Just like that.
***
I fell asleep in the chair beside her bed. It was my phone that woke me late in the night, at nearly three in the morning. It was a text message from a number I didn’t recognize.
You can’t protect her.
I stood and walked over to the door, staring at those words.
Who is this? I asked.
Someone you don’t want to mess with. Someone who wants to see you fall.
I was suddenly transported back five years, back to that small, overheated apartment, sitting in front of a computer screen doing things I would never have done if I hadn’t had a gun to my head. It was like that again. Someone wanting something from me, willing to do anything to get it.
What do you want?
You’ll soon find out.
He didn’t respond again, whomever it was. The moment the sun came up, I put a call through to my lawyer and insisted he make sure that my captor was still behind bars, still banned from using cellphones. I didn’t know anyone else who would want to hurt me like that.
Why was this happening all over again?
Chapter 15
Heather
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. I’d looked Peter up after I kicked him out of my place and read things about him on the Internet that I wasn’t quite sure I could believe. He was the son of the couple who owned Bradford Telecommunications, one of the largest telecommunications companies in the entire country.
And Dragon Security had earned itself a reputation for facing down any enemy that came their way. They’d taken down a bad group of CIA agents who were running a terrorist group for their own gain. Dozens of innocent people had died or been injured because of those terrorists and Peter’s sister had taken them down where the American government had failed to even identify them. It was impressive.
There was also something about Peter faking his death, but I didn’t really understand what all that was about. All I understood was that he was incredibly wealthy. How I could ever have mistaken him for a man who lived on minimum wage, I had no idea.
We stopped by my apartment to pick up some things. There was tension in his shoulders as he took in the evidence of a struggle. A shelf had been overturned, a chair knocked over, a table smashed to bits. Even I hadn’t realized how bad it was until that moment. I was relieved to pack a bag and get the hell out of there.
The drive to Houston was over two hours. Peter was quiet most of the drive, which was probably a good thing since the painkillers they’d given me in the hospital were still wearing off. It gave me time to process everything that had been happening.
First, I’d been attacked in my own home, and then I’d learned that I was pregnant even though we’d been careful—well, not as careful as we should have been. A quick count of the condoms in my side table drawer kind of pointed out the obvious, that we’d forgotten at least twice to use the prophylactics. Probably more than that.
It was my own fault I was pregnant, my own fault that I was attacked. If I was more careful about locking my door, more careful about taking my birth control, more careful about everything I did. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t careful when I should have been.
I was scared. And now I was about to move in with a man I barely knew. How stupid was that?
I glanced over at Peter, watching his profile as he studied the road ahead of us. He was clenching his jaw, as if his thoughts were going in the same direction as mine, as if he was beating himself up for making this spur of the moment decision. But then he glanced at me and smiled, the tension suddenly gone.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sore. But not as bad as I expected.”
“That’s good. We’ll get you in to see a doctor as soon as we can, make sure everything’s healing all right.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“I just want to make sure.”
I wanted to laugh. I’d never had anyone care about me quite the way he was trying to do. My mom was always too busy just trying to survive. My dad—he didn’t really care about anyone. And the Phelpses were more concerned with doing their Christian duty than actually caring about me. I was just the cross they had to bear. Only James … and he was too consumed with his own problems to really do much about mine.
Life was a funny thing. People were funny.
Peter eased the car off of the interstate and followed a winding path through the residential streets of the city. The further we went, the more impressive the houses became. He finally pulled up to a stone and wrought iron gate beside a gatehouse. The gate swung open without Peter having to do anything, allowing him access to the private space beyond. These houses … my breath caught in my throat. These were not homes … they were palaces.
Peter drove toward the back of the exclusive community. He pointed out a house, a stone home with huge windows that was set up on a hill.
“That’s my sister Megan’s house. She bought it a couple of years ago with her husband, Luke.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Peter nodded. “Megan has impeccable taste.”
He continued down the road and turned left into a cul-de-sac. A huge yellow and red brick home, two stories, with massive balconies along the top edge, took up two lots at the back of the curved neighborhood. It was this house that Peter pulled up to, opening the garage door with a button and pulling directly into the garage.
“This is yours?”
“It is. For a little more than a year now.” He glanced at me almost as if he were embarrassed. “Megan insisted I buy a home near her and her family. She likes to keep everyone close.”
“Sounds like the kind of family I always wanted.”
Peter got out of the car and came around to help me. It wasn’t just politeness, but a necessity—the soreness in my muscles made it almost impossible for me to move very gracefully on my own. He slid his arm around me and nearly lifted me off the floor as he led the way to the door. We stepped through into what would be referred to as a mudroom if the house was built back East. It was decorated with dark wood panels and low benches, jackets and shoes organized with shelves and closet-like rods. It felt like a man’s walk in closet, just not quite as intimate.
