* * *
Thankfully, the next evening, I find Keagan waiting for me after my shift and not Devlin. Though to be honest, I’m not all that pleased to see Keagan, either. It bothers me greatly that they don’t think I’m capable of riding the subway on my own. I’m so tired of the assumption that a deaf person needs special treatment and is incapable of living a normal life like everyone else.
It isn’t until we’re on the subway that I turn to Keagan and begin to sign, Nothing’s going to happen to me if I’m on my own, I insist. I told you, I rode the subway all the time back in Philly. The subway car isn’t very full, so I feel comfortable signing to him while keeping watch for our stop. I watch avidly as he replies.
Even if I changed my mind, I’d still be here. Mr. Kade ordered me to make certain you’re not alone.
I grit my teeth and sign, When?
Keagan looks at me blankly. When what?
When did he tell you that?
He hesitates and signs, Last night. When he sees my expression he quickly adds, He messaged me. I swear I didn’t go to him with my concerns.
I turn away and catch sight of a few people staring at us. I’m accustomed to the curious looks when using ASL in public, so I brush it off and turn my attention to the darkened windows across from us as the overhead lights flicker every so often.
Keagan and Devlin’s concerns are suffocating me. Granted, living on the streets wasn’t the best way to prove that I can live on my own, but in the same sense, I survived on the streets. I survived that harsh reality. My gut instincts had kept me safe, at least until I’d been taken by surprise that fateful night Devlin’s and my paths had crossed. I still don’t understand how it all went down or who’d snatched me off the streets. Obviously not Devlin.
I give myself a mental shake. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s done and over. Now, I just need to find a way out of my current situation. As an adult, I shouldn’t have to prove myself to them or anyone else. I don’t like feeling that I’m being ‘kept.’ I’m not in control, and it’s the worst kind of feeling to have. All my life, I’ve had no control over where I lived or who I had to rely on for my next meal. Now, I’m eighteen and desperate for freedom. I’d had a small taste of it before it’d been taken away from me, and now I’m eager to have it back.
I suppose in a way, I should be a grateful to Devlin. If he hadn’t intervened, I wouldn’t have my job at the library. Nor would I have a roof over my head. But it’s hard to accept handouts when I want to better my life all on my own. I want to be in control and not have debt hanging over my head.
Perhaps if Devlin had approached me differently, my attitude towards him wouldn’t be so harsh. The man acts like he owns me. He can’t just ‘own’ a person and expect them to abide by all his rules and demands.
He’d also saved my life.
Had he not intervened that night, I’d be God only knows where—maybe even dead. Had he chosen not to release me when I’d found myself at his penthouse, I’d be dead—with a bullet in my head. I suppose maybe that’s why he assumes he can control me. Maybe in that cynical mind of his, he thinks that since he’d played God and allowed me to live, he now has every reason to steer my life in whichever direction he sees fit. I’m still struggling to figure out what he’s gaining from this mess. He can’t be doing it out of the goodness of his heart, because the man acts like he doesn’t have one.
When I realize we’re approaching our stop, I focus on the present. Keagan remains at my side as we exit the subway car and make our way up to street level. I can’t help but note that Keagan gets a great deal of attention himself. Maybe not as much as Devlin, but the women certainly take notice. If only they knew he swings the other way.
After we enter the apartment, Keagan signs that he’ll start making us something to eat, and I thank him and go off to my room to change out of my nice clothes.
I pause in the doorway when I spy the three special delivery boxes stacked neatly on top of one another on the bed. My eyebrows pinch with confusion. I didn’t order anything. I move closer and peer at the delivery information on the outside of the nearest box. It has my name and the apartment address.
This has Devlin Kade written all over it.
My lips form a straight line as I reach for the top box—which is the smallest, and I open it. Inside, nestled in protective packaging, is an E-reader with a folding gray and black floral cover. I set it aside and open each box as anger builds inside me. The middle-sized box contains a tablet with a gray-colored tablet sleeve. The biggest box contains a laptop, and situated in a separate box is a sleek, gray designer laptop shoulder bag.
