“Is that what this is all about?” His brow arched as his head tilted in my direction. “You think I was sleeping with your mother?”
I squirmed around the question because that’s exactly what I was wondering. “I didn’t say that, but come on, Greer. A good looking guy, a beautiful woman. Why wouldn’t you be interested? What was wrong with my mother?”
“Nothing. We just had other priorities.”
He went back to browsing the book in his hand. “Did you just call me good looking?”
I ignored the comment and the satisfaction spreading over his face.
“Why can’t I remember you?”
“What do you mean?” he asked without looking up from the book.
He knew exactly what I meant but wasn’t going to answer the question. He was obviously more than just a casual part of our lives before it got blown to bits, and I wanted to know why. I remembered the smallest details about the time before the murder but nothing about the people who apparently came and went from our life. I’d lost an entire subset of memories, and I wondered if that was by choice. Ava’s shop, our apartment, the menu from the coffee shop below—these things were cemented in my memory, so why couldn’t I remember Greer?
“Can you take me back to Crusades. I’m exhausted.”
“You can stay here,” he said. It was a declaration, not an offer. “It’s safer.”
“Here? In your house?” It was one thing to stay in his room at the club, but to eat, sleep, and shower under the same roof on a daily basis seemed like a bad idea. We had to work together, and whether compensation was a paycheck or a key to world domination, I learned a long time ago to never get your honey where you get your money.
He put his book down and walked toward me. The heat from his body snaked around me as he stopped a couple of yards away and straddled the small side chair. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” The question came out of his mouth like molasses. I knew that look, the one that said the ball’s in your court. Men are opportunists, negotiating any chance for sex without coming right out with it. If you respond favorably, well, isn’t he happy? Ignore the suggestion, and there’s nothing to save face over because nothing was really put out there.
“A little.” I regretted the admission as soon as I said it.
“Why do I make you uncomfortable, Alex?”
“Maybe it’s because you’re looking at me like that.”
He leaned into the reversed chair and folded his forearms over the top of the rail. “Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me.”
I was going for vexing, but by the look on his face, his interpretation was something very different.
Nice, Alex.
We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before he got up from the chair and started walking toward me. His arm lightly brushed mine as he headed for the bookcase behind me, and I shivered. As he passed, my lids lifted and our eyes locked, and there was that moment when I thought I might fall out of my own chair from all the bees trying to escape from the core of my stomach.
I took a breath to steady myself. “My things are at the club.”
“No, they’re not. I had them moved over here this evening while you were sleeping.” He continued without looking at me. “The club isn’t safe anymore.”
“You did what?”—Again.
He did me the courtesy of lifting his eyes from the damn book. “You’ll be staying here from now on.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I surprised myself with my calm tone. “You think you can shoot me up with sedatives and then just move me in?”
Yeah, that got his attention. I hit a nerve, and the anger showed all over his self-righteous face. “First of all, this is my home, and you won’t accuse me of something so vile in my own home.”
“Sucks admitting to being such an ass, doesn’t it?”
He turned around and waited for my full attention before responding.
“No one gave you anything. Let’s just clear that up right now. You hit that floor all on your own, little girl. I just gave you a warm bed to sleep it off.”
Maybe it was the Irish in me. Regardless of where my massive balls were coming from, he’d just pushed the big red button on my temper and was about to find out how much I hated being called that. I was no one’s little girl.
I lunged at him with my best right hook. He ducked my fist effortlessly and then caught my wrist when I threw a second punch.
“Did that feel good?” he whispered.
“You make me insane! God, Greer! I just want to…”
“I know.”
An already volatile situation was made worse by the building of tears under the rims of my eyes. I hated when I did that. One little push in the anger zone could turn me into an emotional mess.
I fought them back, but a single tear rolled down my face. Before I could wipe it away, Greer caught it with his thumb and then pulled me against his chest. I pushed him away and ran for the door that had locked on its own earlier, relieved when it swung open without a struggle.
Greer made it to the front door the same time I did, and a painful shot of lust traveled up my thighs toward my chest as he turned my back to the wall and caged me with his heavy, powerful arms. He encased me with his heat as his mouth came dangerously close to mine.
“Why are you running from me, Alex?”
When I looked into his eyes, I was struck by the razor-sharp intelligence looking back at me. There would be no games, just a clear and precise understanding about the path we were about to walk down.
“Do you want this?” he whispered.
The clock was ticking on that very important question. His arms fell away from the wall as he took a step back, and the ambient temperature of the room flowed over my hot skin.
He waited for my decision, but I couldn’t speak. I was afraid to, because the logical thoughts running through my mind were just that—logical. One little syllable and the delicate balance between lust and logic would be settled.
Fuck logic.
“Yes.”
My eyes closed as I said the word and he pressed into me, each muscle molding to mine like a tongue wrapping around a swirl of ice cream. My breathing caught up to his, which was dangerously accelerated, and my feet left the ground as my back pushed harder against the wall. He lifted me and wrapped my legs around his waist, ripping at the buttons of my blouse with one hand while the other cupped my behind. I thought I’d burst into confetti when his teeth began to tease my nipple and then bit down just enough to incite a tiny twinge of pain. I arched into his mouth while he locked his eyes on mine and did it again.
