I sucked in a breath.
He went on, “I thought you may have demands in regard to your housing, such as a room of your own.”
Oh shit!
I hadn’t even thought of that. How could I not think of that? “I-I…”
“How does that make you feel to know I have plans for you?”
I snapped my chin up and sprang from the couch, my grip tightening on the phone with each step as I walked the length of the room and back. “For your information, my making this move is not and should not be considered an invitation for you to carry out those plans. I will have my own room. And the only fucking that will take place is with your own hand, so get used to it.”
Again, the deep chuckle floated through the phone. “Your housing will be provided. The details are mine to decide.
“You know, Araneae, your words say one thing, but your body another. I remember the way your nipples beaded under that silk dress. If it hadn’t been a prototype, I would have ripped it from your sexy curves. Soon, I’ll see what I couldn’t the other night when I had you against that wall. My imagination is vivid, but I want more, more than seeing. I want to touch, suck, and lick. I want to hold those luscious tits in my hand as they grow heavy with need and your nipples turn a deeper shade of red.”
My pacing stilled as his words and breathy tone sent shock waves to my core. “I-I don’t even know you.”
“You will. And you’ll want my hands on you as much as I want them there. You’ve been plagued with insufficient lovers for too long. I would surmise that right now you’re wet. Your body knows what your mind is having trouble understanding. You want a man to take control, to quiet your smart mouth with his, and show you how satisfying it can be to let go. I’m that man. I always have been, and soon your mind and your body will come together.”
“How do you know anything about my past?”
“It should be clear by now. You’re mine. It’s not debatable. It was decided years ago, and it’s now time to make that happen in more than principle—in reality. I know everything about you because I make it a point to know everything about what belongs to me. You, Araneae, belong to me. I’ll consider your demands while you consider mine.”
“Tell me your name,” I said, ignoring how twisted I was on the inside and the fact that he was probably right about the state of my panties.
“You know my name. Scott has been dealt with for his slip of tongue.”
“What do you mean? What happened to him?”
“You know my name and you searched me.” He chuckled, yet I didn’t hear amusement on his side. “Which while technically was not a direct violation of what you’d been told, should warrant reprimand.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one. Also, be aware, not all information is on the internet. Only what I want public.”
My pacing resumed. “Stop following me.”
“My sweet Araneae, I’m in Chicago. You’re in Boulder.”
“Then quit having me followed.”
“I also protect what is mine. You take unnecessary chances with what is most precious. It’s clear that you won’t be safe until you’re here with me.”
I stopped walking, my toes buried in the area rug as I asked the question that had been plaguing me since I decided to follow his demand. “Will I be?”
“Will you be safe?”
My mind said I wouldn’t. Being with Sterling Sparrow may protect me from outside forces—he’d shown that in Wichita—but the man on the phone was likely more dangerous than whatever or whomever was after me.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Time will tell.” By the tone of his voice, I got the feeling that our discussion was nearly done. “You’ll receive instructions regarding Wednesday. Patrick will retrieve you from your apartment and accompany you on the flight. We’re taking precautions to avoid any air emergencies on Wednesday’s flight. I don’t want our reunion delayed.”
“Sterling?” I couldn’t describe the way saying his name affected me.
“Hmm.”
“My friends and company?”
“Their fate is in your hands.”
The phone went dead, and in that moment, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would talk with him again. However, the next time I wouldn’t only feel the rumble and silk of his tone, but I’d also see the dark of his eyes.
Kennedy 13
I left the office a little after one, promising to call Louisa as soon as I landed in Chicago. I’d meant what I’d said about staying in contact with her. That thought alone kept me sane as I drove to my apartment, fighting tears.
Taking a deep breath, I knocked upon Mrs. Powell’s door.
“Kennedy, it’s so good to see you,” she said upon opening the door, her cat Polly doing a figure eight around her feet. “Come in before Polly decides to make a break for it.”
I followed her inside. “Jeanne, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to be out of town for a while. I-I…” I took a deep breath as I looked around her apartment. Nearly every surface was covered in knickknacks, small figurines, vases, all sitting upon doilies.
She reached for my hand. “Are you upset about this trip?”
I shook my head, though the truth was yes. I swallowed as tears pricked the back of my eyes. “No, not at all. I just wanted you to be aware. I may not be back in time for our next dinner.”
“Oh, I hope you are.”
That brought a smile to my lips. “Me too.” I leaned down and gave her a hug.
She reached for my hand as I began to back away. “Don’t you worry. I’ll look after your place.”
“Thank you.”
With each step up the staircase to my apartment, I cursed Sterling Sparrow. Once inside, I walked into my bedroom and did nothing. I had nothing packed. I had no idea how long I’d be gone or what I needed. My flight was leaving in four hours, and I was completely unprepared.
When the doorbell rang, though it was too early, I expected to see Patrick. Instead, I was greeted by a deliveryman holding a large white box with a red bow.
“Ms. Hawkins?”
“Yes.”
He held out a small handheld device. “Please sign here.”
I let out a long breath and did as he asked.
“Have a nice day.”
