“I love you, Sara,” he confesses hoarsely, taking my mouth, swallowing the shallow, hot breath I release, and punishing me with a hard thrust that snaps the last of the lightly held control I possess. Possessing me. A fire explodes low in my belly and spirals downward, seizing my muscles, and I begin to spasm around his shaft, trembling with the force of my release.
With a low growl, his muscles ripple beneath my touch and his cock pulses, his hot semen spilling inside me. We moan together, lost in the climax of a roller-coaster ride of pain and pleasure, spanning days apart, and finally collapse in a heap and just lie there. Slowly, I let my leg ease from his hip to the ground, and Chris rolls me to my side to face him.
Still inside me, he holds me close, pulling the jacket up around my back, trailing fingers over my jaw. “And I belong to you.”
The unexpected vow does me in. Tears spring from my eyes, trickling down my cheeks. “I thought . . . I thought . . . I can’t go through this again.”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing away the droplets clinging to my cheeks. “We’re together now.”
I shake my head, rejecting an answer that promises only one moment in time. “I have to know that the next time you get like that, we deal with it together, no matter what that means, Chris. I have to know.”
“I won’t get—”
His denial spikes through me and I try to push away from him, but he holds me. “Sara, wait.”
“You will go there again. You will. I’m not about to pretend otherwise. It’s all or nothing, Chris. All the dark, hated places you go, you go with me. You have to trust me enough to love that part of you as much as I do the rest.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“It’s not a question. It’s not even close to a request. This is how it has to be.” His lashes lower; his struggle is palpable, and I soften instantly, hurting as he hurts. My fingers find his hair, stroking tenderly. “Let me love what you hate. Let me do that for you.”
He presses his cheek to mine, his whiskers a welcome rasp on my cheek. “God, woman. I can’t lose you.”
I close my eyes and whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
For a time, we huddle together, neither of us ready to move or to leave, almost as if we both fear that the real world will steal this newfound rein we hold on our future. And then we start to talk about Dylan, about the nightmare that has been Chris’s week, until the chill of loss collides with the chill of the night, and we can stay no longer.
Chris helps me to my feet, and I do the best I can to clean up and pull myself together. Remarkably, my heels are still on my feet, but my skirt has not weathered the reunion well. I have a rip up the side, and as I try to close my blouse, several buttons have gone astray. “I’m a mess. I can’t walk into the building like this.”
“I never let the valet park my bike. We’ll head in through the garage.” He hands me my helmet and his voice softens. “Let’s go home, baby. Our home.”
And I dare to believe that it really is. I dare to bet on us again.
• • •
Chris and I are walking toward the elevator, our fingers laced, my shoes dangling from my free hand, when Jacob steps out of the elevator and heads toward us with determined steps. “So much for my discreet entry,” I murmur, appalled at my ripped skirt and thankful the leather jacket I’m wearing is zipped.
“Something wrong?” Chris asks as Jacob joins us.
“I was about to ask you the same,” Jacob comments, giving me a once-over.
“Sara’s first trip on a motorcycle was eventful,” Chris replies.
Jacob looks like he expects more of an explanation, and when it doesn’t come he casts me a puzzled look before glancing at Chris. “Blake’s been trying to reach you.”
Chris checks his cell phone. “So he has. Any idea what it’s about?”
“Mary and Ricco were arrested trying to leave the country.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Mary and Ricco?” Chris repeats, sounding as stunned as I feel. “Are you sure?”
“Completely,” Jacob assures us, “but beyond that I know nothing. Apparently, Sara asked some questions and spooked Ricco. Blake wants to explain it all himself. He said to call him since you quote ‘won’t answer the damn phone.’ ”
Chris punches in Blake’s number. “On it,” he promises, and we step onto the elevator.
I desperately try to make out the conversation, but Chris mostly listens. It drives me insane. “And Rebecca?” Chris finally asks.
Yes! What about Rebecca!
