I smile, pleased with this answer. “I guess it’s mutual.”
“It had better be. And just for the record, you taste like honey, but you smell like jasmine and rum.”
“Vanilla,” I whisper.
“Sweetheart,” he says. “There is nothing vanilla about you, or us.”
I’m smiling all over again, letting my lashes lower, and feeling the weight of the cuff on my wrist. He’s right. We are not vanilla. And I do believe I like it.
Mark . . .
I absently caress Crystal’s naked hip, inhaling her sweet scent and listening to her steady breathing. She’s exhausted, and while adrenaline has something to do with it, I also suspect the insane hours she’s been working to run Riptide and support my mother are the real culprit. And me. This woman is a part of our lives in every possible way, and I don’t deserve her. I want to, though. God, how I want to.
“I belong to you.” She said it like she meant it. And I’m going to make sure she does.
She twitches sharply, murmuring something in her sleep I can’t make out. Another twitch, and her voice lifts. “No. No. Stop! Let her go. Let her go! No!” She jerks to a sitting position, her breathing coming in heavy gasps.
My hand goes to her arm. “Easy, sweetheart,” I say, in eerie remembrance of doing the same with Rebecca after her many nightmares. “You had a bad dream.”
She looks at me uncomprehendingly, her mind still in the nightmare. “Dream?” she repeats, lifting her hand to her face, the cuff dangling off her wrist. She jerks it in front of her and stares.
“Crystal—”
“Get it off! Get it off!” She turns to me, grabbing my arm, not even realizing she can just pull it off herself. “Get it off now!”
“Easy, sweetheart.” I grab her arm.
“Hurry! Now! I’m going to . . . I need— Hurry!”
I unlatch the cuff and she scrambles off the bed and runs into the bathroom, trying to slam the door behind her. I follow her and find her trembling on the floor by the toilet, her knees to her chest, her head on her knees. This strong woman who’s gotten me through so much is trembling.
Snagging her pink silk robe from a hook, I kneel in front of her and wrap it around her shoulders.
“Hey,” I say, using her greeting.
She doesn’t move. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Then we’ll just sit.” I join her on the floor, leaning against the wall beside her, my hip and leg pressed to hers.
She lifts her head, angling her body next to mine. “Why are you on the floor?” she demands, looking appalled despite the tears streaking her cheeks.
I caress them off her face, wondering what kind of monster torments her this badly. “Because you’re on the floor.”
She swipes at her cheeks. “I so hate you saw me like this. And stop being crazy, Mark. Get up.”
“The only thing crazy would be getting up without you.” I soften my voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She presses her hand to her face, then curls it at her mouth. “No. Not now. Not yet.”
The inference that someday she will is enough. “I just need to know one thing.”
Her gaze meets mine, the torment still there. “What?”
“Did I set this off? Did the bondage?”
“I have these nightmares.” Her robe starts to fall and I reach for it, catching it for her.
“Put your arms in, sweetheart.”
She stares at me, and I can see her trying to read me—which is ironic, because for once, I’m an open book. After a moment she shoves her arms inside the robe and I tie it at her waist.
And I don’t question why, deep down, I’d already known. I love her.
“How long have you had the nightmares?” I ask.
“Since foster care.”
It’s easy to figure out that something of profound impact happened to her then. “You freaked out over the cuff even though your hands were free. I need to know, Crystal. Did the bondage trigger the nightmare?”
She hugs herself tightly. “Neither. The nightmare triggered my claustrophobia.”
“What? Fuck, woman. I just cuffed you and spanked you.”
“And I liked it. You are not my monster, and you never will be. You’re why I was smiling when I fell asleep.”
She’s deflecting, and I can’t let her. “How long have you had the claustrophobia, and how bad is it?”
“Since I was a teen. I was in a haunted house with my brothers, and the small space made me hyperventilate so badly, they thought I was having a heart attack.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I want to get over it, and these nightmares,” she blurts out. “I want it all gone.”