I smiled and nodded, though with everything in me, I doubted that nice would be my description when I finally fell asleep at the end of whatever today would bring. Carrying the package to the sofa, I noted that it was lighter than it looked.
I’d read stories where a man would send a woman a dress or an outfit. Was that what he was doing? While I disliked the idea that he would tell me what to wear, I couldn’t hold back my curiosity as I eased the bow from the Garbarini box. Garbarini was a high-end boutique located in Denver. I’d shopped there on a few occasions but rarely found anything in my price range.
With building anticipation, I lifted the lid and pushed back the tissue paper.
The only thing inside besides the tissue paper was an envelope with Araneae written in elegant swirls.
Araneae,
All that is in this gift is all that you need to bring with you.
Your every need will be met. Even though what is in this box is my attire choice for you, your closet here is filled.
Until our reunion,
Sterling
Like the note to the flowers, I crumpled this one in a ball, throwing it into the nearly empty box. Asshole.
Taking large strides, I went to my room and pulled my suitcase from the shelf of my closet. I may be moving to Chicago—temporarily—but he wasn’t calling all the damn shots. Ripping clothes from their hangers, I tossed them on the bed until the pile was much too large for the one suitcase.
He could take his closet of clothes and stick it up his ass. I had my own clothes. If he thought I’d leave my Sinful Threads accessories and the dress I’d worn to that party in Chicago, he was crazy.
In less than
an hour I had three suitcases filled with clothes and accessories, cosmetics and jewelry, and even a few pictures in frames from around my apartment. I made sure to have my hidden picture of my parents as well as the charm bracelet. The cheap gold-covered charms may not be what Mr. Sparrow had in mind for my jewelry, but I didn’t care. Crossing my arms over my chest, I looked down at the luggage. “There you go, asshole. Fuck you and your closet.”
I turned back toward my closet, taking in all the empty hangers. My bedside stand was empty, my Kindle and the picture that usually sat there, packed.
Shit.
Did I just play into his hand?
I’d planned on leaving things here, and now I’d packed everything that mattered.
As I lifted the larger suitcase back onto the bed to unpack, my doorbell rang again.
“Oh, wonderful,” I said to no one. “Maybe another empty box.”
I pulled the door inward to be met by Patrick’s smug grin. “Ms. Hawkins.”
My fist came to my hip. “What are your instructions if I tell you no, if I say that I’ve changed my mind?”
“I don’t think you will.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I’ve lived in this area for over ten years. I’m not going to just leave it all behind.” My protest came out louder than I intended.
“May I help you with your bags?”
My lips came together as I exhaled through my nose. “You should know that he told me not to pack.”
“I do. Would you like me to carry the luggage to the car, or will you?”
“Are you always so fucking smug?”
His eyes shone, the only answer my question would get. From what I saw, his answer was yes. “Ms. Hawkins, our plane is waiting.”
I took a step back and gestured for Patrick to enter. “Fine. The luggage is in my bedroom.”
As I reached for my purse, I slowly spun, taking in my apartment, my home.
I will be back, I vowed silently.
Patrick came toward me with one of the three suitcases and my carry-on bag that contained my laptop, tablet, copies of all my work files, and a backup supply of essentials. After what happened in Wichita, I wasn’t taking any chances. “I’ll be back for the rest,” he said.
Hurriedly, I went into the kitchen and pulled a piece of paper from a drawer. As I reached for a pen, I listened for Patrick. His footsteps had disappeared down the communal staircase and out the door.
Louisa,
If you don’t hear from me or I go missing, search for me through a man named Sterling Sparrow. I believe he lives in Chicago.
I love you.
Kennedy
Quickly I folded the paper in thirds, slipped it into an envelope, and as Patrick reentered the apartment I came up with another lie. “I’m getting some water. Would you like any?” His footsteps moved past the kitchen and echoed toward my bedroom.
“No, thank you.”
I opened the freezer and tucked the envelope under a box of frozen cookies, knowing that if Louisa came looking, she’d find it. I also hoped that no one else would.
When Louisa and I were in college, we used to leave each other notes in the refrigerator or freezer, on the other person’s favorite food. It sounds silly, but it was our thing, our way of ensuring that the other would find it.
As I closed the freezer door, Patrick came into view. “Are you ready, Ms. Hawkins?”
I looked down at my outfit. It was what I’d worn to work today: a black pencil skirt, white blouse, thigh-high sheer stockings, and black pumps. Around my neck was a black and gold Sinful Threads scarf. My hair was pulled back in a messy bun and my makeup was minimal. I hardly felt like I was dressed to be delivered to a man, but fuck him.
I wasn’t going on a date.
“I’m coming back here, Patrick.”
He didn’t verbally answer, but his head bobbed. It was as close to an agreement as I would probably get and at this moment, I took it.
When we reached the curb, I was surprised to be met by the driver from before, the woman who’d brought me my luggage. “Ms. Hawkins.”
“Hello.” I turned to Patrick. “You aren’t driving?”
“I’m only here for you.” He opened the door to the back seat. It was the same car she’d driven before, the interior dark and cool.
I huffed as I settled into the seat and Patrick took the copilot’s seat in front.
