by Palmer, Dee
“I don’t suppose he is.” I sniff.
“You might need some more sedation.” His tone is serious, and I can hear a dull, metallic thumping sound in the background.
“I don’t have any more. Just knock him out again if he’s any trouble.”
“I have done that twice already. He’s like the fucking Energizer Bunny, keeps waking up and fighting his restraints. He’s throwing himself around in the back; I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t tip us the fuck right over.” Clarke laughs with the last part, but I can hear the concern in his voice.
“Do what you need to do; however, I do need him alive for now.”
“Sir. I’m not—”
“Just put him in the library when you get here. Tie him up in the corner.” I have a plan, but things change, and as much as he would probably like to hear some reassurances, I have none to give. Everything depends on Tia. Now she’s admitted to taking my money, I need her to understand how important it is that she gives it back, important for everyone. “There’s an antique oriental screen in the drawing room. Get it and put him in the corner of the room, behind the screen. Gag him and make sure the fucker can’t escape.”
“Yes sir.” He clips his response, then his words seem to drift, and he’s more hesitant when he speaks again. “I’m just pulling into the village… Sir?”
“What? I don’t need a mile by mile breakdown of your movements Clarke.” I retort.
“No, I know. It’s just, were you expecting your mother to be visiting, sir?” I let out a humourless laugh.
“Yes, of course. I’ve set up afternoon tea for the four of us in the Orangery.” My tone is laced with sarcasm. “No, I’m not expecting my fucking mother, why?”
“Her Range Rover is parked up next to a police car in the pub car park.”
“Fuck!” I let out a heavy puff of air with the justified expletive. That fucking woman! “Okay, drop the package here, and then drive back to the village and keep and eye on my mother. She’s not to come any closer to Tartarus, understand?”
“How am I supposed to stop her exactly? You want me to knock her out too?” His voice rises in the right place to register a question, but it sounded more like a statement.
“I wish,” I exhale my answer and then clarify my actual reply. “No, do not hit my mother. Shoot her damn tyres out, if you have to. Just don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Very good, sir.” The line goes dead, and without missing a beat, I press the speed dial button on my next call.
“Mother.” I push the term through my clenched jaw. I’m struggling to feel any connection to this woman who has caused so much hurt and destruction. I know if the web she’s woven didn’t include Tia, I would’ve severed the tie in a heartbeat.
“Atticus, do you have the money?” Her tone is hushed, but the panic in her voice is stark and genuine. It should be.
“You couldn’t just leave me to it. You have to fucking interfere,” I snap with open hostility, and she sucks in a shocked sharp breath.
“What are you talking about?”
“Where are you?” I ask, my voice regaining a modicum of calm, despite the anger bubbling through my veins.
“Visiting a friend. I thought you might need some local support. Chief Inspector Adams was so very helpful last time.” She prattles on as if she’s doing me some enormous favour.
“I said I would handle this, and I will.” I respond with enough warmth to freeze the phone in her well manicured hand. My voice drops low and an undercurrent of menace ripples with each word I utter. “If you ever want to see me again after this is done and dusted, you will get in your car and not only leave the village, but you’ll leave the fucking country.”
“All I want is our money back,” she pleads, and even her attempt at heartfelt honesty falls flat.
“That’s not all you want, and we both know it,” I assert, and the line goes quiet. I can almost picture her plotting her next move so I stop her with mine. “Do as I say, Mother, or I swear—”
“Fine, fine,” she blurts, flustered. “I’m leaving now. I was only trying to help.”
Her earnest response makes me choke out a tight cough. Clearing my throat, I reply. “Mother, I’ve had about as much help from you as I can handle.”
“I didn’t know I was risking everything when I agreed to underwrite their investment, Atticus, I swear.” Her pathetic explanation falls on deaf ears, too little too late.
“Ignorance is no fucking defence mother, especially when I can no longer believe a single word you say.”
