Shiver

  Yes, it did. This thing between us might just be chemical, but those chemicals sure packed a punch. God, it was hot in here.

  His thumb stroked over my pulse. “Not even a trace of a scar on this skin. That’s a hell of a plastic surgeon you found.”

  “The cost was extortionate, but he was definitely worth it.”

  His lips twitched—a smirk that was gone too fast for me to be sure it was ever there. Releasing me, he leaned back and draped one arm over the back of the booth. “You really don’t care what people think of you, do you?”

  “I do if it’s someone who matters to me.”

  Nancy reappeared and, with another megawatt smile at Blake, poured the coffees. She looked a little disappointed when he didn’t pay her any attention. He was too busy searching my eyes for … something.

  Steam wafted into my face, which didn’t help my blushing cheeks at all. Once Nancy strolled away, I grabbed a sachet of sugar and shook it. “What’s this all about?”

  He lifted his mug and took a sip; his brow creased. “Your coffees taste better.” He cocked his head. “Is Cade your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not for sale, sorry.”

  “I’ll take that as a no, or you would have just given me a straight answer.”

  Pouring the sugar into my cup, I stirred the coffee with my spoon. “If you want straight answers, be straight with me about why we’re here.”

  He drummed his fingers on his cup as seconds of silence ticked by. “You know what one of my first thoughts was when I saw you at CCC? I thought, Christ, that fucking mouth. Full. Fleshy. It’s the most enticing fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. The little scar there only makes it more tempting. Really, you blew me away. Bedroom eyes, fuckable mouth, hair the color of black cherries, incredible rack, curves exactly where I like them.” He paused. “We’re here because I want you, and I need to know if Cade or anyone else stands in my way.”

  Right on time, my hormones did the wave. I swallowed hard, stomach clenching. “The fact that you have a low opinion of me stands in your way.” I had more self-respect than to go to bed with someone who regarded me with pure distaste. “And then there’s the fact that I don’t like you.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you so hard you scream.”

  My pulse skittered. I flicked a quick glance at the people around us. No one had heard him over the sounds of country music, Nancy laughing, and the kids arguing.

  My eyes snapped back to him as his cell began to ring. He dug out his phone, canceled the call, and then tossed it on the table. I had to admit, I kind of liked that he was giving me his full attention.

  “Where were we?” He rubbed his chin. “Ah, yes, we were talking about me making you scream.”

  “I don’t scream.” Cade called me a ‘shy comer,’ because I tended to go quiet just before I came. When we were together, he’d taken it as a challenge, determined to one day hear me scream … and I could see that Blake also felt challenged by it.

  “Now I’m wondering if it’s because you’re naturally not a screamer … or you don’t truly let yourself go when you’re with someone.” He sipped his coffee. “I won’t let you hold anything back when I’m inside you, Kensey. You should probably know that upfront.”

  The warning wasn’t necessary. I could already tell he was a guy who’d demand every response I had to give. Shame for him that he wouldn’t get what he wanted. “You’re talking about this like it’s a foregone conclusion.”

  He shrugged. “I go after what I want in life, and I never stop until I have it. Right now, I want you. My dick has been hard for you since the second I laid eyes on you. There’s something about you, Kensey … I don’t know what it is, but you’re up here.” He tapped his temple. “Getting you out has been a real problem for me.”

  “Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough.”

  He leaned forward and dropped his voice an octave as he said, “Tell me you haven’t thought about me at all since we last spoke.”

  “I can’t,” I admitted without shame. “I also can’t say that thinking about you didn’t lead to me spending some quality time with my vibrator.” He started to choke on his coffee, and I hid a smug smile. “But, see, I prefer my vibrator to men. It stays hard, doesn’t expect me to cook, doesn’t hog the remote, and always hits exactly the right spot.” Shrugging, I picked up my mug.

  “But it can’t lick or suckle on your clit like I can.”

  And then I started to choke on my coffee. “We’re getting off track. Look, I don’t want to stomp on your pride, but I’m going to be straight with you so we both know where we stand—I’m not interested in getting involved with you.”

