CHAPTER FOUR
Fresh out of Tylenol, I stopped by the convenience store on my way home from work on Friday. My head had been pounding for most of the day, and now I was grumpy as hell. Cade always laughed at how I lived in the world of ‘too’ when I was grumpy. Everything was either too much of this, or too little of that. Right then, everything bugged me—the air conditioning felt too cold, the background music was too loud, and the scent of the citrus cleaner was far too strong.
Really, the headache was no surprise. I hadn’t been sleeping great. My mind wouldn’t switch off at night. I had too many questions about Smith racing around my brain. It was lacking answers that bothered me most. The only thing that gave me any relief was writing. I could disappear into another world, where there was no Smith.
I’d fully completed the first draft of my new book, which was mostly just the skeleton of the story. Now, I needed to flesh it out. Give it organs and muscle. But first, I needed some pain relief.
My shoes squeaked on the tile floor as I wandered down the aisle of medicinal items, scanning the shelves for signs of … aha. I plucked a box of Tylenol from the shelf and then grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler at the back of the store.
As I was on my way to the till, I noticed a frail, graying and very familiar man. I smiled. “Hey, Bill.”
He turned from the rack of newspapers and magazines to look at me. The local baker was married to my old—and favorite—teacher. He flashed me a huge grin. “Kensey, darlin’, how are you?”
“Great. You?”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Well enough. Sylvie would love to see you, if you get a chance to stop by.”
“I will.” With the bottle tucked into the crook of my elbow, I idly tapped the pill packet on my palm. “How is she?”
“Fine, fine.” Brow furrowing, he stepped closer. “Listen, I wanted you to know … a man called Blake Mercier was asking questions about you.”
“Was he?”
“Oh, yes. He wanted to know if I knew you; what impression I had of you; whether you were in contact with Bale; if I knew you had a drug habit. I snorted at the very idea of that.”
Hmm. It would seem that Blake either doubted Libby’s claims or he was digging for the kind of dirt that could justify me being fired.
“I told him that if he had questions, he should ask you,” Bill added. “I don’t suppose you know why you’ve caught his interest?”
“He bought Skinner’s half of both CCC and the bar. He wants info on all the people working there.”
“Ah. Oh, there was something else. I forgot about it until Blake came poking around. He’s not the only one who showed interest in you. A guy came to the bakery a few months back and claimed he’d met you in a club and lost your number, so he was hoping to track you down.”
“Really?” I drawled, stomach twisting. I didn’t give my number to random strangers.
“He seemed innocent enough and he talked about you in a way that made me think he did know you, but something about him was just off. I don’t think he was a reporter. He didn’t mention Bale. He was only interested in you.”
The knot in my stomach got tighter. “What sort of stuff did he want to know?”
“Apart from asking where you lived, he didn’t really outright ask questions. He’d say things like, ‘oh, I’ll bet she was a wild child’ or ‘I’m guessing she had it hard growing up.’”
“Prompting you for information.”
“Yes. I played dumb and said I didn’t know you well. But I thought you should know.”
“Thanks.” I patted his arm. “What did he look like?”
“Thick dark hair. Squinty eyes. Had a lot of acne scars. I’d say he was in his late twenties.”
I forced my expression to remain blank even as cold fingers trailed down my spine. “I’ll keep a lookout for him, just in case he decides to make a reappearance. You take care now, Bill. And tell Sylvie I said hi.”
Still feeling sick to my stomach, I went to the counter and paid for the pills and water. Done, I swallowed two Tylenol and then stuffed the packet and the bottle in my purse. I needed to call Sarah, I thought as I left the store and headed to my car. She would—
A car smoothly pulled up, engine purring like a panther. It was a familiar black Maserati. Well, damn. My pulse spiked, and my stomach bottomed out. I froze as the automatic window lowered. And there was Blake. He looked at me, eyes unreadable. “Get in.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We need to talk.”
I sighed. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled about me working at the bar, but—”
“This isn’t about that.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Like I said, we need to talk.” He jerked his chin toward the passenger seat. “Get in.”
Was he high? “No.”
His brow arched—there was a dare there. “Nervous?”
“No.” I was proud of just how convincing I sounded, considering it was a total lie. “But I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with guys I don’t know.” Even if part of me was curious to know what this was about.
He stared at me, a muscle in his cheek ticking. Then the engine cut off, and the car door swung open. My heart slammed against my ribs. He gracefully unfolded out of the car and stalked toward me. That good ole sexual energy ignited between us. Warmth bloomed in my lower stomach and flooded me.
I forced my muscles not to tense and somehow kept my breathing steady. It was hard, because while he loomed over me with his eyes fixed on my mouth, I felt … threatened. Not physically threatened—I didn’t believe he’d harm me. But threatened as a woman. He was dangerously seductive, and a deliciously dominant trait seemed encoded in his DNA.
“Get in the fucking car, Kensey,” he whispered. His minty breath fanned my face.
“Not happening.”
His mouth tightened just a little. His eyes flicked around and then settled on the diner. “Then we talk in there.”
I should tell him no. I should get in my car and just drive off. But I didn’t. Couldn’t. Dammit, I was curious. Why was he here? What did he want? If I walked away, the whole thing would play on my mind for the entire day because, yes, I was that much of an idiot.
I followed him to the diner. He pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter first. I stepped inside and found myself surrounded by the scents of coffee, meat grilling, and onions frying. There weren’t many people. A cop, a few truckers, and a mother with two kids.
With his hand on my lower back, Blake guided me to a booth. As he slid onto the cushioned seat opposite me, I cursed myself for letting him take charge. I should have chosen the booth myself, I thought. Too late now.
The waitress quickly appeared. I knew Nancy from school. She flirted as naturally as she breathed and could suck the air from the room with her bubbly personality, but she was harmless. And married.
The smile she shot Blake was so bright it probably would have knocked him on his ass if he’d been standing. “Hi there, what can I get you?”
He didn’t look at her as he answered, “Just coffee.” He lifted a questioning brow at me.
Nancy finally seemed to notice me. “Hi, Kensey. What would you like?”
I jerked a napkin out of the holder and used it to sweep away the bits of salt from the tabletop as I said, “Just coffee, thanks.” I waited until Blake and I were alone before I asked, “Why are we here?” Conscious that I was unnaturally still, I forced my muscles to relax.
“You didn’t answer my question properly the other day. I asked who Cade is to you.”
I sighed. “Like I said, he’s important to me.”
“That can mean a lot of things.”
“You’re right, it can.”
He curled his fingers around my wrist and damn if it wasn’t like having an electric shock. “Hurts just a little, doesn’t it?”
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.”
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.”
“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
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 stared 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.
“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.