I drag her to me. “Then let me help you. Whatever’s haunting you, we’ll fight it together. But I have to know what it is to help.”
“Like I know your secrets?”
“We need to sit down over a bottle of scotch, if that’s what it takes, and get both of our pasts on the table. We’re going to fight together.”
“Until you’re gone. And you will be, and I can’t manage like that. Like you said, I own my monsters. I have to deal with them.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Until you’re gone,” she repeats, as if I haven’t spoken.
Something in her eyes, in her tone, slams me with the realization of just how alone she was in her youth—and how easily she must believe I really will leave.
“I’m falling in love with you, Crystal. I’m not going to hurt you.”
A stunned look slides over her delicate features. “What? No. No. You just said that you don’t know how you feel.”
I silently curse those words, lacing my fingers in her hair. “When I said I didn’t know what I was feeling, or if it was about you or her, that was about denial, fear, and guilt. And in case you didn’t know, I master denial far better than I do you.
“I’m not falling in love. I am in love. I love you, Crystal Smith.” My gut clenches with the fear I’ve spent a decade hiding from. “I love you, and it scares the hell out of me that I might lose you.”
She covers my hands with hers. “You won’t. And I don’t want to lose you, either. I couldn’t have done those cuffs with someone else, but everything is different with you. I trust you. And I love you, Mark Compton.”
My mouth comes down on hers, a hot claiming of my woman. My woman. Not my submissive. She moans, wrapping her arms around my neck, and I cup her backside, lifting her, urging her legs around my waist.
I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down on the mattress, me on top of her. “Whatever hurt you, we’ll deal with it. And nothing, nothing, is ever going to hurt you again. You have my word.”
Twenty
Mark . . .
I wake Saturday morning to Crystal curled against my side, and the feeling is surreal. For a half hour I don’t move, just holding her and replaying the night before. We’d ordered takeout from her favorite Italian place and watched reruns of Seinfeld, and her amusement and her pleasure from my liking it led to a lot of laughing, fucking, and talking about nothing serious.
My plan to wake Crystal at nine, to be at work by ten, is destroyed by a series of 8:30 a.m. calls from Blake and Jacob that entail coordinating an eleven o’clock meeting at Riptide. I’m finally free of the conversations and about to join Crystal in the shower when my cell buzzes again. This time it’s Tiger ranting about being squeezed out at the Long Island PD thanks to Detective Grant, whom he proceeds to call every four-letter word in existence.
“I might have some proof for you today that I couldn’t have been involved,” I say cautiously, not wanting Crystal to find out about Ava and Wright by overhearing me tell someone else.
“What proof?”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Then I’m not counting on it.” He adds, “But I’ll get my meeting today—and by the time Detective Grant gets back to San Francisco, he’ll be lucky if he ha
s a job.”
I set my phone down, thinking I can catch the last of Crystal’s shower, just as she exits the bathroom wearing a black fitted dress, tights, and her hair already sleekly styled. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s nine fifteen. “This morning didn’t go as planned.”
Crystal’s gaze slides up and down my naked body and she lets out a regretful sigh. “No. It did not.” She bites her lip and inspects my thickening cock, which gets even thicker while she watches.
“Go make coffee, woman,” I growl. “I have a meeting you’re about to make me miss.”
She laughs and leaves, pausing at the closet for her shoes, giving me a moment to appreciate the way the dress hugs her heart-shaped backside. A cold shower it is, I decide, and enter the bathroom.
As I grab a towel off the rack afterward, my gaze lands on her pink robe, jolting me with the memory of Crystal sitting on the floor trembling. Cursing, I step to the bathroom sink, my mind replaying our conversation last night. I don’t want to lose you, either, she’d said. I wasn’t afraid of the cuffs because I trust you. I don’t deserve her trust. I should have seen her hesitation over the cuffs as a problem, and I don’t believe for an instant that they didn’t contribute to her nightmare.
