Authors: Cleo Peitsche
“I hope my car turns up soon.” I cross my legs and smooth my skirt.
“Don’t worry about that,” Slade says. “We’ll see that transportation is taken care of.”
I look at him in surprise. “Why?”
“It happened while you were at work. We’re liable, legally and morally.” There’s a deep note of regret in his voice. “I owe you an apology. At first I thought you and Hawthorne made the whole thing up. That… wasn’t fair.”
Heavy guilt begins to settle over me. I shake my head. I need to be thinking about my next move. Kidnapper Joe could have stashed Hawthorne’s cash and might already be planning to grab me again. If not him, someone else. With a six-figure reward, there’s unlikely to be a shortage of thug types coming around.
And me? I don’t even have a vehicle.
Unless my bosses give me one and I just… take off.
Despite what Hawthorne thinks, I’m not actually a thief. The whole thing with the company card at Sunrise Imports was a bit of a mistake. I wasn’t trying to take the money so much as borrow it. If I take a car, though…
“Suppose my car doesn’t turn up. What happens?” I ask uneasily.
“Our insurance will replace it,” Slade says. “Lindsay, stop worrying about the details. Everything will be fine.”
We stop at a light, and he looks over at me. “Are you ok?”
I nod.
“This isn’t at all parallel to what you went through tonight, but I was mugged as a teenager. The guy was drunk and high, but it was still very scary. I’m not ashamed to admit that. When it’s happening, you can’t know how it will end, if he has a gun—”
“He had a gun,” I blurt out. I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth.
Slade pulls the car over. “Lindsay… Look at me.”
I force myself to meet his eyes, and I’m so frustrated with myself for my outburst. What the hell is wrong with me lately? I never used to have a problem keeping my mouth shut.
But then… Kidnapper Joe. I don’t want to be rattled, but I am. Before meeting Romeo, Slade, and Hawthorne, someone like Joe never would have gotten close. I was sloppy, but what’s worse is that I’m not sure how to get my head on straight again.
Slade takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. “You’re not alone in this,” he says. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, that
we
weren’t there for you.”
My eyes close because I can’t bear to see his undeserved guilt. “It’s not your fault,” I say.
His fingers graze my cheek, and I flinch before leaning into his touch. I hear the slight creaking of his seat as he shifts his weight, then his warm breath is on my lips.
His tongue licks across the seam of my mouth, and I open to him with a soft sigh.
The kiss is almost sweet. Slade has kissed me many times before, but only once when it was just the two of us. This kiss isn’t designed to drive me out of my mind with lust, or to make me frustrated, or to manipulate me into burying the hatchet with Hawthorne.
This kiss feels, almost, like he cares. I’ve never been kissed by a man who loves me, but I imagine it might feel something like this gentle but determined claiming of my mouth. The breath that stutters in my chest turns burning hot, intensifying as it spreads from the places we touch: our hands, his fingers on my cheek, our lips, his tongue tasting me.
No one has ever kissed me like this. It’s sexy but not sexual, erotic but not intended as foreplay.
He pulls back slightly and drags the tip of his thumb under my lower lip, drying me, though in truth it wasn’t a sloppy kiss.
“What was that for?” I whisper as I open my eyes. It seems strange that the real world is still there, cars passing, people going into the plaza on the other side of the road.
“Because you needed kissing,” he says with a little smile.
That makes me laugh, and I instantly feel better, more normal. As he pulls back onto the road, I find myself wishing he would just keep driving, that we’d get on a plane, destination anywhere-but-here.
“Have you ever thought about just walking away from all this?” I wonder aloud.
“Walking away from what?”
“Work, for example. You don’t need the money. You could spend your life doing whatever you want.”
“Ah.” He gets onto the highway. The car reaches cruising speed so quickly that it’s breathtaking, and all I hear is a low hum. “I did that for a year after college,” he says. “It got boring.”
“What were you doing?”
“Bouncing around the world. Blowing huge amounts of money in Vegas, Macao, Monaco. Dating actresses and supermodels. Hanging out with rock stars. That’s when it got boring, by the way.”
