I squat down, elbows on my knees, and I’m sweating, the memories pounding at my brain, loss and pain eating away at me. Who was I kidding, all those years I claimed I was in control of everything around me? I was never in control. The past was always with me. It’s what has driven everything. It’s why I made the decisions I did with Rebecca.
Images flash in my mind and I lower my throbbing head to my hands. The hellish past comes at me like a hard-swung baseball bat that makes me groan with the impact.
* * *
“Stop, Tabitha,” I order, as she rushes ahead of me in the deserted parking lot of the remote NYU campus property, my voice carrying a little too loudly in the silent, windless night. “It’s too dark for you to run ahead of me.”
But she doesn’t listen, disappearing inside the open gates of the baseball practice field—but then, what else is new? She’s like my mother, hardheaded and impossible. I trot down the pavement to catch up to her, rounding the corner of the concrete sidewalk that runs in front of the bleachers. She’s walking backward, her long blond hair glistening silver in the moonlight, her soft feminine laugh a sexy tease despite my irritation.
“I’m right here, Marky baby,” she taunts, holding out her arms, the shadows licking at the deep cleavage of her pink T-shirt that I plan to have off of her in about sixty seconds. “Come get me.” She darts to the left and disappears into the darkness of the bleachers, as fearless as she is frustrating.
I growl low in my throat and decide that sneaking out here for an adventurous fuck was a bad idea. We should have thrown her damn roommate out of her dorm room for an hour. I decide to sneak up on her, heading toward the end of the bleachers to cut around the back, when a sound stops me in my tracks. A scrape of a shoe? Then . . . a male voice? I scan the playing field, but it’s too dark to see anything, and an eerie sensation crawls over my skin. Jogging forward, I disappear between the bleachers to find Tabitha—and stop dead in my tracks.
* * *
I shake myself before the full image comes into view. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’m not doing this. I’m not going there. I’ve only been to this place once in ten years, and I remember it well. The phone call. The club. Chris Merit walking into my office just in time to witness my pathetic meltdown, and me foolishly telling him everything about that night. When I woke up the next day, I buried the memory along with my lack of control.
But buried isn’t gone, I’m realizing now. Tabitha is, though—and I swore I’d never go through that kind of pain again. But I am. And I did. And now there is Crystal.
I’m losing my mind, all over the place, bouncing here and there. I’m so far from being in control, I don’t even know myself.
My phone starts ringing, and it takes several moments to realize it’s the disposable one. I yank it from my pocket, and holy hell, my hand is shaking. I am so out of my own skin, I don’t even know who I am. I hit the Answer button and hear, “I trust you received the file?”
“I did,” I confirm, straightening to press my back against the door. “I’m taking care of payment.” I will myself back to the present to focus on this critical conversation. “I have reason to believe there may be a threat to my family,” I say. “I need to know if they’ve been spotted again.”
“Not yet.”
My jaw tightens. “Make sure they aren’t here in New York, and make sure today.”
“You think they followed you?”
“Yes. I do.”
“I’ll work on it and get back to you.”
“No later than tonight. I need an update, even if it’s to tell me you have nothing new.”
“Understood. But I do have a development on Ryan Kilmer. He might have the cash to hire Wright after all.”
“What does that mean?”
“I checked out those odd real estate transactions you caught when reviewing his file. You were right. Real estate fraud is the name of his game, and he’s done plenty of it. And he looks to have sold a number of expensive properties to some pretty nasty people, which I’m pretty sure can be tied to money laundering.”
“Pretty sure?”
“I’m gathering the data. I’ll have it to you in the next few days. Do you want to reconsider the plan to destroy him, or let this information do it for us?”
“Get me the details to review and then I’ll decide. Right now, go find Ava and Wright. I’ll be expecting your call.” I push to my feet, stashing the phone back in my pocket. By the time I’m behind the desk I’ve pulled out my regular cell phone, and I leave a message for my attorney to ensure he knows what’s happened with Corey since he’s been in the air. Next, I punch the auto-dial.
“Luke Walker,” he answers on the second ring.
“Mark Compton. What do you have for me?”
“The kid’s in a coma and the police have shut me out, but I’m staying here. His parents are flying in from San Francisco tonight. I want to talk to them and make sure they influence their son to be truthful.”
“You heard about the threat sent to Crystal?”
“I did, and we’re on it.”
“I want to meet with you and your brothers.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, after those lab results are in.” We work out the details and end the call.
However I look at it, I’m caught in a web of danger. And now someone has targeted Crystal as a way to get to me.
Fifteen
Mark . . .
I’m weeding through the financials for Riptide, impressed by how well it’s performed under Crystal’s care, when a knock sounds on my door. It opens and Crystal pops her head inside.
“Hey,” she says.
I toss my pen on my desk and lean back. “Hey,” I find myself saying. She has softened me in ways no one else could, and despite everything that happened earlier, there’s no tension or awkwardness between us. No walls. No games. We really are the most honest thing I’ve ever had in my life.
