’t have a critical purpose. My vision darkened, my thoughts disappeared. I swear I couldn’t feel anything but the waves of pleasure rushing through me. It wasn’t until moments later that I realized he’d pulled away, and that he was collapsed on the bed beside me, his chest heaving with his every breath.
I curled against his chest, exhaustion suddenly taking control. Nothing mattered in that moment. My past, his past … it was nothing. I just wanted to lose myself in that moment.
Why couldn’t we live in that moment for the rest of our lives?
Chapter 8
Peter
Naomi Bryant was convicted of premediated murder on August 12, 2008. She was subsequently sentenced to twenty-five years to life in a federal penitentiary. She will not be eligible for parole.
I shook my head as I read through Waverly’s report. If I’d read it earlier, when Hayden sent it to me, I wouldn’t have had to force Heather to tell me the whole story. I hadn’t thought the idea that she was engaged had made me jealous, but I guess I underestimated my own feelings.
Just looking at her, that knowledge rattling around in my head, made me want to hurt her. I’d never felt that way before. Not even when my fiancée cheated on me. Not even when Amber asked for my forgiveness for marrying my brother. But Heather … there was something about her that drove me to the edge of emotion.
I looked at her, stretched out on the bed beside me. I wished I could sleep as soundly as she was doing, but sleep had been something of a fleeting idea since I became a captive all those years ago. My captor didn’t like for me to sleep too much. He liked me to be on edge. He’d send me to bed only to wake me the moment I was sound, or he’d feed me caffeine and keep me awake for days at a time, only to feed me sleeping pills to torture me by refusing to allow me to give in to the power of the pills.
And then, when I was released and I was given the opportunity to gain control over my sleep-wake cycle, I began having nightmares. So sleep was not the luxury it should have been.
But it wasn’t all bad. I got a kick out of watching Heather, listening to the tiny sounds coming from her narrow nose, the way her breathing made her shoulders shake just slightly, the way her ass seemed to call for my touch just by lying there exposed.
I continued to read Waverly’s report, always impressed by her thoroughness. Sam was an amazing tech guru, but Waverly had skills that were indispensable in our line of work. I knew Hayden didn’t really like her, and I could understand, given what happened between him and Sam, but it was a good thing it wasn’t his choice whether or not to keep her on.
As much as I loved Sam—and how incredibly painful it was to come back from my two years of captivity to find her in a grave—Waverly was the one I’d want on my side every time when it came to stuff like this.
I now knew more about Heather than six months of dating might have revealed. And she knew nothing about me, not even my real name. It seemed unfair, but I liked it. I didn’t want her to know my truth. When women knew about my past, it always seemed to take something away from their opinion of me. It was as if they saw me as less masculine because I was held against my will for so long. Like I had any more power over my situation than a woman in my position would have had.
I set my phone aside, ignoring the fact that Megan had sent me half a dozen messages over the last twelve hours or that my mother had called seven times in the last six hours. There were a couple of messages there from Luke, too, but I wasn’t much in the mood to entertain those either. I knew he was only reaching out to me because my birthday was coming up and Megan was planning a surprise party. She thought she was hiding it well, but I knew my sister. And she had a four-year-old daughter who loved to whisper secrets in her uncle’s ear.
Luke and I … we were best friends as kids. His mother was our housekeeper. We grew up together, playing sports together and flirting with the cheerleaders on the sidelines. Even when he was with Megan, he and I were close. That’s why he was the one I turned to when I realized I was walking into a hornet’s nest with the investigation into my illegally sold software. How was I supposed to know he was untrustworthy?
Well, that was a little unfair. Could I really blame Luke for not knowing that his trusted CIA buddy was the bad guy? I wanted to blame him. I wanted to blame someone. Luke sent me to my captor, told me he would protect me and, in doing so, would protect Megan. And Megan did get out of all that mess barely burned. For that, I was grateful.
But I lost my son; I lost the opportunity to do the right thing by my son and his mother. I lost my focus, my career, and my relationships with the small group of friends I’d surrounded myself with. They all moved on in the years I was gone, got married, had children, and moved to the suburbs.
And Sam … she was my little sister’s best friend all through high school. She had a crush on me for years. We weren’t close, but we were friends. To come out of all this to learn about her violent death, to realize I’d lost the opportunity to say goodbye, to attend her funeral … there is a lot of closure to a funeral.
How do you make up for that sort of loss? How do you go on with those holes in your past?
My relationships had appeared to still be intact when I returned. But it only took a few months for me to realize that too much had changed. I had changed. I still … loved my sister more than anything, and I loved my brother and my parents. But I wasn’t the Peter they remembered, and they weren’t the people I held onto so tightly in my absence.
For the last five years, we had just been going through the motions. They included me in all the family stuff, invited me to all the milestone moments. But there was this chasm between us. I no longer fit where I once did, and I couldn’t seem to find the place where I did.
Sitting in that restaurant last night, listening to Heather tell me her story, was the first time in a very long time when I felt as though I had found a place where I belonged. It scared me as much as it excited me.
I rolled into her, thinking about the child I’d pinned all my hopes on. I still wanted that; I wanted a child of my own that I could raise in my own home. A child I could hold and love, a child who would call me “daddy” instead of “uncle.” And the idea of having such a child with Heather’s pale blue eyes made me feel a sort of hope I’d n
ever known before—at least, not since California and the beginning of my nightmare.
I ran my hand over Heather’s ass, loving the curves and the silkiness of her skin. She moaned in her sleep, pushing her hips back toward me. I liked that; I liked the idea that she wanted me even when she was lost in dreams.
I kissed her shoulder and nibbled at the skin along the back of her neck. She sighed again, rolling so that she was on her side, her body pressed against mine.
“It’s too early,” she mumbled.
“It’s nearly seven.”
She groaned. “Can we just call in sick today?”
“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
I slid my hand over her lower belly, loving the warmth of her body. She sighed as I moved my hips against her, pressing my erection hard against her hip. After a moment, she reached down and guided me toward her, pulling my cock to the warm, moist opening of her cunt.
“You drive me crazy,” I whispered against her ear.
“You talk too much.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Yet the sound died on my lips when she wiggled her hips just the right way and I forgot what had been so amusing. I was lost in seconds, my mouth pressed against her shoulder, my breath coming in short gasps. And then she made these lovely sounds, little moans, as she wiggled her ass.
Women had no idea the power their bodies had over men. Just that simple movement, that little wiggle that barely required more strength than was used to press her thighs together, was enough to push me onto the brink of complete insanity. Pain and pleasure were one in the same in that moment, a pleasure that was so painful that I couldn’t do more than scream as the sensations washed over me.
“Have you ever thought of leaving San Antonio?” I asked her some time later, as we lay there in each other’s arms, our breathing slowed, but our bodies still tangled.
“Why would I do that?”
“It’s not like you have roots here.”
“I have my job. My friends.”
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