“I see,” Chris replies to whatever Blake says. “Yes. Not a problem.”
“Well?” I demand as we enter the apartment and he ends the call.
“Let’s talk while we start a hot shower.” He laces his fingers with mine and leads me toward the bedroom. “Turns out Ricco was not only jealous of Mark and Rebecca’s relationship, but furious that Mark took advantage of Rebecca. He wanted to bring down Riptide as payment for hurting her. Mary went along for the ride for the money and because she was angry Mark didn’t give her more opportunities.”
“Is Rebecca involved?” I ask as we enter the bathroom.
Chris removes his boots and opens the shower and turns it on. “Not according to Ricco and Mary.”
“Then where is she?”
“That’s the big question. Ricco insists Mark had to have done something to make her run.”
“So, do the authorities think she’s in hiding?”
“They don’t know where she is, but if Mary and Ricco, or Mark for that matter, know, I’m confident Blake will find out.”
“There’s still a concern that Mark is involved?”
“Blake doesn’t think so. He thinks Mary and Ricco know where she is, and that they’ll break under questioning.”
“I just can’t believe Ricco knows where she is. But then, I wouldn’t have believed he was a part of this, either.”
Chris scrubs his jaw. “You and me both. I don’t have a high opinion of Ricco but I didn’t have this low of one, either. Oh, and Blake wants you at the police station tomorrow to go on file formally with what you know.”
“Right.” I grab my purse off the counter and remove my phone. “I guess I should text Mark and tell him I won’t be in.” Chris’s shift in mood is instant, his expression turning stormy, his jaw clenching, and I quickly add, “Maybe not ever again.”
He goes still. “What are you saying?”
“That I want all or nothing so I have to be willing to give the same.”
He closes the distance between us, his arms caging me against the counter, searching my face. “You’d give up Allure for me?”
“Yes.” It’s a decision I didn’t fully realize I’d made until this moment, but after tonight it’s inevitable and right. “But I need my own career and independence. Those things are important to me.”
“I’ll support you in any way I can, baby.”
“But not by doing things for me, Chris. Me earning success because I’m me. I need that.”
“I understand.” He brushes my hair off my shoulders, his fingers resting on my neck in that familiar way I’ve missed so much these past few days. “We’re going to make this work this time.”
The conviction in his voice makes me believe him. “Yes, we will.” I text Mark and drop my phone to the counter, not caring what the reply is. Not when Chris’s fingers are tugging at my blouse.
He slowly strips away my clothing, tenderly kissing my shoulders, my neck, my lips. We step under the blissful heat of the hot shower, washing away the chill of the night, and with it the bitter cold of all we have been through these past few days. Resting my head on Chris’s chest, being in his arms, I feel as if I’ve been lost and found again. But Rebecca is still lost, and I fear the worst for her.
Thirty
Chris and I spend several hours on Saturday at the police station, and the Rebecca mystery is no closer to being solved. I have a bad feeling about her th
at I can’t shake, and this fans the flames of my need to find Ella. I go ahead and file a missing person’s report and contact the French consulate. After that, Chris and I go home and we don’t leave the apartment the rest of the weekend. We just revel in being together, making love, and watching movies, though we take a trip to the gym, where I just about die re-creating my much-neglected treadmill routine.
Monday morning, we reenter the real world. Chris goes with me to the school, and despite expecting the worst, I am crushed to discover Ella is a no-show. Afterward, we discover she hasn’t paid her rent. We pay it for her and then stop by the police station to update the report with what we’ve discovered.
In an effort to cheer me up, Chris convinces me we should head out Tuesday morning to his godparents’ Sonoma property and attend an art exhibit in the gallery next door. Katie is thrilled, and truth be told, so am I. The feeling of family and belonging is a welcome one. By eight that evening, Chris and I have had dinner, he is painting in his studio, and I am packing for the trip. Chris has yet to unpack from L.A., so I open his suitcase to begin pulling out what isn’t needed.