“Atticus I never—” I don’t care what she ‘never’. Nothing she can say will change the mess she’s created. I cut the call dead and drop the phone back into my pocket. Dragging my hand through my hair, I pinch the tension at the bridge of my nose and let out a heavy breath.
This is spiralling out of my control, and it’s unacceptable.
My bare feet make next to no noise as I pad the length of the stone slabs of the Great Hall toward the main stairway. The thick red carpet runner, which is held into place by solid brass big cat claws and doesn’t reach the edge of the sweeping staircase, feels good against my toes. I take a moment to curl them into the soft pile when I reach the first landing where the staircase splits to either side of the gallery landing. Tia and I used to break up cardboard boxes and lay them flat to slide down these stairs, and we would use rolled up sweaters on the bannisters. The highly polished wood would provide little resistance, and the speed of descent was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I was always careful to bail before I did myself any damage on the carved lion’s head at the end and Tia would slide backward, feet first so her feet and legs, not her rear-end, would take the momentum of coming to an abrupt halt.
This place really was a magical playground, and I can’t help the slice of sadness that it’s no longer mine. The truth will never erase the memories or the fact that I was only ever truly happy here. Still, I was raised on nothing but lies, and that does somewhat tarnish my charmed childhood. I draw in a deep, steady breath when I reach Grandfather’s room.
Pushing the door wide, the creak alone would wake the dead; however, the drugs seem to be having a lasting effect. Tia’s body doesn’t react to the noise or the light bursting into the room when I pull the curtain open.
I pace the length and breadth of the room, checking for what, I’m not sure. Nothing seems out of place, the furniture has the dustsheets over the larger pieces so there really isn’t much to check. Besides, I can clearly see Tia is very much secured to the bed frame with her hand hanging limply from the cuff attached to the bedpost. My mind is skipping way ahead of itself. Cracking a safe is one thing, picking free a solid steel cuff with no tools is the stuff of Houdini.
I think I must be going crazy to think she’s slipped her restraints.
One thing is certain, if she had, she wouldn’t be lying in the bed. I doubt I’d see her again if she were smart, but she clearly has an unresolved vendetta so maybe she wouldn’t run; maybe she’d stay and hunt. Maybe she’s searching for the same answers I am. She told me she has my money, but she looked genuinely confused by my comment about it not being mine in the first place.
Not for the last time, I’m sure, I have to remind myself maybe I don’t know her. This thought alone is the one that will drive me insane. She was mine, is mine, always will be mine, and when we made love last night it was how it was always supposed to be. I felt it in my soul, and I would bet that very soul she did too.
She tasted the same, and her body yielded to mine like it always had. She fell asleep in my arms, and I held her all damn night, afraid to let go, not knowing what the morning might bring. Still, behind those eyes, I can’t be a hundred percent sure I know what she’s really thinking, and I hate that. I stand so close to the bed I can feel the warmth radiating from her sleeping body, soft breaths making her chest rise and fall and her lips part just enough to let the air escape.
She looks like an angel.
I sit down carefully. The bed dips, and I smile when I see her lips twitch at the corners, and her eyelids pinch closed a little tighter. If I wasn’t looking so intently I would’ve missed these tells, but I didn’t, and now I know.
I lean down so my mouth is close to her ear, and whisper, “Time to stop pretending, princess.” My breath kisses her skin just as my jaw clenches at the sharp prick of cold metal at my neck. Every muscle in my body contracts and freezes, and I don’t dare breathe. Her eyes spring open and pierce deeper into me than any blade. A stormy mix of hurt, betrayal, and utter rage bore right through me.
“Does this feel like pretending?” She mimics my softly spoken tone, a confident smile slowly working its way wide across her face. The pressure of the blade is enough to puncture the skin, and I’m waiting for the warm trickle of blood, but it doesn’t come. My eyes flick down, recognising my grandfather’s letter opener in her white-knuckle grip. She holds the point of the steel firm with one hand, and with the other that should still be in the cuff attached to the bedpost, she pushes me back. She rises to keep the distance as I retreat. I’m watching every facial muscle for movement, ticks, or involuntary twitches of nervousness but there are none. There’s no weakness, no hesitation, and for the second time in just one day, I find I am more than a little impressed.