  His expression called me a liar. “You want exactly what I want, Kensey; you want me to take you home right now and fuck you so raw you’ll feel me for days.”

  My pussy contracted at those words—my body was so easy for him it was embarrassing. “And then you’d leave, and I’d never see you again,” I guessed.

  He didn’t deny it. In that moment, he made me think of Cade, who pushed for sex right off the mark, bypassing the getting-to-know-the-girl phase. Cade did it to avoid being open. For him, sex was almost a shield. I wasn’t sure if the same applied to Blake, but I did know that I was dealing with someone who didn’t want to connect with others.

  At one time, I’d been much the same. I’d stuck to one-night stands to avoid emotional intimacy. Not because I feared it, but because the getting-to-know-someone thing involved sharing your past and upbringing. My messed-up family situation wasn’t something I enjoyed sharing. And people didn’t always stick around when they heard their girlfriend’s stepfather had murdered thirty-two women.

  So, yeah, I’d shied away from relationships. But then one day I’d woken in a strange apartment with absolutely no memory of how I got there or of the guy beside me. Not even a flicker of a memory. And that had scared me. When he told me that we hadn’t even exchanged names, I’d been so damn angry with myself. Of course, he gave me his name … and the blood then left my face, since I recognized it as belonging to a local drug dealer. And it drove home just how careless I’d been.

  I’d trusted my safety to a perfect stranger while—given that I was blind drunk—I was so vulnerable that anything could have happened to me. And since I didn’t remember a damn thing, I really had no idea what had happened. I would never get those hours back; never know exactly how the night went. There and then, I’d decided that enough was enough; I was worth more, and I was going to sort my shit out. And I had.

  “I couldn’t give you a relationship even if I wanted to,” said Blake.

  “I don’t know what that means, and I’m not asking. Here’s what I do know: if it will be that easy for you to walk away after one fuck, it will be pretty easy for you to walk away without having one at all.”

  “Theoretically. But what’s between us has nothing to do with logic—it’s purely elemental.” His head tilted slightly. “Why do you run from me, Kensey?”

  I bristled. “I don’t run from you.”

  “Sure you do. You did it when you first saw me. You did it outside the bar during your break. And you’re ready to do it again now. Why?”

  He made me sound like a skittish horse or something. I was nothing if not cool and self-possessed. And I hadn’t run from him. I’d just walked fast. “You wouldn’t be good for me.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” he agreed easily, unoffended. “So, you’re saying you run from me out of self-preservation?”

  “It’s not running. It’s being smart.”

  “Keeping a distance from me is smart,” he allowed. “But is it what you want?”

  No. What I wanted involved him, a bed, and a pack of condoms. But that would mean going back to the old me, and I’d sworn I was done with that way of life. So I lied, “Yes, it is.” I stood slowly, not wanting to look like I was fleeing. “I have to go.”

  Rising, he grabbed his phone and slipped into my path. He said nothing. Just st
ared down at me through brooding eyes. As the seconds ticked by, the air snapped taut with a tension that almost made me squirm. “Give me one night, Kensey.” It was a rough, rumbly whisper that promised all sorts of dirty things, and it weaved a spell of temptation around me. “Don’t you want to know what it would be like? Don’t you want to know how good it would be?”

  I had a pretty good idea of exactly how it would be. An unparalleled, unforgettable, mind-blowing encounter. And then he’d toss me aside. “Thanks for the coffee.” I shouldered past him and crossed to the door. Outside, I gave the area a once-over, finding the streets fairly empty.

  “Looking for someone?”

  I half-turned at Blake’s question. And then I wished I hadn’t, because the intensity in those eyes could bring me to a standstill.

  His hand curved around my jaw. “You’re right to run from me, Kensey.”

  “I’m not running,” I ground out.

