Everything happens for a reason. He’d said that to me way back then, too. I was certain that my future had been ripped away from me as a lesson. It made me become stronger for everyone else around me, to ensure no one else got hurt. But what reason is there in Rebecca dying? How can there ever be a reason for that?
I push to my feet. “I’m going to get ice. Anyone else?” All eyes have shifted to me, and they all call bullshit, “you don’t want ice, you want space.” “No?” I ask. “Okay then.” I leave the room wondering how “Okay then” even got into my damn vocabulary.
Walking down the hall and past a large living area, I pause in the center of the massive kitchen, leaning on the black rectangular island counter. My head drops toward my chest and I start counting to keep myself out of my own head, so I can walk back into that bedroom. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Mark.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as Crystal’s voice stirs an odd sensation in my chest that somehow eases the ache in my gut. Desire rockets through me, and I tell myself it’s about fucking and control. I need it, and she’s my safe zone outside of the club.
“Are you okay?” she asks when I do not speak.
When our gazes meet the jolt is as unwelcome as it is intense. She feels it, too. I see it in the slight widening of her eyes, the way she curls her fingers into her palms on the counter across from me.
“You were furious with me a few minutes ago,” I say. “Why are you standing here now?”
“I’m not one-dimensional. I can be furious and worried at the same time.”
Unable to squash my intrigue over the unknowns of her past, I agree. “No, you aren’t one-dimensional. Nor are you simply a rich girl who wants to prove something to daddy.”
“Thank you.” She crinkles her brow. “I think.”
We fall into silence, a hum of electricity charging between us. “I still go back to you saying ‘The End’ to me a few minutes ago. You meant it this time, too. That doesn’t translate to you standing here.”
“Neither does much of what you do, where I’m concerned.”
“You’re absolutely right. It doesn’t. What does, though, is sticking to ‘The End.’ What doesn’t is how badly I want to drag you into another room and fuck you right now.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not me you want. It’s someone who’ll sign a contract and be your outlet and bridge to control. You left that bedroom thinking about the impossibility of a reason for Rebecca’s death, beyond your self-blame and guilt. You need that bridge.”
There is banked pain lacing her words, and a hint of the earlier anger I’d seen in her eyes. I could make those things go away by telling her what she’s said isn’t true. I could tell her she’s gotten under my skin. But I don’t even know who the man beneath the surface is right now. I’ve destroyed two women. Crystal doesn’t deserve to be number three.
“Is everything okay?” my father asks from the doorway, repeating Crystal’s earlier words.
“Yes,” I say, my gaze lingering on Crystal before I push off the counter, hands going to my hips. “We’re ready to talk to Mom about what’s been going on.”
“We are?” Crystal asks, sounding surprised. “Tonight?”
“We can’t risk her finding out from somewhere else,” I explain.
“She’d feel betrayed,” my father adds.
Crystal gives a choppy nod. “Yes. I can see that. But I am not looking forward to telling her.”
“None of us are,” my father says. “Right now, though, she wants us all to eat together. And since it’s the best chance we have of getting some food down her, I say we wait until after we’ve finished. I don’t want to jeopardize her appetite.”
“I’m all for getting food down her,” I say. “She’s skin and bones.”
“I’ve been force-feeding her what she does eat,” Crystal adds. “The nurse suggested some high-calorie protein shakes. I tried that, but she hates them.”
My father starts to turn, then pauses. “By the way, Crystal, Larry Prescot called me just before you got here. You won him over. Thanks for calming him down before he got to Dana.”
“My pleasure.”
He disappears into the hallway and I grab Crystal’s arm. “How okay is Prescot?”
“Very.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I threw out my father’s name—something that I normally would never do.”
“But?”
“I was on the phone with my father when the receptionist buzzed to tell me that Prescot had arrived for our meeting. My father overheard and insisted that I drop his name. I reminded him that I’m adamant about succeeding on my own merits. But I’m also not one to foolishly ignore resources when backed into a corner, and I was. Prescot was being a total jerk. I knew we were about to lose the business.”
“So you broke your rule.”
“I did. And it was an amazing turnaround. Prescot suddenly remembered the many ways people have tried to paint him as a monster in the media, and became sympathetic rather than judgmental. I called my father afterward, and it turns out that Prescot enjoys the benefits of his secretary beyond her exceptional organizational skills, and his wife of twenty years doesn’t know.”
“But your father does.”
“Yes. And now, so do we.”
My lips curve. “Sounds like I owe you and your father a thank-you.”
“All you’d get in return from my father is a demand that I quit my job. He hates me working for anyone but him, especially now with all this bad press.”
“Is he afraid it will overflow to him?”
“No. He’s afraid I’ll get hurt.”
Me too, I think. Me too. “And what did you tell him?”
“I told him I’m his daughter, not his possession. He doesn’t own me any more than you do, and neither of you gets to claim responsibility for my happiness. That’s all mine.”
As she leaves the room, I stare after her in silent agreement. I’m not responsible for her happiness. But I’m not going to be responsible for her misery, either.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, my mother has told us all about her treatment and recited several dirty jokes one of the techs told her to calm her down, one of which doesn’t please me. “I’m going to have to defend your honor and punch this guy tomorrow.”