She smiles and steps inside, lifting two bags in her hands and nudging the door shut with her hip. “It’s four o’clock and Beverly tells me neither of us has eaten.”
I glance at the time on my cell phone, shocked to find I’ve been sitting for hours. “I had no idea how late it had gotten. I was caught up in the numbers. Riptide looks good on paper. You’ve done well, Ms. Smith. Far better than I expected under the circumstances.”
“A compliment,” she says, setting the bags of food on my desk. “And here I thought you managed by intimidation.”
“More like an iron fist.”
“And a rulebook the size of an encyclopedia,” she teases.
“I don’t deny the rulebook. But I look out for my employees, and I reward them when they do well.”
“So I’m learning,” she replies, her eyes softening with her voice.
Our eyes meet and I can almost feel the simmering heat, which has existed since the day we met, expanding. “There’s a bonus in your future,” I say.
And while my mind has drifted into erotic territory, now isn’t the time for that. I won’t downplay what she’s done professionally, and even personally, for my family. And money isn’t her motivation, which makes her generous dedication to Riptide all the more compelling.
“So,” she says, her softly painted red lips curving, “what does the rulebook say about sharing a meal with an employee, Mr. Compton?”
“You started tearing pages out of my rulebook the night I met you.” I round the desk to stand beside her.
“Good point,” she murmurs. “So let’s dig in and eat before it gets cold. I hear cavemen lose their alpha if they go without food for too long.”
I arch a brow, taking one of the bags from her. “Cavemen?”
“What else do you call someone who threatens to throw me over his shoulder, in front of an audience?”
“Would you prefer over my knee?” I ask.
Her eyes flicker with surprise. “Maybe I shouldn’t feed you after all,” she quips, grabbing a bag and marching toward the seati
ng area by the bookshelves.
Laughing, I watch her cute little ass wiggle for every second I can before she claims one of the two red chairs.
Already in pursuit, my cock thickens with the chase she has made more than about sex. There’s something about this woman that calls to some part of me that’s been long suppressed. And I can’t even remember why I’d once thought that awakening was a bad thing—not with her floral scent teasing my nostrils.
“You’re quite good at evasive maneuvers,” I comment, claiming the seat next to hers.
She sets her bag on the small glass table, and I do the same with mine.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies, swiping a lock of long blond hair behind her ear, exposing her high cheekbones and perfect ivory skin.
She is beauty, wit, and graceful femininity. I don’t know how I ever thought she wasn’t my type.
“Why run, when I mentioned turning you over my knee? The shower spanking didn’t seem to be a problem. Quite the opposite.”
She swallows hard but doesn’t back down, her eyes meeting mine as she angles toward me. “This is not a conversation people have over chicken sandwiches.”
“Am I wrong about the shower?”
“No. No, you aren’t wrong.”
“You liked it.”
“I liked that you opened up to me, no matter what you thought the consequences might be. It’s the kind of honesty and vulnerability that I think is rare for you. And that’s why I was able to go where we went. But this is new territory for me.”
Everything about you is new territory for me,” I say. “And though there are things we should discuss, not here, not now.”
She covers my hand where it rests on the arm of the chair with hers, and I understand the message. She’s touching me. I’m letting her. “I know that I’m new territory for you, too.”
“But?” I ask, sensing there’s more she hasn’t said.
“But . . .” Her hand falls away, and I feel the loss as quickly as I do the instant tension in her. She faces forward, rubbing the back of her neck.
“I pushed you too hard,” I say.
“No,” she counters quickly, cutting me a look. “No, you didn’t.”
“You just withdrew from me,” I point out, prodding her to say more.
“Here’s the thing,” she says, turning toward me. “If anyone else had done what you did to me, I would have been freaked.”
My brow furrows. “You mean the spanking.”
“Yes. I mean . . . that.”
“A spanking,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with the word or the act. It’s intimate. It’s trust, and unless the person doing it hurts you, which should never be the case, it’s erotic. It’s supposed to turn you on. Don’t let society make it taboo, so you have to feel guilty for enjoying it.”
“I don’t. I decide what’s okay for me. And that’s just it, Mark: I decide. The fact that I liked the spanking, or because you teasing me about another turns me on, doesn’t mean I’m a submissive in training.”
“The idea of me turning you over my knee aroused you?”
In true Crystal form, her chin lifts, her eyes meet mine, and she boldly, yet evasively, replies, “You arouse me.” She turns away, reaching for the bag in front of her and making it clear she’s done with the topic as she adds, “You have the drinks and I have the grilled chicken sandwiches.” She sets one in front of her. “And since there were no healthy sides, I ordered you two sandwiches.”
Trying not to smile, quite certain it might get me smacked, I start unwrapping one of the sandwiches. “That’s perfect. And speaking of healthy, how’s the gym at your apartment?”
“It’s well equipped, but packed. I like to go late at night when it’s empty, and I can have it all to myself.”