My face fails to hide this mistimed pride because, unfortunately, my impressed expression must look a lot like I’m arrogantly amused, and I wince when I feel the nick at my neck.
“There is nothing fucking funny about this, Atticus. Only you could look so damn smug,” she snarks, shaking her head in disbelief. “Nothing fucking funny about kidnapping and drugging me. You’re going to jail for this, arsehole.”
“I’m not laughing, princess. I’m actually impressed and a little hard.” Her eyes widen, and now I do laugh out loud.
“What the fuck, Cass!” She keeps her focus on me and the knife. I can feel her indignant outrage like a force field. She is good at putting up barriers, but I’m very good at breaking them down. She jabs her other finger hard into my chest, and I wrap my hand around the digit, gently at first, and I wait for her to pull it away. She doesn’t but she does press the blade a little harder into the cut. There’s a fresh spurt of blood rushing down my neck, and I can feel her hand start to tremble. “You fucking drugged me and that gets you hard. Oh my god… Did you—” She stops mid sentence at her own horror filled conclusion, and I interrupt with the mine.
“No, no I didn’t.” I growl. “For fuck sake, Tia, after what we did last night? We made love, that’s never happened to me.” I’m absolutely gutted, wrecked she could even go there. I let out an unbearably heavy sigh. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. I knew it would be like this with you. How could you even—” I falter, and she is quick to attack in the momentary pause.
“Think you’re capable of fucking me while I’m unconscious? Oh I don’t know, Cass, maybe because you’re the one that made me unconscious in the first place. Maybe it’s because you fucking drugged me and chained me to the bed!” Her voice gets breathy and high pitched, and I feel the fury coursing through her. She’s distracted and that’s all I need.
I jolt forward, catching her off guard and off balance. She squeals as I knock the letter opener from her hand and force my full body weight over on her. It only takes a fraction of a second for her fight instinct to kick in. Not just kick in but go into some demon-fuelled frenzy of flailing arms, jabbing knees and full bucking body contortions while trying to dislodge me. I hold firm and heavy, and it seems to take for-fucking-ever for exhaustion to quiet her resistance. She pants and struggles until all that’s left is despair, and it nearly breaks me.
“I loved you.” Her eyes are closed, and tears burst from the corners to run freely down her cheeks, into her hair, and soak the pillow. I swallow the thick lump in my throat and take the hit from her use of the past tense.
“And I love you.” My lips meet hers, and my own tears drop from my face to mingle with hers. I move my mouth lightly along her jaw, over her cheeks, her brow, the tip of her nose and back to her lips, kissing until the salty rivers are dry.
I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, and my head is too dazed to try and pick through the carnage of the last twenty-four hours; hell, make that the last five and a bit years. I can’t believe I’m here again. The cuffs were easy enough to slip out of, he’d left them far too loose and I struck lucky finding the letter opener in the writing desk. I just didn’t factor in his strength, his agility, his damn body…I didn’t factor in him.
I know I can’t trust him.
I know he’s lied, and it’s not a massive stretch to assume he knows I have too. His hands feel unbearably good exploring my body with urgency and purpose, which is not helping. I arch against his body as he rolls me on top and then over again until he’s pressed his full weight on me. His mouth hasn’t left mine, his tongue deep and twisting with my own, stealing not only the breath from my lungs, but my sanity and my soul too. I mentally try to push him away even as my hands ignore my most basic command and grip his shirt, pulling him closer. He moans into my mouth, grinding his hips and his impressive erection against my quivering core.
“Tell me you want me.” His gravely voice rumbles over my face with his hot, sweet breath.
“No.” I exhale and watch his eyes crinkle with a knowing smirk. He’s got me.