Through that room, we stepped into a narrow corridor. He walked through a short hall into a large living room. It was situated at the front of the house behind massive windows that offered a gorgeous view not only of the neighborhood, but also of the city skyline behind it.
“Wow,” I said, staring out the windows as he led me to the couch.
“That’s why I chose this house. The view is even better from upstairs.”
“I can imagine.”
He lifted me a little, sitting me on the edge of his impressively large sectional couch. Everything about this house, everything about this side of Peter, was impressive. I felt like Alice, stepping through the looking glass into a world I didn’t quite understand.
“I’m going to go get your things. I’ll be right back.”
I watched him go, then found myself glancing around the room, looking at everything I could see from my perch on the couch. When I noted the pictures on a low shelf at the back of the room, I couldn’t stop my curiosity. I got up and went over, moving so slowly that it must have taken me an hour to get there.
There were photos of a beautiful blonde woman, dressed quite sophisticatedly in most of the photos, standing in most of them beside a rather tall, rugged-looking man. Some of the photos were of a younger man who looked strikingly like Peter, only slightly shorter and bulkier. Beside him, in most of the photos, was a beautiful woman who stared at him with such adoration that she had to be his wife.
And then, the children, four all together. Two per sibling, I supposed. There were more pictures of one child, a little boy with blond hair and green eyes. He was clearly the oldest, perhaps five or six, so that must have explained why there were so many more pictures of him than of the others. But there was something about the shape of his face, the angle of
his jaw, that got my imagination racing.
“Found the requisite photo display, I see.”
I turned, stiffly. “I did. Your family?”
“Yeah.”
He set our bags down and came over to stand close to me—but not to touch—and gestured to the photographs, one at a time.
“My parents. They’ve been married over forty years now. Just celebrated number forty-two last October. And this is my sister, Megan, her husband, Luke, and their two kids.” His fingers hesitated as he moved to a recent photograph of his brother and his family. “Cole. He’s the baby of the family. His wife, Amber, and their two children, PJ and Maddie.”
“PJ’s a handsome little fellow.”
“He is.”
There was something in Peter’s voice when he said it. But then he turned away, snatching up our bags.
“I’m going to take these upstairs. Then I’ll get you something to eat.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I do worry about it.” He glanced back at me. “You’ve been through an ordeal. Let me take care of you.”
I just inclined my head, because I didn’t know what else to say.
He left the room, and I made my way back to the couch. I was so sore, I was stooped over like an old woman. But I relished the pain because it dulled the memory of what had happened. It made it less of a priority in my thoughts. I knew it would eventually come back to haunt my dreams. But, for now, it was just a distant thought, like a thorn waiting to fester.
When Peter came back, it was with a tray loaded with cheeses and fruits and some sort of dip that looked really amazing. He set it on the couch between us and gestured for me to dig in.
I picked up a strawberry that was nearly as big as my fist and laughed.
“I’m not sure I could get all this in my mouth.”
“Megan goes to this farmer’s market every Saturday and fills both our fridges with fruits and vegetables and all kinds of things. She likes to think she’s keeping me healthy that way.”
“They are absolutely delicious.”
“Not bad.”
I laughed again. “It takes a lot to impress you, doesn’t it?”
“You impress me. And that baby is bound to impress me.”
I looked down at my belly, trying to imagine what it would look like when it was full with a growing baby. I’d been slender all my life, and I wasn’t one of those to stuff my shirt with pillows. Mrs. Phelps would have had a coronary if she’d seen me doing that!
I’d never really tried to imagine myself pregnant; I never thought I’d want to have children. But the last twenty-four hours had changed that. The moment the doctor told me I was pregnant, I knew I wanted this kid no matter what happened next. It was weird, the desire that just rushed over me. To finally have something that was all mine, someone who would love me unconditionally, the way people were supposed to love one another.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, looking up at Peter. “I mean, after this thing works itself out, are we going to try to live together? Do you want to raise this kid together? Or do you want to be like a weekend dad?”
I must have hit a nerve because he kind of flinched at the term weekend dad. I wasn’t sure why. I knew a few couples where the man was perfectly content to get his kid for all the fun stuff and leave the hard stuff to the mom. It wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if that was how he felt. I just wanted to know now, before I got too deeply invested in the whole thing.
“I didn’t think we’d be having this conversation so soon,” he said with something like an awkward smile. “I thought I’d have a couple of weeks to figure it out, at the very least.”
“Sorry.”
“No. I think it’s good.” He stared into my eyes for a moment. “I’d like to be a part of your life. And I’d definitely like to be a father to this child. A full-time father.”
Relief slipped through me at his words. As much as I was excited to have a baby, and as much as I thought I could handle it on my own, I didn’t want to. I wanted my child to have a father, a good father. And I suspected that Peter would be an awesome father.