  “Running, walking.” He shrugged, as if the distinction was insignificant. “But I meant what I said: I never stop until I have what I want.” His thumb swept across my lower lip. “I will have you. It’ll be good, Kensey. Insanely fucking good.”

  “No, it really won’t. I’m shit in bed.”

  That got me a full-blown, sexy-as-hell smile that hit me right in my core. “Hmm. Somehow, I doubt that.” His hand dropped. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Kensey.” With that, he stalked off. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until it stuttered out of me.

  I crossed to my car. With a shaky hand, I fumbled to unlock my door and then climbed in, totally exasperated with both him and myself. Him because he just wouldn’t back off, and me because I liked that he wouldn’t so easily back off. Really, I was my own worst enemy at times.

  I was just clicking on my seat belt when my phone started ringing. Seeing that it was Sarah, I answered, “Hey.”

  “Just wanted to check you got home safely and all is good.”

  I smiled, warmed by that. “I’m not home yet. I stopped off at the store. Bill was there.” Smile fading, I rubbed at my nape. “According to him, someone who looks a lot like Ricky Tate went to his bakery, claiming to know me.”

  Sarah gasped. “That little fucker.”

  Yeah, he was a little fucker. He’d been nineteen when he confronted me outside school. For some fucked up reason, the guy was utterly convinced that he was Michael Bale’s biological son. Convinced. He despised me for taking his place in Michael’s affections, and he believed everyone should know that I was a fraud. It was a totally messed up situation. Who wanted their dad to be a serial killer? Apparently, Ricky did.

  I told Michael about him, and he’d said that Ricky had sent him letters, claiming the same thing. As Michael was infertile, there wasn’t even the slightest chance that Ricky was his son. Ricky had allegedly been shocked and outraged that Michael didn’t accept him as his child. Maybe he’d figured that since Michael had so easily accepted me as his child, he’d quite freely do the same for others.

  Well, he hadn’t.

  And that had pissed Ricky off enough that he’d sent me a few very graphic letters. In some, he’d bitched at me for ‘stealing’ his father. In others, he’d spoken as if we were siblings and I was hogging all the parental attention. It had been weird, to say the least.

  Then he’d abruptly backed off. No more letters, no more confrontations, no more contacting Michael. Ricky hadn’t bothered his ass with me again … until now.

  “Well, it’s got to be him,” said Sarah. “He has to be Smith.”

  “It would make sense. Smith doesn’t include the Buchanan-angle to my background. In the story, the sociopath is my father. Ricky’s mind is a strange place where I’m sometimes his sister and at other times I’m a total imposter.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll talk with Michael about it tomorrow.” Working part-time meant I had the weekends to myself.

  “I finish work tomorrow at six. I’ll come straight to you, and you can tell me what he said.”

  “Sure.”

  “Take a different route home—I’ve heard you should change your patterns when you have a stalker.”

  I sighed. “I’m not being stalked.”

  “It’s close enough to count. See you tomorrow.”

  The line went dead, so I shoved my phone back in my purse. I sincerely doubted that sleep would come easy to me tonight. It wasn’t Smith playing on my mind, though. It was Blake.

  You want exactly what I want, Kensey; you want me to take you home right now and fuck you so raw you’ll feel me for days.

  I did want that. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I groaned. My stomach still felt fluttery, my breasts ached, and I was embarrassingly damp. If he could do that to me with just a few words and sexually charged looks …

  Biting out a curse, I shoved the key in the ignition, wishing I’d never laid eyes on the good-looking bastard.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Saturday morning was a busy one. I followed the same schedule as I always did when I went with Clear to visit Michael: Woke at six in the morning. Ate breakfast. Showered. Got dressed. Left the house at seven to go and collect my mother, who was always prompt. Then we headed straight for the prison.

  Typically, Clear’s eyes were bright as she chattered on and on, delighted that she’d soon see Michael. She visited him as often as possible. If it wasn’t for her desperate need to believe that we were a happy—albeit abnormal—family, I probably wouldn’t visit him at all.