“The rock stars?” I shift in my seat so I can better watch his face. I don’t really know very much about any of my bosses.
Of course there’s information about them online, and I’ve seen their bios and read interviews. Romeo and Hawthorne are Canadian, but all three attended the same Connecticut boarding school. I know a little about Slade’s family, that they own banks.
“It’s not that rocks stars are boring, but they work hard. Harder than I would have imagined. Being the slouch got old. I was… I was
watching
some of them getting high,” he says with a little laugh that tells me he wasn’t merely an observer, “and we started talking about philosophy. The drummer, who’s big into philosophy, said something about how we all have to earn our places on this earth, whether we’re changing the world or changing diapers in an old folks’ home.”
“One could argue that such a mindset is the prerogative of the wealthy.”
“Sure,” Slade says. “You grew up wealthy, so you know how it is.”
“Why do you think that?” I blurt, but I know the answer. They were able to track me by interrogating that nosy little lawyer of theirs.
What was his name? I can’t remember. I haven’t seen him since the awful night when he mistook me for my sister.
“The way you hold your fork gives you away,” Slade says. He’s joking, but I appreciate the pass because I really don’t want to talk about my childhood.
“After that conversation, I found myself looking in the mirror and wondering what I brought to the world.” He laughs. “It helped that I was getting bored with nothing to do. Then Romeo emailed me about a business venture. A month later, instead of flashing my passport, I was flashing my parking pass.”
“No one can resist a man with a parking pass. Laminated?”
“Damn right. Both sides. What about you? Ever think about settling down somewhere?”
“I’m settled here,” I say lightly. I don’t want him to suspect that I plan on running, don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.
“Good, Lindsay. I like having you around. We all do.” He pulls off the highway.
Chapter 6
We’re deep in a community of individually gated mansions, each different from the last. I’m finishing a grilled sandwich that we bought in a trendy bar downtown.
Slade pulls over. While we wait, he tells me stories from what he calls his “misspent youth.”
When I push him, he mentions names. Pop stars, rock stars, supermodels. I can’t decide if I should be jealous or impressed.
It occurs to me that another reason I like Slade so much is because he’s a good conversationalist. Romeo is always preoccupied with work, and Hawthorne is incapable of going five minutes without insulting me—just because he pulled my ass out of the fire doesn’t mean that I’m so stupid as to think he’s on my side.
In fact, from where I’m sitting, Hawthorne now has dirt on me. He could use it against me. The next time he wants me gone, he doesn’t need to convince Slade and Romeo, doesn’t have to put it to a vote. All he’ll need to do is order me to take a hike.
I frown.
Why the hell am I thinking about that? As soon as I get my car or the insurance money, I’m gonna leave anyway.
It’s like my muddled mind can’t quite reconcile itself to the fact that I’m not staying. Well, I have a day to accept that this is over.
A few minutes later, Hawthorne’s car appears, followed by Romeo’s. The gate opens, and we all drive through.
The house itself is set up on a bit of a hill. The building isn’t gigantic, but it’s certainly not small. It’s modern but with a ranch flair, the sort of construction that the architect likely submitted for awards. There are an awful lot of windows. Good thing Romeo’s got that security gate for privacy.
I spend the next hour working in front of a glass, closed-in fireplace. I’m tempted to ask if we can light it even though it’s not the right time of year.
My bosses sit at the massive dining room table, and their voices are solemn as they go over a few key problems to address tomorrow.
We’ve each got a glass of red wine. I helped myself to a refill, but the others have barely touched theirs. I take another sip, letting the voluptuous flavors caress my tongue. I swallow and warmth passes through me.
Idly, I wonder what it would be like if this was my life, if the four of us lived together, worked together. It’s about as realistic as running away with Slade.
After finishing my report, I flip through the only book on the coffee table, which is a compilation of ancient maps. Glossy photos eclipse the explanatory paragraphs, and I love all the drawings of dragons in the remote, uncharted seas. The world must have been a scary place for ancient man.
Slade stands. “That’s good for now,” he says.
I put the book down. “You can drop me off at home,” I say as I stand.
