Authors: Lauren Christopher
“You’d
invest
? In Drew’s boat?”
“Sure. I was going to buy my own, but if you guys need an investor, why not just do that? Then I don’t have to concern myself with the upkeep.”
“That would be . . .
great
.” Lia couldn’t believe her luck. “Can we discuss it on Monday? Get all the details straight? I’m not in the right mind for business right now, to be honest.”
He removed the glass from her hand and set it on the ice. “What are you in the right mind for?”
“Kyle, this isn’t—this isn’t what I mean. You and I have a
wonderful
relationship right now. I admire you and love working with you, but I want to maintain our professionalism.”
“Of course. I respect you immensely. And I respect your mature relationship.” He threw her a smile that suggested
otherwise. “But how about a kiss? Your mature relationship certainly has room for a kiss between friends, right? We can just say we both had too much to drink.”
A sickening taste rolled into the back of her throat.
Did she just sell a share of Drew’s boat for a kiss?
Part of her wanted to laugh at herself for thinking it was a big deal, but the other part was sending warning bells through her head.
Kyle turned to the bartender. “Hey, get me one of those, too.” He cocked his head toward her drink. “And give mine an extra boost, Cole.”
“What’s the extra boost?” she asked. The sickening feeling in her stomach continued.
“Ah, don’t make me feel bad, Lia. I’m not as mature as you. I like my recreational drugs. Helps me sleep at night, anyway. Let’s go back to the den.”
“Kyle, I don’t want to do that.”
“We’ll get something more private.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started punching in numbers.
“Kyle, no. It seems inappropriate to sell—”
“Lee-yaaaa.”
Kyle scowled at her. “It’s just a kiss. Don’t be silly.” He turned to his phone. “Salvador? What dens are open?”
She felt a blush heat her cheeks. Maybe she was silly. He didn’t want to
marry
her for goodness’ sake. And it wasn’t
sex
.
“
No
, Kyle.”
He raised an eyebrow. Paused. Without another word, and his eyes trained on her, he hung up on Salvador and slipped his phone back in his pocket.
“All right, beautiful. You’re a challenge. I like that about you.” He reached for the two wineglasses and nodded his thanks to Cole. “Let’s go back, and see if Avery and Evan are ready. Who knows what the hell the two of them are doing by now? I imagine Avery’s pulling her dress back down, and Evan’s getting all zipped up. . . .”
The words hit Lia like a punch in the gut. She remembered Kyle leaving them there so hastily, with Avery pretty much smashed. Had that all been planned for Evan? The image of Evan, stomach exposed, forearms flexing over a zipper, hair swinging—sent another sickening feeling through her stomach. First she thought it was disgust. Then she thought it was anger.
But finally, as Kyle motioned with his head to follow him, she realized it wasn’t either of those things. It was jealousy.
She followed Kyle through the throngs of beautiful people, inhibitions tossed aside with their flailing arms. But somewhere in the center of the dance floor, near the
Pl
in the “Plush” logo, she swayed, and a guy near her caught her elbow.
Kyle glanced back. “Are you all right, Lia?”
He handed her one of the drinks and used his free hand to help her by the elbow. “Easy. And don’t take another sip until we get back to the den.”
His smile was easygoing, but the reprimand was there.
And Lia, buoyed now by strong wine, misplaced jealousy, and her ability to dissuade him from a kiss she didn’t want, felt the rising power of rebelliousness: The drink was at her lips in no time.
But six steps in, she realized her mistake. The ground shifted beneath her as the room began to spin, and the throbbing notes receded into a far dark corner of her brain.
Two steps after that, Lia thought for sure the ground was coming up to meet her.
CHAPTER
E
van had never seen a more crowded dance floor. But by the time he’d convinced Tom to let him back in, and had taken one sweep through the room, he was sure Lia wasn’t on it.
The ice bar was his next target. Black dresses, spilling breasts, high heels, black shiny suits . . .
so many people
. It had been a long time since he’d been in the middle of such a throng, and he was remembering why he’d stayed away. Distrust swelled every cell in his body.