“Tell me you need me.” He drags his nose along mine, over my cheek until its buried in my hair, and his lips are just a breathy whisper at my ear.
“I don’t.” I manage to push the words out as if reading from a script for the first time, unsure and confused.
“I know you don’t.” His wolfish, wicked smile sends a thrill running the length of my body and peppers it with goosebumps. This is a game for him, a hunt, and I’m the prey.
He thinks I’m his prey.
“Atticus, this is all wrong.” I have to close my eyes. He’s too close not to see right through me.
“It’s been wrong since the day I left you, what’s one more day? What’s one more hour?” His voice sounds harsh and broken at the same time, and I look up into his face, so handsome, so familiar. I know I could draw each line, each icy fleck in his deep blue eyes, each curve of his high cheekbones. Fuck, I could draw every hair on his damn head from memory alone. It breaks my fucking heart we’ve come to this.
He let us come to this.
However, with his weight on me, his heat and very nearness, it’s making it very difficult to think of anything other than how fucking good he feels, right here, right now.
“Will enjoying each other make any difference to this being all wrong?” he asks softly.
“Will it make it any better?”
“Damn right it will,” he confirms without hesitation. “I want you Tia. It’s always been you. You know it. You feel it.” He punctuates each statement with deep, increasingly seductive kisses making my body thrum and my heart ache.
“And it changes nothing.” I can hear there is no longer even a hint of resistance in my tone.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” His eyes darken, and his sensual, rough tone sounds more like a threat than a statement.
Its like a match has been struck, a spark in a powder keg.
I feel it, and he acts on it, tearing at my clothes, with a fierceness in his movements that makes me shiver tip to toe. His hands are everywhere, burning my skin where they touch, and making me cry out. He grips, moulds, and possessively squeezes my soft curves and heavy breasts.
I’m on fire, and I easily match his desperation, ripping his shirt from his chest, buttons popping and material ripping in my fingers as I clearly lose my mind. I put my hand around the back of his neck and yank him to my mouth. His lips
are like nectar and I’m the queen fucking bee. I drink him in. Full, soft lips cover mine, and my own tongue duels with his divine tongue. Every whisker of his day-old stubble scours my face and feels heavenly. It’s a sensory overload, and I can’t get enough. I want more. I want all of him, and I don’t care what that is going to cost me.
He kicks his jeans down his legs as soon as I’ve loosened his belt and slips the rest of his clothes off as I do the same. The second our bodies aren’t touching feels like an eternity, and I exhale with blissful pleasure when his scorching body once again covers me. His legs prise mine open, wedging himself securely in-between and nudging them wider. His heavy cock feels like a branding iron of heat against my entrance, and I want to scream when he hesitates. His ragged breaths mirror my own, his chest heaves and strains against mine, and his glare is so hungry I can feel my own tummy rumble with need. I close my eyes, and he growls low and husky.
“Keep them open, princess. I want to look into your very soul when I take you,” he demands.
“What makes you think I still have one?”
“Oh that’s right…your soul belongs to me,” he declares, and I don’t get the chance to argue his statement.
“Ahh!” I cry out as he slams into me, fast, furious, like his fucking life depends on this. I cling to his broad shoulders, my fingernails anchoring myself to his flesh. I feel every thrust shatter me, drive deeper than I ever thought possible. My stomach muscles tense, and I brace my battered body for each punishing pounding from his hips. His eyes are wild, and I swear he has no more control over this situation than I do. He grinds and positions my body this way and that, lifting one leg high over his shoulder and angling himself to push just that little bit deeper. I swear he’s so deep I think he’s checking on that ownership of my soul with his cock. I cry out his name, screaming to the heavens as he relentlessly drives me to my climax. I’m helpless and high at the same time, soaring the crests of each wave, breath-stealing, life-affirming, as pleasure saturates my already sweaty body and leaves me limp and melded to Cass like a limpet to a rock. I suck in large gulps of air, unaware if he came until I feel his unsupported weight sink onto me with a satisfied grunt.