I set the drinks on the table and discard the bag. “I’ve never been big on crowds, either.” While the idea of sharing a life with Crystal is complicated in too many ways to count, it feels right to me, rather than what’s safe. That’s what control has been to me—safety. “And I work so much that late nights are inevitable.”
“Same here.” Unwrapping her sandwich, she says, “I love the convenience of my apartment’s location and the shops inside the building and nearby, but I don’t love that it’s highly populated.”
“You need a larger place, where you can have your own gym.”
“One day,” she says, taking a bite of her sandwich.
I’m certain she could have it now if she asked her father. “Your place is small because you pay for it yourself, correct?”
“That’s right,” she says. “My father insisted on helping me get into a safe, nice place to live right out of college. I insisted I foot the bill, which meant it had to be a place I could afford. We battled to come up with a place we could both live with, and our compromise was the great security and neighborhood to please him, and the small size to suit my budget to please me.”
“This is where New York and San Francisco differ. That city has real neighborhoods with standalone homes.”
“Which is what you have?”
“Yes. I have a home in the Nob Hill area, which I thought gave me plenty of property and privacy. But the downside of a standalone home is that it becomes a prison if the press decides to surround you.” I set my sandwich down, the memories of that night and my date with the bottle of scotch cutting through my appetite. My elbows go to my knees and I don’t look at her as I add, “Even if it weren’t for the press, I couldn’t be there now—any more than I could have taken you there.”
“I know,” she surprises me by saying.
I cast her a questioning glance. “You know?”
“She lived with you, so being there has to remind you of her. And I’m sure that taking me there would have come with guilt. It probably always will.”
“No. Not always.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but doesn’t push me. “What are you going to do about Allure? You can’t leave it closed forever.”
“I put it on the market. If I choose to go back to San Francisco, I can do shows at random venues and still make a killing.”
“What you deny owns you, Mark,” she says, again repeating the words I’d spoken to her, and I wonder why they connect with her as deeply as they obviously do.
I had these kinds of questions with Rebecca, but I never let myself ask them. I won’t make that mistake with Crystal.
“What owns you, Crystal?” I ask, trying to understand.
Shadows flicker in her eyes as she replies, “The wrong things, but I’m trying to fix that.”
“What wrong things?”
“If I could just spit them out on demand, they wouldn’t own me, now, would they?”
“Truer words have never been spoken.” I hesitate, fighting the urge to push her for more. She needs to see inside my hell to allow me into hers. And I don’t want her inside it. I want her far, far away.
“About Paris—” I begin.
“No,” she snaps. “I’m not going to Paris or anywhere else. End of discussion.”
“It would be—”
“No.”
“You’re ridiculously stubborn.”
“You’re worse.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“Then let me eat, before I pass out.”
My jaw sets. “I’m not done talking about this.”
“I’m sure you’re not.” She reaches for her sandwich. “But right now, I want to eat and talk business. Since you’re all about ninety percent of our problems being from ten percent of our customers, I have a few to discuss with you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Laura Benedict, for one.”
“The name isn’t familiar.”
“She’s a repeat customer who has tried to take advantage of us in your mother’s absence.”
“What are the dollars and cents?”
“In five years, she’s never amounted to more than thir
ty thousand in profit for us.”
“And she’s a bitch?”
“A bitch with PMS year-round.”
“What do you want to do about her?”
“Put her in her place, with the understanding that I can drop her if I have to.”
“I saw the financials. Do what you have to do, but don’t let me get blindsided. Let me know in advance, in case she comes to me.”
“My one hesitation is her big mouth. She’ll tell the world we parted ways and come up with some dramatization worthy of Netflix.”
“If we let everyone with a big mouth intimidate us, we’ll both be walking around with no balls.”
She starts laughing and our moods lighten. “I swear, sometimes I think your mother has a removable set she installs at work.”
“My father’s,” I joke.
“Mark,” she chides. “I can’t believe you said that!”
“If I’m alpha, then he’s beta. You must see that.”
“He’s the head coach of a baseball team. That’s pretty alpha.”
“And he coaches like a beta—which is why my mother is always trying to be his alpha.”
“Right.” She sighs. “That brings me to an important topic.”
“My father’s balls or my mother’s?”
She laughs. “Stop. No. Well, maybe your mother’s. She’s decided to go on a little outing tonight, and your father needs us to tag along.”
“What happened to her barely being able to get out of bed?”
“You,” she says. “Having you here means everything to her.”
“Oh hell,” I say, my hands settling on my thighs. “I know a suck-up, prep-me-for-what’s-coming-speech when I hear one. What is she up to?”
“Your father is having pitching practice tonight, and she wants to go watch.”
I shake my head firmly. “No. We are not going to the practice field. She’s exhausted, and it’s freezing outside.”
“It’s indoors. They’ve installed some sort of net inside the gym.”
“She still doesn’t need to be there.”