I walk to the suitcase I’d stashed in the closet the night before and bend down, unzipping it and digging into a pocket. My hand closes around Rebecca’s journal and I pull it out, staring down at the red leather cover. “I need to do this,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut against the ache in my heart. “So I can’t hurt her like I did you.”
Standing, I seek out Crystal and find her with her back to me as she fills a cup with coffee. A knock sounds on the door and I grimace, certain it’s Jacob with really bad timing. Crystal turns and smiles when she sees me, but it fades as she notes my solemn expression. Her gaze drops to the journal she’d once opened and begun reading, mistaking it for something I’d left for her. She swallows hard and sets her cup down. “What are you doing?”
Another knock sounds and I ignore it, walking to the island separating us and setting the journal down. “I need you to read this.”
Shock rolls over her face. “Why? Those are her private thoughts.”
“I was a bastard to her, Crystal. You need to know who I am capable of being. But I have to warn you, she details the sex. And it was all about sex and dominance. It’s not an easy read, even for me—and I lived it.”
She inhales, straightening her spine. “When I was fifteen, I rebelled against all the protectiveness of my father and brothers. I think I also secretly wanted them to prove that they loved me unconditionally. I skipped school, got horrible grades, and shoplifted even though I had all the money a girl could want. My father put me in counseling and private school, and the counselor and I connected, which was good. But even more, I knew my home wasn’t temporary.
“My point is that I am not that girl now, so I don’t need to read the journal.” She rounds the island and wraps her arms around me, tilting her chin up to look at me. “I know who you are with me, and who you are with your family. And I like that man. I love that man.”
“Crystal—”
My cell phone starts ringing, and now there’s pounding on the door. A second later, Crystal’s cell phone starts buzzing on the counter.
“We’re scaring Jacob,” she murmurs, “but you don’t scare me.”
As I bring her mouth to mine, the distant sound of the front door opening is followed by Jacob shouting, “Crystal!”
“Security must have let him in,” she says, and calls out, “In here!”
Footsteps pound, and Crystal and I face the doorway as Jacob bursts through with his gun drawn.
Blake Walker, whose long, dark hair spills out of the tie at his nape, follows, using his gun to scan the room. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Coffee for the road, anyone?” Crystal asks, walking around the island to pick up the pot.
* * *
Blake Walker throws so many F-bombs you’d think he was going for the New York record, which has steep competition. Crystal laughs every time I grimace, and I’m damn glad when we arrive at Riptide.
Crystal exits and I follow, my hand going to her back to urge her toward the roped-off security area.
Jacob and another security guard frame us, protecting us from a few piranha reporters. We’ve just entered the security area when I hear “Mr. Compton.”
I glance in the direction of the guard who called my name, going downright icy when I see the familiar man next to him.
“Any idea why Ryan’s here?” Jacob asks suspiciously.
“I don’t care why he’s here,” I reply. “He’s leaving.” I walk toward Ryan, Jacob keeping pace with me, and I’m aware of Blake hurrying in our direction. Apparently they aren’t sure I won’t kill the man. I’m not, either.
I step close to him, my voice low, tight. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk.”
“No. We don’t.”
“Is everything okay?” Crystal asks, coming to my side.
Ryan’s eyes light on her, his lips twisting evilly. “Crystal Smith.”
It’s a seductive threat I don’t miss. “Escort Ms. Smith inside, Jacob.”
There’s amusement in Ryan’s blue stare. Jacob steps between him and Crystal, obviously understanding why the hell I want her out of here. Blake steps to my side. “Shall I drag him out of here by his attitude or his ass, Mr. Compton?” he asks, leaving no doubt he witnessed Ryan’s short address to Crystal.
“We have business,” Ryan snaps. “Are we doing this out here, or inside?”
“We aren’t doing anything at all.” I lift a hand toward Blake. “Escort him by whatever you wish.” I head for the door.