After I remove the dirty clothes, my hand settles on a small, clear bag of the paintbrushes he autographs, and I stop. There was one of these in Rebecca’s keepsake box—but he said he barely knew her. Why would she have kept one? I pull one of the brushes from the bag and stare at it with a frown.
Chris appears in the doorway. “Do you know where I put—” He pauses. “What’s wrong?”
I get up and go to the closet. “I have a question for you.” I flip on the light and drop to my knees in front of the safe. “What’s the combination?”
“What’s going on, Sara?”
“You’ll see in a minute. The combination?”
He tells me the numbers and I dial the lock. Yanking open the door, I grab the box I’d found in Rebecca’s unit, retrieve the brush inside, and hold it up for Chris to see. “Why does Rebecca have your paintbrush in her keepsake box?” Then I grab the torn photo and pop to my feet to show that to him, too. “And do you know anything about this photo?”
He sighs. “The picture was taken at a charity event, with me and Mark. That was before he and I had a falling-out.”
“Over Rebecca?
He nods. “The night after the charity event, I was at the club when a buzz was going on about Mark and his new sub, and how she’d cried through a public flogging. I confronted him and told him he’d pushed her too far. He told me to butt out, that he was Master of the club. Since he wouldn’t listen to me, I tried to warn Rebecca away from him.”
I suddenly feel a déjà vu. “Like you warned me.”
“Not like you, Sara. I barely knew her.”
“But you wanted to protect her, like you wanted to do me.”
“Look, I know those journals make you relate to her, but she was nothing like you. She was just a kid, and Mark couldn’t see why that mattered, but it did. She was happy with him that night at the gala, a schoolgirl in love—before he stole that innocence from her. When I warned her off him, she was furious. I’m not surprised she tore me out of the picture. She felt the same way about Mark as your mother did about your father.”
“She kept your brush,” I say flatly.
He shrugs. “I have no idea why. Maybe because it reminded her of that night with Mark.”
I let that sit, then I nod. I can accept that answer, but not his silence before now. “So why wouldn’t you tell me this before? I asked you directly if you knew her. We’ve been looking for her together, Chris.”
“I told you I barely knew her, and that was the truth.”
“But you knew her better than you made me believe,” I say, trying to keep the accusation from my voice, but it’s hard. I don’t understand his silence. “You didn’t tell me you’d seen her at the club, and there were plenty of chances for you to speak up.”
“When you asked me about her, I didn’t want you to know the club existed. I didn’t want you in that part of my life.”
His words hit me hard. I am still raw from him shutting me out of the funeral and his life. Suddenly, I realize this ache inside me isn’t so much about Rebecca as it is about the realization that Chris is still keeping me at an emotional distance, never really letting me inside his life. I am here with him but I am never fully present the way I want to be.
I try to move past him. He blocks me. “Let me pass, Chris.”
“Sara—”
“I need to think, Chris. I need space.” And I do. I don’t understand what I feel, but it hurts. I hurt and I’ve hurt for weeks on end. I’m tired of feeling this way.
He hesitates and then backs into the bedroom. I walk past him and snatch up my purse. “Where are you going?” he demands.
“I told you: I need some space.”
“No. You need to stay here and we’ll talk this out.”
“I can only assume you’ve told me everything there is to say now. Unless there’s more I don’t know?”
He visibly flinches. “No. There’s nothing else. That’s it.”
“Then we’re done talking. I need to take a drive and think.”
“I didn’t want you to know about the club, Sara. Right or wrong, that’s my honest answer,” he pleads.
“I know. The problem is that everything you tell me is because you’re forced to tell me—not because you choose to tell me. You never fully trust me.”
“That’s not true.” He runs a rough hand through his hair and he looks as tormented as I feel. “It’s not true.”