Why would he send me these? I’ve made it perfectly clear that I don’t want anything from him. Oh, wait. This is payback for yesterday. Most people would enjoy the gifts, but he’d known I’d take offense to the offerings.
They need to be returned. Mailing isn’t an option, because I’m certain he’ll deny the returns. I quickly repack the items, grab my purse, and carry the boxes through the hall to the kitchen.
Keagan looks up as I set the boxes on the counter. His expression turns wary, and he sets down the spoon he’d been holding as something delicious wafts from the frying pan on the stove. They arrived after you left for work.
I’ll be back within the hour, I sign to him.
He frowns. You’re going to see Mr. Kade?
No, I’m going to his building to leave these at the front desk. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I pick up the boxes before he can sign anything further and stalk out of the kitchen.
Keagan catches up to me as I approach the apartment door, his blue eyes filled with alarm. His hands quickly sign, You can’t take those on the subway! I can come with you.
I don’t want to set the boxes down again, not to mention they’re kind of weighty, so I use my voice. It’s something I rarely do because it’s difficult to recall the pronunciation to words, and when I’ve used my voice in the past, I’ve been laughed at—especially back when I was younger. However, I know Keagan won’t ridicule me if my pronunciation is bad. “I am taking a cab,” I tell him, knowing that my voice is likely stilted with my hesitation.
A smile promptly blooms across his face when he hears my voice, and he looks thrilled that I’d felt comfortable enough with him to use it. He signs, Okay. I’ll try not to worry.
I nod, and he opens the door for me. I step past him and out into the hall, heading for the elevator.
Outside, I manage to hail a cab on my own, and I use my phone to show the driver the address of the hotel. On the way there, I mentally go over all my encounters with Devlin. Whether I want to admit it or not, the man fascinates me. I may not like his tactics, but I can’t deny that he’s on mind often these days. During the oddest moments, I find myself wondering just how deep he is with his late father’s organization. I also wonder if he’s involved in human trafficking, because I’m almost certain that was why I’d been snatched. He’s the one who’d brought up that I’d be on my back overseas if it weren’t for him.
Just the thought of him causing others so much pain and heartbreak makes me sick. He’s a handsome man, the outer package is amazing to look at, I can’t deny that. But inside, there’s a cold, unfeelingness to him. Yes, he’d saved me from a horrible fate, but that doesn’t mean he still doesn’t have plans for me. There’s always that possibility that he might do something horrible if I continue to shy away from this entire setup of his. Yet, I can’t just sit back and accept everything he’s given me. It’s wrong and leaves a churning feeling in the pit of my stomach.
By the time the cab pulls up to the hotel, I’m ready to drop the packages at the front desk and hurry back to the cab. In a text, I explain to the driver that I would like him to wait for me and that I’ll be back in few minutes. He nods, and much to my surprise, he climbs out of the car and opens my door for me. I smile gratefully and then balance the packages as I walk beneath the impressive awning. There’s a sleek car being exchanged between a valet attendant and a well-dressed man. I walk past them, and upon reaching the glass doors, a doorman quickly opens them for me.
Inside the hotel, I feel hopelessly out of sorts by the opulent lobby, and before I can get my bearings, I see Carter patiently waiting near the circular check-in desk.
Damn Keagan.
The only way Devlin would have known I was coming was if Keagan had tattled on me. I feel momentarily betrayed, but I doubt Keagan had done it with the intention of betraying me. He’d likely contacted Devlin so that if I didn’t show up in a timely manner, they’d know I somehow got lost in transit. Seriously, their doubt in me is really beginning to burn.
Instead of showing my irritation, I walk as gracefully as I can to Carter, hoping that I can just leave the packages with him.
Carter’s expression is polite, and he says, “Right this way, Miss Andrews,” motioning for me to follow him.