“No,” Romeo says. “That man has your address and your keys.”
“Not my apartment keys,” I insist. “I had them on separate rings.”
“Why?” Slade asks.
“Because I got an oil change last week and I didn’t combine them again. Key rings mess up my manicure.” I sigh. My bosses really don’t believe anything I say. “Even if he did have my keys, he wouldn’t be able to get into the building without the code.”
“You don’t have to stay with me,” Romeo says decisively. “Slade or Hawthorne will be happy to put you up, or we can check you into a hotel. But you’re not going home tonight.” When Romeo’s all serious like this, he’s scary.
I sigh. “Ok. But I’ll need to go by my place in the morning. I doubt we wear the same dress size.” I sink back into the sofa.
One corner of Romeo’s mouth turns up. “Not a problem.”
He accompanies Hawthorne and Slade to the door, and while he’s gone, I take a good look at my surroundings. It’s a nice place. Sturdy furniture. A strong masculine presence, but professionally decorated, I’m positive.
I get up and wander around, looking at the heavy pewter vases, the bronze horse sculptures. What’s lacking are personal photos. I’m curious about Romeo’s family.
At a window, I cup my fingers around my eyes and peer out. I can’t see much on the other side, just some kind of yard.
Romeo still isn’t back, and I need to find a bathroom. Because he didn’t tell me where they are, I figure I’ll just have to wander around until I come across one.
The back of the first floor has a lot of rooms. The only one that looks like it gets any use is the office, which is lined with bookcases stuffed full. I pause in the doorway. It’s easy to imagine Romeo sitting in the enormous wooden chair.
I spot a framed photo on the immense desk, and I’m debating slipping into the room for a quick look when I hear Romeo’s footsteps coming toward me. I start down the hall, spot a bathroom, and hurry into it.
Afterward, I find Romeo at the table. He briefly glances up from his work as I enter, and it occurs to me that I’m alone in this mansion with him. The thought turns my panties wet. I really enjoy being shared by my bosses, but I can’t help but be curious about what it would be like to have them one on one.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Romeo says as he rises to his feet. Even though he’s talking to me, he’s paying more attention to the mess of papers on the table.
“You’re going to end up blind and with a hump,” I say. “Anyone ever tell you that you work too much?”
He smiles. “No one would dare.”
It makes me laugh. For some reason, I always imagined he was unaware of how scary he is. Of course he’s not clueless. He’s just too much of a gentleman to use his size as a weapon.
“This way,” he says.
I follow him up a wide staircase. At the top, he goes left and stops in front of the first door. He turns the handle, pushes it open. “You’ve got an en-suite bathroom and shower,” he says.
I peer in respectfully from the outside. The room is furnished with a huge bed, six matching dressers and a large desk. In all, it’s quite understated. The saving grace is a series of vibrant flower paintings on the walls. They’re not as blush-worthy as Georgia O’Keeffe’s masterpieces, but there are sensual, sexual intimations in the way the stamens peek through the velvety petals.
“Does this work for you?” Romeo asks as he guides me in.
“Sure.” I take a second look around, and I realize that the dark brown floor rug has a herd of galloping buffalo on it. I wonder if it was a custom order. “Very nice, actually,” I decide. “You might have to use bodily force to get me out of here.”
“The dresser on the right should have pajamas that will fit you. My sister stayed here for a few months last year.”
I remember reading about his sister. She’s an activist. Indigenous Peoples of Canada… I can’t quite remember the exact name of the organization she works for, but it’s something like that.
“Why was she staying here?” I ask.
“I had a lot on my plate,” Romeo says. I don’t think he’s trying to be cryptic, but he’s definitely aroused my curiosity.
“The driver comes at six,” he says before I get a chance to follow up. He leaves, closing the door behind him.
“Six in the morning?” I murmur.
Because I don’t trust my ability to get up at five and start getting ready, I decide to shower before bed. The bathroom is large, comfortable and warm. In short, it’s just what I need after my horrible day. I find flannel pajamas in the dresser, just as Romeo said, but I feel weird wearing his sister’s clothes.