“Someone dirtied up my financials,” Ryan calls out loudly. “Do you want me to tell the press who I think did it?”
I pause but don’t turn, my lips curving into a brutal twist. “If you want to announce the mismanagement of your business in the financial capital of the world, enjoy yourself.” I enter the building, where Crystal is waiting for me.
She looks at my face and shakes her head. “Oh, no. What did you do, Mark?”
“Not enough. But I’m about to.” Knowing Crystal’s determination for answers, I grab her arms and carefully set her aside, and I head toward the conference room.
All three of the Walker brothers are tall, dark, and in my face from the moment they enter the Riptide conference room. I swiftly dismiss their questions about Ryan and everything else until we are all seated, and I’m in full command of the room. I claim the head of the rectangular table, and Royce and Blake are quick to claim the seats to either side of me. Luke sits next to Blake and Jacob next to Royce.
“Do you have the lab results?” I ask, getting right to the point.
“They’re clean,” Royce replies curtly. Everything about the man is gruff. “But you won’t be, if you pursue the poison-pill vengeance that my brother did. It’s our job to save your ass, Mr. Compton.”
Luke leans forward. “What we are trying to get across is that Ryan showing up and throwing around accusations that you’re after vengeance—when Corey’s already saying you beat the shit out of him—isn’t in your favor.”
My lips thin and I fix Royce, the brother in charge of Walker Security, in a hard stare. “You want to save my ass? Find Ava. And don’t give me ‘we’ve been trying.’ Try harder. And while you’re at it, link Ricco or Ryan to Ava.” I glance around the room. “Can any of you tell me you’ve done any of these things?”
“No,” Blake answers for them all. “And we’re pissed off as a motherfucker, too. If they can be found, we will find them.”
“That’s what I used to think. Then I hired someone else who got the job done.”
“Who?” Royce snapped. “And define ‘got the job done.’ ”
“There’s a group of ‘treasure hunters’ I’ve hired in the past to locate high-profile art pieces. Pieces that collections
keep underground, so to speak, to prevent theft. Their success rate has been exceptional, so I was more than willing to see what they could do outside the art community.”
“That’s who you were talking to on the phone last night, after your father’s practice,” Jacob says.
“Yes,” I say. “My objective for the hunter I’m working with was to find Ava, and to prove Ryan was involved in Rebecca’s murder. He failed to connect the dots with Ryan.”
“So you decided to financially ruin him,” Blake concludes. “Which is why he was here today.” He runs a hand through his hair now neatly tied at his nape. “I can’t fight a small amount of admiration. And it’s better than killing him.”
Royce growled, “It’s still illegal.”
But it feels good, I think, still fighting with myself over what I’m about to do. I flip open the folder in front of me and remove a stack of documents. I hesitate, then remind myself that this is the fastest way to protect Crystal, my parents, and my employees.
I set the documents in front of Royce, effectively giving up my role as vigilante. “There should be enough there to arrest Ryan for money laundering. It also proves he had cash no one thought he had. In a couple of days I’ll have a deeper file, but I want him off the streets now—not later.”
Royce grabs the paperwork and thumbs through it. He glances up at me. “It’s enough. I can get this to the right people and make it happen.”
“Today,” I say.
“It’s likely to be Monday.”
“Not good enough.”
“Today,” Blake agrees. “I saw his interaction with Crystal this morning. I don’t trust the bastard.”
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” I say, my irritation grinding through my tone. “I want to kill him. You say you want to protect me from myself. So get him off the streets.”
Royce clenches his jaw. “I’ll make it happen today.”
I reach into my folder again. “Next topic. Ava.” I toss the picture of her and Wright on the table, and Royce picks it up as I continue. “I scanned this and sent it to my attorney a few minutes ago. She’s alive and on the run with a deadly mercenary named Wright. From what I understand, he comes with a price tag few can afford.”