My mind continued to swirl with thoughts and questions, ones I knew would only be answered by Sterling—even if Patrick knew the answers, he wouldn’t tell me. What was it that Sterling said? Scott had let Sterling’s last name slip, and he’d been dealt with. What the hell did that even mean? Did I want to know?
I didn’t, but I bet Patrick knew—I bet he knew much more than he was letting on.
No, Patrick wouldn’t be the source of my information.
When the car stopped, I looked up and through the darkened windows at the front entrance to the small airport where I’d flown in less than a week earlier. As Patrick got out of the car and opened my door, warm afternoon air replaced the cool. I turned to see the driver going back toward the rear of the car to retrieve my bags. “I thought we had airline tickets?” I asked more than said.
“You had airline tickets. You still do.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does, ma’am. The world thinks you’re flying commercial.”
I spoke in a low whisper, matching Patrick’s responses. “Why would the world care?”
“Your bags,” the woman whose name I couldn’t remember said.
“Thank you…?”
“Shelly, ma’am. If or when you’re back in Boulder, I’m at your service.” Her smile grew as she looked to Patrick. “Anything for Mr. Sparrow.”
“He’ll be pleased.”
My eyes narrowed as I took in their conversation. Had she been the one who took Louisa and Jason’s picture? Was she the one who stole the scarf to turn around and have it delivered?
I didn’t ask, knowing I wouldn’t learn anything.
A young man joined us on the sidewalk. “May I help with the luggage?”
Through the small office and out to the tarmac, Patrick, the young man, and I walked. “Looks like a long trip,” he said, commenting on my bags.
“Packing light has never been my thing,” I replied as my feet stopped and mouth opened at the sight of the large plane before us. A bird was painted along the side. Unlike its real-life equivalent, the caricature made the creature artistically fierce. With the gray head, white cheeks, and a black bib, it appeared more predator than prey. The open beak covered the very front while its piercing dark eye surrounded the window to the cockpit.
This wasn’t a for-hire charter. This aircraft belonged to Sparrow.
What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Araneae 14
Patrick stopped at the bottom of the stairs, motioning me upward. Each step was harder than the one before. As my stomach twisted, I decided finding a restroom was my first priority before we took off. What little breakfast I’d eaten many hours ago was moving precariously upward as the taste of bile bubbled in my throat.
“Welcome, Ms. Hawkins,” a woman in uniform said as I stepped inside away from the sunshine. “I’m your pilot today, Marianne McGee.” She lifted her hand to the right, away from the cockpit. “This is Jana and Keaton, your attendants for today’s flight.”
“Hello,” the two said in unison.
I barely heard them as I took in the opulence of the aircraft.
It was nothing like the one I’d flown on before. There was a shiny round table, large by any standard, with six seats as well as two along the side facing one another. Beyond the table was a wall with openings on either side.
As I gazed the direction she’d pointed, Jana spoke, “May I show you around?”
Swallowing the bad taste, I nodded, afraid to open my lips.
Walking a step behind, I followed her as we pa
ssed through the opening that led to what appeared to be a living room or perhaps a theater room. I turned, seeing the large screened television on the wall we’d passed.
“The first area is where Mr. Sparrow conducts work and conferences when flying with his employees or clients. In this area…” She waved her hand. “…he relaxes or teleconferences. Beyond is the bedroom, bathrooms, and a small kitchen.”
“It’s…” I shook my head. “I don’t seem to have words.”
Jana smiled. “Mr. Sparrow travels frequently and prefers to do it in comfort. I’ll say he works more than he sleeps, but the bedroom is there if you’d like to rest.”
“I think I’d like to find one of the restrooms.”
She nodded. “Follow me. And after you’re settled, let me know what we can bring you.” She pointed to a keypad and screen on the wall. “You can reach us there.”
I turned a circle. “Where will you be?”
“Out of sight. There’s an area off the kitchen.”
“Ms. Hawkins.”
I turned to the sound of Patrick’s voice. “Yes?”
“Would you like any of your luggage in the main cabin?”
“I-I…my carry-on, please.”
He nodded and turned away.
Jana’s hand landed on my arm and her smile grew. “I believe the gift on the bed is for you as well.”
My stomach knotted as I feigned a smile.
I wasn’t up for another empty box or veiled threat. I was here. What more did he want?
My first stop was the bathroom. While not large—I’m in a damn airplane—it was regal, complete with a golden faucet in the sink and lever on the commode.
I leaned on the edge of the sink and stared into the lit mirror. My brown eyes gazed back at me as the color drained from my cheeks. “This isn’t good,” I said softly yet audibly. “Normal people don’t own a plane like this. Fuck that. Normal people don’t own planes. There’s more to this man than you know. You may have been named after a spider, but never forget, birds eat spiders.”
That thought was the last straw as my head grew heavy, the small room blurred, and my legs turned to jelly. Falling to my knees, I managed to get my head over the commode as the bile I’d been fighting won the battle. I should have eaten lunch. My empty stomach contracted as I spat the nasty-tasting liquid, emptying the contents of my mouth. Closing my eyes, my body shivered as I laid my head down, my arms resting upon the toilet seat—my pillow.
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