“Are we talking separate homes, one home, marriage …?”
“We can start with living together.” He gestured around himself. “It’s a big house, plenty of room for three.”
“Okay.”
“And then … we’ll see where things go from there.”
It was odd. We’d known each other ten days if you only counted the time we’d actually spent together. Yet we were having a baby and talking about moving in together. But was he talking about remaining romantic, or was he suggesting we become roommates?
I was so confused.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. Peter picked at a grape, peeling the skin off from around the hole where the stem had been attached. Then he sighed.
“So, in a couple of days, my sister and mom are throwing me a surprise birthday party. I’m not really supposed to know about it, but they can’t keep secrets any better than a child.”
“It’s your birthday?”
He glanced at me. “On Saturday, conveniently enough. Great day for a party.”
I tried to imagine what it would be like to have family that cared enough to throw a surprise birthday party, but I couldn’t. I’d never had family like that.
“You’ll be thirty-eight?”
“An old man.”
I shook my head. “Not so old.”
He sighed, continuing to pick at the grape. “You’ll meet my entire family, plus most of the people I work with and colleagues of my father’s at the party. It’s going to be a mad house, people everywhere. Megan can’t do these things in a small way. She had to invite more than four hundred guests.”
“Four hundred? I don’t think I even know that many people.”
“Neither do I.” He smiled. “It’s not really about me. It’s more about making contacts and making people feel included. You can’t invite the people from one business and not the people from the other, that sort of thing.”
I nodded. “Unique problems.”
“Anyway, I just thought I’d warn you.”
I studied his face. “You seem absolutely miserable about the whole thing. But they’re doing this out of love and respect for you, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Must be nice to have people who care so much.”
“If they cared, they’d know I would have been happier with a small family party at Megan’s.”
I shrugged. “They could have forgotten your birthday altogether.”
“That might have been preferable.”
“No. I’ve been there. It’s not.”
His eyes softened around the edges as he looked up at me. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head, picking up another of those massive strawberries. This one was slightly smaller than the last, but still big enough to stretch my jaw a bit. Peter reached over and touched the side of my face, forcing me to look up at him. He was bothered by the bruises on my jaw, along my temple. I could see it in his expression each time he looked at me. But there was something else there, too, something that made hope spring up in my belly.
“No one should have been treated the way you were.”
I shrugged again, moving my shoulder just a little to avoid the stretch in my ribs that hurt so much.
“No one,” he repeated before he leaned close and kissed me. It was one of those kisses that promised more than just affection. It was a kiss that promised a world of pleasure. It was a kiss that made my belly quiver and my toes curl.
I set the strawberry down and climbed over the platter into his arms. Pain burst through me, but I didn’t really care in that moment. I wanted his touch. I’d thought I wouldn’t experience it ever again, and then to learn I was pregnant … I thought he’d go running for the hills when he found out. So this was like a gift. Like he was giving me the gift of his touch, of the pleasure that came from his touch.
&nbs
p; I settled on his lap, and we kissed for a long time, like teenagers sneaking a make-out session between homework and chores. That was one experience I did have, and I was glad for it. At least I knew how to respond to a real man’s kisses instead of floundering like some forlorn virgin. Not that I was much better than said virgin. Before Peter, my experience pretty much extended to James’ football buddies in high school and his frat buddies in college.
Peter slid his hands under the back of my shirt, his movements steady and careful. He was clearly trying not to hurt me, but his gentleness was almost more painful than his true touch would have been. I wanted him to touch me the way he had the first time we were together. I wanted him to show me how desperately he wanted to be with me. I wanted him to need me so desperately that he forgot what happened to me. I’d forgotten. Why couldn’t he?
I moved my hips, pressing my body hard against his. He groaned, his hands wandering down to my ass. He pulled me closer, moving me to all the spots that really made him feel like a man. I could feel him, rigid against me. I’d never found this moment as exciting as I did then. I’d never wanted a man inside of me as much as I wanted him.
I ran my fingers through his hair, tugged him closer to me, and pressed his face against my chest until I could feel his heated breath against my flesh, until I could feel him hunting for one of my hard nipples.
He lifted my shirt away, his fingers already searching for my bra clasp. He hissed a little when he saw the bruises that had formed on my ribs, my chest. They were oblong and a deep purple, painful when I moved the wrong way. But, right now, they could have been a bad makeup job for all I cared. Peter, on the other hand, traced the lines of each one with the tip of his finger. I watched him, seeing the pain in his eyes. If I’d ever had any doubt that this man cared for me, it was gone now.
He looked up at me, his hand moving over my face, over the bruises along my jaw and temple, along the edge of the smaller bandage they’d put on my head. Tears filled his eyes.
“I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. I should have been there to protect you.”
DRAGON SECURITY: Volume 2: The Complete 6 Books Series Page 10