  Unlike with Clear, I’d succeeded at my attempts to despise Michael. Not just because of the things he’d done, but because he’d once made me love him.

  As a kid, I’d adored the “daddy” who sent me letters and poems, who drew me pictures and made me feel loved. But I’d soon learned that he only showed me what he wanted me to see—or maybe who he wanted to be.

  In any case, I’d never met the real flesh-and-blood Michael Bale. Not in his entirety. I’d seen little sneak peeks of him whenever the guards were rude to Clear or me; dark, chilling flashes that made my hackles rise. Yet, he was allegedly a model prisoner.

  A couple of hours later, we were driving through the extensive wire fences of the prison and pulling up in the parking lot. After going through security and being patted down, we were buzzed through. The hallway didn’t lead us farther into the building. It led us outside. We past well-kept gardens as we made our way over to yet another building, where we went through an additional security check.

  After being buzzed through a continuous number of doors, we eventually reached the visitation room. It had always made me think of a high school cafeteria, only it was dull and plain, smelled of metal and cement, and was patrolled by guards. Apart from the tables, there were a few vending machines which contained candy, crisps, fruit, and sandwiches. There was also a row of non-contact visitor booths pressed up against a glass partition wall.

  Women, men, and children sat around the tables. Some looked anxious, others looked excited. Clear was the latter, whereas I always kept my emotions in check. I’d let her live in her bubble, but I wouldn’t feed her fantasy that we were a normal, happy, loving family. There was nothing at all normal about our situation. Nothing at all normal about sitting opposite a sociopath while he smiled at you like you were his very own angel sent straight from heaven.

  My skin chilled. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to leave. Go home. Eat cake and ice-cream until I was so full I could burst.

  I frowned at the sticky stain on the table. God, would it kill them to actually clean the tables? It wasn’t exactly rocket science. I was pretty sure I had a pack of wet wipes in my purse. That should—

  “Honey, you okay?”

  I blinked at my mother, snapping out of my must-clean daze that was always brought on by nerves or stress. “Fine.”

  At that moment, the prisoners were brought in. Dressed in his usual bright orange shirt and blue pants, Michael glanced around. Finally spotting us, he smiled. Pretty much all the inmates smiled, clearly
grateful to be out of their cells.

  Clear was instantly on her feet. She hugged Michael hard, and he kissed her cheek. He was good-looking, charming, and likeable. It was easy to see why Clear had fallen for him.

  “You look good, sweetheart,” he told Clear. His pale blue eyes then slid to me. “Kensey, baby, it’s been a while.”

  I didn’t stand. “Hi.” I gave him a small smile, thinking it fucked up that I was both grateful and resentful of the fact that—though it was twisted in some ways—he made Clear happy. That was something I’d never been able to do on my own. And an unhappy Clear was a self-destructive Clear.

  Still smiling, he settled on the chair opposite us. “I love getting visits from my girls. Tell me how things have been going.”

  I let Clear do most of the talking. He held her hand the entire time, but he didn’t ask for mine. Never did. He knew I struggled with the whole thing, and he seemed to respect it. Or maybe he didn’t push me for fear that I wouldn’t come at all.

  He’d once told me that he wasn’t upset with me for finding it hard to love and forgive him, because it showed that he and Clear had raised me right. “Raised” wasn’t a word I would have used.

  Clear patted his hand. “I need to use the restrooms. I’ll be right back.”

  As she walked away, Michael’s head tilted. “Something’s troubling you, my Kensey.”

  Not wanting to waste what time we had alone, I said, “I need to know if anyone has written to you or been to see you who asked questions about me or showed any kind of interest in me.”

  “Questions?” His brow creased. “What sort of questions?”

  “Personal questions. Or maybe they just mentioned me …?”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “Why would you ask me this?”

  Knowing that he’d only be straight with me if I was straight with him, I told him about Smith.

  His eyes narrowed and briefly blazed with something dark that made my skin prickle, but his expression didn’t otherwise change. “You should have come to me sooner.” His voice was low with a slight edge of menace.