My head fell against the wall as he kissed me and worked my zipper open. His fingers slid under the edge of my panties. “Fuck, Alex,” he moaned against my mouth while his hand worked its way deeper, his thumb rolling over the swollen knot controlling all my senses.
“Fair warning, Alex. Tell me now if you want me to stop.”
Never.
He could warn me all he wanted, but I would never tell him to stop. We were beyond that point, and I doubted we could even if I said it.
I was spinning as my back left the wall and he carried me to the sofa. He lowered me gently and wasted no time as he reached for the waistband of my unzipped jeans and pulled. In a single glide, they were off and I was lying in front of him in my panties and half-buttoned blouse, writhing on the cushion in anticipation of what he was about to do to me.
The thought of his hands touching me again almost did me in. And then there were his eyes, pinning me in place as he began to unbutton his own shirt. His chest expanded deeply as his breathing grew more rapid, and then his fingers began to shake on button number three.
“Greer?” He went perfectly still and gazed down at me like he was afraid to move. “Are you okay?”
Without a word, he grabbed my ankles in either hand and spread my legs. And then he was on top on me before I could blink, bucking his hips against mine like a rutting bull
, kissing me so deeply I couldn’t breathe. Even with the heavy fabric of his jeans between us, I could still feel the hard length of him rubbing against the thin layer of cotton covering my very tender nerve endings. My left hand slipped beneath his half-buttoned shirt and splayed across the hot skin of his back, and my right moved down the tight muscles of his waist. Each thrust pushed me deeper into the cushions and closer to that place where surrender ruled and choices were merely suggestions.
I let out a ragged moan and a shudder as the friction nearly drove me over the edge. As the sound came out, he stopped moving and pushed himself up to look down at my face. I barely recognized his eyes or the deepness of his voice as he spoke.
“I want to be a gentleman and put your pleasure before mine. But goddamn, Alex,” his lips brushed mine as his hand found the wet cotton between my legs, “right now, I need to be inside of you.”
My breath caught as his bold words sent a bolt of heat roaring through me. I couldn’t think straight from all my senses being stretched and pulled and teased with things no man had ever offered before.
His hand went for his zipper, and as he fumbled with it, a deep and guttural growl shook the room. The sound made my head spin more, and I felt lightheaded. I thought I might faint from his crushing weight driving me deeper into the sofa, and a sharp sound slipped from my throat as his hips came down hard. It was the sound of lust mixed with fear of what was coming next if he got those pants off.
His eyes closed. When they reopened, the blue of his irises had turned a deep midnight black from the growing circumference of his pupils. I watched as they grew darker, and my chest tightened from the intrusion of a memory. I’d seen that look before, in the park the night I was almost raped. My attacker’s eyes were brown, but the need in them was the same as the carnal need in the eyes looking down at me now.
I went rigid beneath him as my hands wedged between my chest and his, pushing as hard as I could against the powerful muscles driving into mine. A loud gasp slipped through my lips as I panicked and felt the last bit of air leave my lungs.
As quickly as the need possessed him, it rode straight through him. He pushed off of me and sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows buried in his knees and his hands raking through his hair. He shook and swallowed hard. I reached for his arm, but he refused to look at me.
“This is not a game, Alex.” The raggedness of his voice shot a second round of lust through me—it was a warning. “Being with me won’t be easy, and there is nothing casual about any of this.”
“I don’t want to stop, Greer. I just—” My breath caught when his hand slid around the back of my neck and he kissed me briefly. I pulled his mouth back to mine and initiated a deeper kiss to let him know there was nothing casual about what I wanted from him. He could have me any way he wanted, as long as he had me.
He stood up and turned away.
“What just happened?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, I sat up and pulled my blouse together the best I could. “It’s okay,” I whispered in that pathetic little voice we get when we’re feeling our shame for not being good enough or lovable enough.
He turned back around with a shocked look in his eyes and reached down to take my face in his palm. “Refusing you is like taking a bullet.” I turned my face into his hand as he pulled it away. “But you know what the worst part is, Alex? The worst part is you thinking I could ever hurt you.”
I ached from the sight of his eyes filling with regret for what we’d almost done. It was a mistake, and he was the one with enough control to stop before we ended up avoiding each other over pancakes and coffee.
He walked toward the front door but hesitated as his hand reached for the handle.
“I’m a big girl, Greer. You can say it.”
“If we cross that line, Alex, the choice to stay or go will no longer be yours to make.”
That was the last thing he said before walking out the door, leaving it wide open for me to make that choice.
FOURTEEN
I wandered through Greer’s house for days, looking for clues about the man who had somehow taken complete control over my life. I looked for the small things that would tell a little bit about who he really was—objects on his desk, scribbles on a piece of paper, photographs on the walls, anything that revealed his likes or habits. Looking at the stairs, I wondered if he tossed his coat over the railing when he came home, or if he threw his keys in the porcelain bowl on the table next to the elevator.