“Oh please,” my mother says, waving me off. “It’s funny.”
My father snorts. “I gave up defending your mother’s honor after the car mechanic incident when I was out of town.”
“What’s the car mechanic incident?” Crystal asks.
“You’ll never look at my mother the same way if we tell you,” I say.
“The guy was trying to rip me off,” Dana says. “So I told him I was going to stop by the sex shop and pick up a dildo so he could screw me extra hard.”
Crystal bubbles over with laughter until tears flow down her cheeks. “That’s priceless,” she says, her voice now a sexy rasp, which has me looking at her lips and thinking about all the places I’d like them to be tonight. “There’s never a dull moment with you, Dana,” she says. “And I’ll still respect you in the morning.”
We all laugh, my mother included, and the sound is music to my ears. “I can’t believe I’ve been up so long,” my mother says afterward.
My father and I exchange a look, followed by me and Crystal. It’s time. We have to talk to her. While my father clears her tray, I stand up and go sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Crystal moves to the opposite side, beside my father.
My mother scans our faces. “If this is an intervention, I can’t give up the drugs. It’s a doctor-approved addiction.”
I take her frail hand in mine, wishing like hell this conversation weren’t necessary. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“All right, son. I’m listening.”
“I’m here, which means the press is, too. I need to warn you about what they’re saying.”
“Go on,” s
he says, lacing her fingers in front of her.
“Ava’s defense team are after their version of O. J. Simpson, Hollywood lights and all, uncaring of who they hurt in the process.”
“That’s not good,” she murmurs.
“But it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Crystal points out, “with all the money and power that runs through the gallery.”
“And even one of my ballplayers, who took a payoff from a pro team long before he went pro,” my father says.
“Just tell me what you need to tell me,” my mother says, her attention on me.
“Before Ava’s escape,” I continue, “her defense team was desperate to counter her confession, which they claimed was made under duress, and driven by me.”
“You? Why you?”
“They changed their story a number of times. First, Ava said she confessed to protect me.”
She gasps. “Do you mean—”
“Yes. She accused me of killing Rebecca, but the police have cleared me and they now have proof of Ava’s guilt.”
“And?”
“Her legal team threw out a lot of random nonsense when trying to get the murder charge dropped. Everything from a sex scandal, to a sex club, Rebecca blackmailing me, and Ricco saying I set him and Mary up to shut him up when he had almost figured it all out.”
My mother sits up. “What? Do they actually believe you’d ruin our business to set him up?”
“Easy, Dana,” my father says. “Easy.”
“Nothing is getting ruined,” I assure her.
“In fact,” my father adds, “Larry Prescot called me today to express concern and relay how pleased he is with Crystal.”
“I’m finding in general, as we talk to people and explain things,” Crystal adds, “they become more supportive, not less.”
“Ricco’s trial is in January, so we’ll have to endure his accusations then. In the meantime, the press keeps trying to make headlines with all the nastiness Ava’s defense threw out before her escape.”
“Like a sex club and sex scandal.”
“Nothing anyone can prove. It’s just talk.”
“Nothing they can’t prove,” she repeats. “Is there a sex club?”
I draw a breath and let it out. “It’s a cigar club to the public.”
“So there is a club.”
“Elite. Expensive. Members only.”
“And your role is?”
“I own it.”
She turns to my father. “You knew?”
“Not before this Ava fiasco.”
At his reply, she glances at Crystal. “And you?”
“Mark warned me,” she says. “He never let me get sideswiped, so I never missed a beat when questioned.”
My mother’s gaze comes back to me. “What kind of sex club?”
“Elite—”
“You said that.”
“BDSM and fetish.”
Her hand goes to her throat. “Do you have a club here?”
“No. That was never an option and it still isn’t.”
“And Rebecca and Ava were members?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“What else do I need to know?”
“Ricco had a stalkerlike obsession with Rebecca. The police suspect he helped Ava escape because he thought she was innocent, and that I killed Rebecca. There’s now speculation that Ava is missing because he found out the truth and killed her.”
“So, we have press now. We’ll have press again when something turns up on Ava, and again during the trial.”
“That about sums it up.”
She stares forward, and it’s as if she’s shutting a door, withdrawing from me and everyone in the room. “I need to rest now.” Defeat laces her words and radiates off her.
I did this to her. I made her hell deeper and darker. “I’m not going to let this hurt Riptide,” I promise. “I won’t let that happen.”
She looks at me, her bottom lip trembling in a way I have never seen before. “I said I need to rest, Mark.” She looks forward again.
I suck in a breath, fighting the icy knot in my chest. She thinks I’m going to destroy everything she’s worked for. But deep down, I knew she’d think that. I knew she never truly trusted me. It’s a big part of why I left New York.