“It’s how I feel. It’s what I feel right now.” He’s been all about secrets from day one, and I chose to ignore the danger they might present. I chose to look the other way because I’m so damn in love with him. I walk toward the door and he steps in front of me. “Stay.”
“Keeping me here right now is the worst thing you can do, Chris. It’ll make me feel trapped. I’ve felt that way too much in my life. Don’t do that to me.”
He steps aside.
I start walking, part of me wanting him to stop me, even though I’ll be furious if he does. And part of me thinks his not stopping me is so out of character that it scares me. He let me go before, after I found him begging for a beating. No, that’s not right. He’d downright pushed me away. I haven’t fully healed from that and right now, I’m afraid of what I don’t know and how it will tear us apart, like the club discovery almost had. I’m afraid it’s going to happen again. I can’t help it. I need him to fight for me now, no matter how wrong of me that might be.
He can’t win by letting me go or keeping me here—and neither can I. Maybe we never could win together. We were destined to shred each other inside and out. Destined to end up right here, where we are tonight.
At the front of the building, I order my car brought up to me. Once I’m inside it I sit behind the wheel, unsure of where to go. I want to be with Chris, but the secrets he keeps, on top of the rawness of his withdrawal this past week, eats away at me.
He didn’t trust me to go through the loss of Dylan with him. He didn’t trust me to tell me about Rebecca. No, about the club. He hid that from me for as long as he possibly could. What else is he hiding and unwilling to share because he still thinks I can’t handle it? I’ve poured my heart out to this man, and now I’ve given up my job for him. I had put all fear aside and gambled on us. When will he fully gamble on us? Will he ever?
My phone rings and it’s Chris. I decline the call. The doorman knocks on my window and I jump. He mouths, “Are you okay?” and I wave and pull onto the road. I don’t know where I’m going; I just drive.
• • •
An hour later, I end up at Mark’s white mansion in the same Cow Hollow neighborhood as his club. I have no idea why I am here. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go. And Mark really is my one real connection to both Chris and Rebecca, who have both become a huge part of my life. Both of whom I now feel like I am losing.
Besides, Mark is all about facts, not the em
otions I am letting control me right now. Just hearing him tell the same story Chris has told me about Rebecca might give me new perspective about why Chris’s silence on the subject bothers me so much.
I grab my purse and shove open the door. Motion detectors flicker to life and doors identical to the ones at the club become visible, sending a frisson of unease through me. I press past it and ring the bell. I shiver, telling myself it’s because I’ve hastily forgotten a jacket, not because of my location. It doesn’t work. Nerves flutter through me and the frisson becomes full-blown doubt. I’m about to make a mad dash for the car when the door opens and Mark appears, looking like a Mark I’ve never seen. He’s barefooted and his normal, finely groomed blond hair is rumpled. The perfectly fitted suit I’ve become accustomed to him wearing has been replaced by a white T-shirt and faded jeans.
His gaze sweeps my jeans and T-shirt, clearly finding my attire as striking as I do his. One blond brow lifts. “Ms. McMillan. What a surprise.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask, sounding as awkward as I feel. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
He motions me forward and I hesitate, remembering the room called the Lion’s Den at the club, and that caged feeling I’d had in the demo unit. But I want answers. I need answers. I draw a breath and step onto the pale ivory hardwood floor and into a narrow hallway, too close to Mark for comfort.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
“Yes. No. I just need to ask you a few questions about . . . Chris.”
His eyes narrow. “Chris?
“And Rebecca.”
“And Rebecca,” he repeats, and I catch a flash of consternation in his gaze that quickly fades. “I’m not sure how they connect but I’m intrigued enough to see where this is going.” His chin lifts to urge me forward. I just stand there, frozen in place, his gray eyes sharp as he watches me. Oh yes, I feel like I am in the lion’s den and want out. “Staying or going, Ms. McMillan?”
Answers, Sara. You want answers. “Staying. I’m staying.” My feet move. That’s progress. One step into the den is closer to one step out.