Based on the food in the kitchen, I guessed that he liked Italian food. Maybe that was just Sophia’s influence. Antique equestrian paintings hung along the walls of the living room and library. He either liked horses or just had an affinity for beautiful old things. I examined the signature on a particularly beautiful portrait of a thoroughbred. It was signed Geo. Stubbs in the bottom right corner. I figured it was a reproduction, because an original would make that Ferrari of his look like a tricycle.
Greer had been MIA for five days. I stayed on the sofa the night he left, hoping he’d come back and make my choice for me. When I woke the next morning, Sophia was standing over the sofa, probably wondering if I was planning to get the hell out of the house.
“Mr. Sinclair say I give this to you.” A key hit the coffee table.
“Where is Mr. Sinclair?”
“Humph,” was all I got as she stalked out of the room.
Since I’d been given a key, I assumed the invitation to stay was still good. I did stay. Not because he wanted me to or because I really didn’t have anywhere else to go, but because in spite of all the tension between us, Greer had made a promise to keep me alive.
Sophia showed up every morning and stayed just long enough to make me feel like an unwanted gold digger, which was one step up from tramp. Other than that, the place was pretty quiet. Greer didn’t own a TV, so most of my time was spent reading the stash of books in my suitcase.
“Sophia,” I asked one morning, well aware that I probably wouldn’t get much of a response, “does Mr. Sinclair usually spend a lot of time at home?” I wanted to know if I was the reason for his absence, or if it was normal for him to disappear for weeks at a time.
“Not anymore,” she said. It was clear that after five days, I was still nothing more than an intruder she was forced to tolerate.
A week passed, and I was as restless as a cat on a leash. I needed to get out, and a visit to Den of Oddities and Antiquities was long overdue. I hadn’t heard from Ava since the night she walked through Greer’s door, and I was getting impatient waiting for her to make the first move. I’d find her there. If not, Patrick would know where she was.
I waited for Sophia to go shopping. I had no doubt she was communicating with Greer and would turn on me like a rat if given the opportunity. He probably had others watching me, too, but he’d have to stop me himself if he wanted to keep me under lock and key.
Greer’s people were good. I made it all the way to the subway before picking up on the tail. He had too much invested in me to send me into the weeds alone, and I had to admit, I was thankful for the invisible shield. I knew what was out there, and I doubt I would have survived this long without him. As long as they stayed out of my way, we’d all get along just fine.
The door looked bigger than it had the first morning I was here. It seemed to breathe, like it was anticipating me walking through it. I had a massive knot in the center of my stomach at the thought of facing Ava, and I wasn’t sure if anything she said could make up for what she did to me.
“I always seem to catch you from behind.” It was the familiar accent of Scot and Yankee.
Patrick greeted me with a crooked grin. His hair was shorter now, making it curl tighter against his head.
“Patrick.”
“You stood me up,” he said.
“I did. But you knew I wasn’t going to keep our date, didn’t you?”
“Date?” His voice softened. “Is that what it was?” His lips spread into that roguish smile that fit his fa
ce so perfectly.
The air expelled from my lungs as I cocked my head, suggesting that he might want to come clean.
“Yes. I hope you’re feeling better, Alex. We could try again if you’d like.”
“Tempting, but let’s keep this professional.”
His smile deepened. “Coming inside?” He fiddled with the keys through his gloves. “We’re opening a little late today.”
The shop was decorated with small white lights and sprays of evergreen swags along the display cases. A dangling ribbon tickled my forehead when I passed through the door, and I almost tripped over the stack of mail on the floor.
“Sorry. Damn thing keeps slipping halfway off the wall.” He yanked the ribbon from above me and tossed it on the counter.
It was late December. That meant Yule and the winter solstice. My mother used to tell me the sun was being reborn. Growing up in foster homes in the Bible Belt meant a Christmas tree and baby Jesus in a nativity, but my beliefs were set a long time ago. No amount of church could assimilate me to anything other than what my mother taught me. It was my little secret.
“Where is she?” I asked. “And please don’t act like you don’t know whom I’m talking about.”
“Ava?” He grabbed the pile of mail from the floor and then looked at his watch. “She’ll be here in about five minutes.”
Let’s see, what could we talk about for five whole minutes.
“Coffee or tea?” he asked.
“No, thanks.”
“I know it sounds ridiculously cliché, but you really are attractive when you’re angry.” He was right about my mood. “Must be the hair. You Irish lasses are born to scrap.”
“That’s very clever, Patrick. And here I thought you might actually feel a little guilty for deceiving me.”
He said nothing because he had no defense.
After a minute of uncomfortable silence, I took a seat in the reading nook. The bell on the door chimed. Ava walked in and headed straight for the counter. She picked through the pile of mail without looking at me and then tossed it back down. “Alex, come with me, please.”
The Amulet Thief (The Fitheach Trilogy Book 1) Page 13