Confronting Devlin wasn’t part of the plan, but my arms are full, and it seems that I don’t have a choice. I’m certain if I decline, Carter will insist.
With a tight smile, I give him a curt nod and follow him across the large foyer, noting the vaulted ceiling above. There are Romanesque paintings swirling all along the curved structure. The hotel is all class, and I’m uncomfortable as Carter leads me past the elevators and down a hall that boasts stunning artwork and glossy tiling on the floor. I can’t resist thinking that my shoes are probably smudging the clean, shiny surface—leaving a blemished trail in my wake. Through a private door, an exclusive lobby is located with a single elevator.
Carter takes out a keycard, and I watch as he swipes it before the button on the elevator panel turns green. He presses it, and a moment later, the doors smoothly slide open. His brown eyes connect with mine, and he politely motions for me to step inside.
I step into the elevator, my stance guarded and stiff. Carter enters beside me and presses the button for the penthouse. The doors slide closed, and he turns to me, motioning for the packages that I’m still holding. The only reason I willingly hand them over is because my arms are tired from holding them for so long. He adjusts them in his arms, holding them as if they weigh nothing.
As the elevator whisks us upwards, I open my purse and pull out my phone. I’m undoubtedly going to need it. By now, I’m regretting my decision to return the packages in person.
When the elevator reaches the penthouse, Carter politely waits for me to exit first. I enter the small, familiar looking foyer, and Carter steps past me and uses one hand to open the double doors, motioning for me to go ahead and enter the penthouse.
I step into the hall, and I follow it until it opens to the large room with the stunning floor to ceiling windows. Since Devlin doesn’t seem to be present, I look around with interest. The last time I’d caught a glimpse of the sophisticatedly modern room, I’d been entranced. This evening is no different.
My eyes skim over the curved sofa and the modern chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling. This time, my eyes sweep further around the room, and I note the curved staircase in the corner that must lead up to a second floor—perhaps the master bedroom. Curious, I turn and look to the left and see a private bar that spans the back wall. Like the rest of the room, it’s sleekly modern with dark accents and soft dome lights above, causing the fully-stocked bar to gleam with its full bottles and array of glasses.
When I recall Carter’s presence, I glance at him only to find that he’s disappeared. Evidently, I’m to make myself comfortable until Devlin graces me with his presence. Figures he’d make me wait on him, and I bristle over the knowledge.
The view of the city beckons, and it’s a beautiful distraction. I carefully cross the floor and stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun has sunk low in the sky, and Manhattan is breathtaking during sunset. This view alone is amazing, and I stand there, enjoying the captivating sight.
When I sense that I am no longer alone, I turn and blink. Devlin stands ten feet away, his suit jacket open, the first few buttons of his shirt are undone—exposing his tanned throat. His hands are slipped in his pants pockets, and he looks relaxed as his eyes lock on mine.
As usual, I find myself struck by his good looks until I recall the packages he’d had delivered to the apartment. Recalling the phone in my hand, I yank my gaze from his and bring up our most recent text conversation. I type, Stop sending me stuff! When I look up, I see that he has his phone in hand, and he scans the screen before smirking. No, no, no. He’s not supposed to find this amusing.
I glare at him.
Those wicked lips tilt upwards into a wider smirk as his eyes lift to mine. “Most women enjoy being showered with gifts,” he comments.
Ugh! I drop my eyes and quickly text, I am not most women. Then, I add, I am not yours either!! I press send and flatten my lips as I watch him focus on his phone.
He studies the screen for a long moment, and when his eyes lift back to mine, those gray eyes are blazing territorially. Before I can predict his intentions, he’s moving and invading my personal space.
I instinctively back up until my back touches the smooth window behind me, but he keeps coming until his body presses into mine, his face inches from my own. Those scorching eyes are flashing with emotion, and my eyes widen. When his lips move, I drop my eyes to his mouth. “If I say you’re mine, you’re mine.” His arms are braced on either side of me, caging me in.