Pushing to my feet, I leave and go to the library, and walk straight to the double doors at the back of the room. Opening the door, I step onto the balcony, the bitter cold gusting around me. I do exactly what I did last night and walk to the rail, pressing my hands to the cold steel. She believes I’ll let her down. This city, this world I’m in now, is all about a past where failure nearly destroyed me before. Instead, it destroyed someone else. It’s happening again, and this time, the someone else is my mother.
“Mark. It’s freezing. Come inside.”
At the sound of Crystal’s voice, I squeeze my eyes shut. She’s too close to all of this—to me. I’d send her away if it wouldn’t destroy my mother. “Go home,” I say, needing to think.
“No. You can’t stay out here and—”
I turn to her sharply, noting the way she hugs herself, shivering against the cold, and I harshly snap, “I said, go home, Ms. Smith.”
She stiffens, sucking in a breath. She blinks once, then twice, before the same expression I’d seen in the library crosses her face, followed by a moment of panic. As if she knows I’ve seen it and she doesn’t want me to. Then she wordlessly departs. I squeeze my eyes shut again and tell myself it doesn’t matter. Better she be angry or hurt now, than dead or burned alive in the hell I’m living.
I hear the front door open and shut, and the sound cuts through me like a blade. She’s trying to ease my pain, and I’m creating it in her. “Damn it,” I whisper, and follow her.
In the hallway outside I find Crystal’s back to me, her phone to her ear as she says, “Yes. Right now please, Jacob.” She turns to face me as I pull the front door shut, anger and more hurt burning in her gaze. I’m burning as well—with lust, desire, a need for this woman that’s like no need I’ve ever known. My plan to drive a wedge between us hasn’t worked. Control isn’t staying the path. It’s adjusting and moving forward.
“Go away,” she hisses.
“I can’t do that,” I say, advancing on her as she drops her phone inside her purse. She tries to move away but I grab her wrist. “Call him back. You aren’t leaving like this.”
“Sending me away upset or angry is your specialty. You should be reveling in your success,” she says bitterly.
I back her against the wall, framing her hips with mine, my hands flattening on either side of her. “I don’t want you to leave.”
She grabs my arms. “I’m getting tired of you trapping me like this. It’s a bad habit that has to end. And I can’t do this yo-yo thing with you anymore, either.” Her hands flatten on my chest, intensifying the hunger that she takes to places I never allowed myself to go before.
“Neither of us can,” I say. “We want each other. That was my point in your office last night. You said sex was your release, too. We’re letting desire get twisted with emotions driven by my mother’s and Rebecca’s situations.”
“Translation: I sign the contract and I become your submissive. You control me.”
“A contract isn’t an insult.” Needing to get past what had been intended to drive her away, I continue: “It’s a level of commitment most people don’t even give to their marriages. And you’re confused about what submissive means in the BDSM world. You have the power.” I turn us so that my back is against the wall, fitting her soft curves against my body, molding her pelvis to my thick erection. “You decide what we do or don’t do. And even then, you can change your mind with one word: stop. Like now. I’m going to let you go though I don’t want you to leave. I’m asking you to stay and talk this out, but it’s your choice.” I lift my hands, no longer holding her to me.
A conflicted look flashes over her face but she doesn’t move, her fingers flexing on my upper arms
where her hands have settled. “I’m not signing a contract.”
“I never wanted you to sign the contract. The point was—”
She shoves out of my arms. “To push me away? How could I forget? Of course you don’t want a commitment. And I don’t want one, either.” She runs her fingers through her hair and looks at her trembling hands. “So why am I shaking from adrenaline and emotion, and so confused that I barely know my name? Why, Mark—or Mr. Compton, or just ‘Mr. Asshole, Sir’? Why am I feeling like this? Because I feed off your emotions and pain, and you play with mine.” The elevator dings and it’s only a matter of seconds before Jacob appears. “My life was in order before you. Now it’s a mess. Thank you, Mark Compton.”
Footsteps sound, and I hold up a hand. “Give us ten minutes, Jacob,” I order without looking at him.
“No,” she calls. “I’m coming now.” Her jaw clenches and she levels me in a stare. “Goodnight, Mr. Compton. And remember: There are cameras everywhere, and a snitch on the staff. Don’t follow me.” She turns and leaves.
I start after her and then stop, running a hand through my hair. “Fuck!” She’s right. I can’t risk a scene that ends up in the news and on my mother’s doorstep. Once again, I have no control.
Eight
Crystal . . .
I’m still shaking when Jacob and I reach the garage, and I keep telling myself to hold it together until I’m home. Jacob opens the door to the Escalade and I slide inside. I’ve never had a man affect me like this before. Never.
Fortunately, Jacob senses how ready to blow I am and we remain silent for the drive to One Beacon Circle, the high-rise where I live. Once there, he insists on escorting me to my fiftieth-floor apartment, which my father had purchased with the insistence that he wanted me safe, and that it fit his portfolio. I’d agreed on the condition that we bought a small unit and I made the payments—payments that, thanks to Dana and Riptide, I’ve been doubling for six months straight.
I’m ready to go inside when he stops me by handing me a business card. “Obviously you know you have top-notch security here in the building. But if you need to leave, even for a soda from the corner store, call this number.”