My heart leaps in my throat from his sudden closeness. This is ridiculous. He’s not supposed to feel this good pressing into me, especially when he’s being a bully! He’s trying to intimidate me physically, and yet I can’t help but enjoy it. There’s something about his rock-hard body touching mine that has heat flushing through my body. What the hell is wrong with me?
When it dawns on me that I’m staring at the tanned skin at the base of his throat, I jerk my eyes away and look up into his gaze. Those steel eyes that can be so unfeeling and merciless are transfixed on mine. There’s emotion in those depths, but I don’t know him well enough to begin guessing what he’s feeling.
Why? I mouth to him since my phone is pinned near my hip. Sure, I could use my voice, but I don’t feel comfortable enough around him to even try. Using my voice for someone’s benefit is something I consider a gift, and he hasn’t earned it.
His eyes drop to my lips, and his brow furrows.
Having his attention focused on my lips is profoundly unsettling. I never considered how…intimate it could be having someone watch your mouth so closely. I shake off my inner musings and repeat, Why?
His eyes, almost reluctantly, lift back to mine, and now it’s my turn to lower my gaze so I can watch his reply. “The streets will kill you.”
My lips part to silently mouth a reply, but then he abruptly scowls, and his head turns away slightly as if he’s listening to something.
I try to peer over his shoulder, but I can’t see beyond him. His body is too big, and he still has me pinned. I should be kneeing him in the balls or something, but his closeness has bespelled me, because I sure as hell don’t feel the need to push him away—though I should. I really, really should. Since I don’t know who he’s talking to, I try to focus on his lips.
“I’m in the middle of something. Get out,” he’s saying.
The expression on his face has my eyebrows lifting. He looks more than just a little annoyed over our conversation being interrupted. His eyes are completely focused on whomever had entered the room, and I take a moment to study his lips. They’re so close, and when his lips part again, I spy perfect, white teeth. His breath smells faintly of alcohol and something else, something…delicious. “He can handle it,” he’s saying.
Abruptly, his eyes slide back to mine, and he catches me gazing at his mouth. Something shifts in his gaze, and for a long minute, neither of us move. I think we’re both acutely conscious of our bodies, and I can feel him drawing in a deep breath as his chest presses further into my breasts.
I’ve never felt desire before, but the reaction I’m having from his closeness must be desire, lust, whatever you want to call it. I may dislike this man, but my body is aching to rub against his.
His eyes darken but not with anger. I can see him struggling with the need to take some sort of action. I think he wants to kiss me.
The knowledge turns me on, but it also frightens me. This man already thinks he owns me. I can’t give him any part of me, I don’t dare. I tilt my chin and mouth, Stop.
He blinks and shakes out of whatever reverie he’d been caught up in before he calmly steps back from me, his arms dropping. Suddenly, I can breathe again, but I don’t have time to enjoy the relief because his lips are moving. “Would you rather I ship you off overseas? Would you prefer to open your legs to strangers rather than accept the provisions I’ve so generously been giving you?” he asks. If I could hear, I’m certain there would be a distinct cruelness to his tone to match his cold eyes.
I quickly use my phone and type, What are you getting out of this?
His expression darkens further. “Absolutely fucking nothing.”
Then why? I mouth back, my eyes searching his.
“Hell, if know.” He backs away another step, his body language closed off.
I type, Is it pity? and press send. My fingers are trembling, and I’m hoping that he hasn’t taken note that I’m visibly rattled.
He glances at his phone, clearly irritated with me now. His lips twist, and his eyes lift back up to mine. “I don’t pity you.”
Could have fooled me, I text him.
He glances at his phone, and his jaw clenches. His lips move as he says, “I have business to attend to. Carter will see you out.” He then turns on his heel and walks away.
I stare after him, watching his masculine form cross the room and disappear down a secondary hall.