He crushed through with his shoulders. But no Lia. He called the bartender over. Sebastian, his nametag said.
“Have you seen Kyle Stevens? I need to talk to him.”
Sebastian shook his head. “I just started my shift, man. Haven’t seen him yet.”
“Can you call him for me?”
“No can do. He contacts the folks he wants to see, not the other way around. Sorry, man. You can wait here for a while. He’ll probably be here two or three times tonight.”
Evan glanced at all the doorways. Would Kyle have left out the front while Evan had been in the back? Would he have taken Lia back to his place? Would she have called someone to get a ride home?
Evan cursed himself again for not having a cell. He’d gotten rid of his when he’d decided to step out of society. He ran this curse through his head a couple times a year—usually because of some unforeseen storm that was causing black waves to rise before his boat—but this time seemed even more dire.
Stupid
. He ran his hand down his face and whirled to stare at the other three exits.
Maybe the den? Would Kyle have brought her back there?
His heart raced double-time to the music as he scanned the back dens. From here, he could see they’d been designed with backlighting so figures could be watched peep-show style.
He zeroed in on Den Thirteen. The silhouette of a woman reclined on the ottoman, candles set on the ground, man on top of her. . . .
His blood pounded through his veins as he charged across the room. Bodies separated for him as he raced. When he got there, he yanked the curtain practically off its rod.
Sara and Holden both swiveled their heads in his direction. Holden reached out and snapped the curtain back into place.
Evan stepped back and took a deep breath.
What the hell was he doing?
Even if Kyle
was
a slimeball, Cinderella didn’t seem to think so. And that was her prerogative, wasn’t it? To crawl up the body of any man she wanted to? Evan didn’t need to be some kind of avenging angel trying to right the wrongs of the world. He didn’t even know this woman. And he shouldn’t feel anything for her. And if she wanted to have hot sex in a curtained den in a nightclub with . . . Evan loosened his collar. Damn. He was burning up. It must be a thousand degrees in here.
He considered making a hasty retreat, maybe heading back to the motel for a cold shower and some common sense. But a shadow in Den Ten caught his eye.
A woman in silhouette, prone on the fainting couch. Her arms and legs hung over the edges, unmoving. Her head lulled to the side, long hair of Cinderella’s length dripping toward the floor.
And a man standing over her.
Who was clearly Kyle.
* * *
The fear that filled Evan’s veins propelled him across the room in silent flight. A ringing in his ears replaced the music as he threw himself past the curtain and slammed to a halt inside the den.
It was her. Her unconscious body, her heavy limbs, her closed eyes, her parted lips—all hanging lifelessly off the edge of the couch.
The panic that gripped him sent him flying to her side. He snatched up her wrist. Her pulse was weak, but it was there. His first thought was Rohypnol.
Although Kyle was trying to say something, Evan could only hear a rush of blood as he lunged for the smaller man. Fistfuls of material were in his hands as he slammed Kyle against the wall and cocked his fist.
“
. . .
wrong drink!”
Kyle was squeaking, throwing his hands in front of his face.
Evan didn’t care. His fist made glorious contact with Kyle’s face, sending his head snapping to the side. They both fell against a flimsier curtain in the back of the room, sending a potted plant toppling across the floor.
“She drank the
wrong drink
, man!
Stop!
” Kyle yelled.
Kyle’s shoulders hit the floor next, his body bouncing, and Evan got another punch in before he was lifted bodily by two muscled men who appeared out of nowhere.
“What the hell?”
Kyle spit upward. Blood covered his nose and mouth. “She drank the
wrong drink
, I told you!” Kyle spit into his palm.
“What’d you give her?” Evan found a guttural voice that didn’t sound like his.
“I didn’t
give
her anything!”
“What’s in her system, then?”
Kyle motioned for the guys to let Evan go. A door creaked shut behind the back wall of the den—probably where they’d come from.
“It’s a muscle relaxer,” Kyle said. “It was in my drink. She drank the wrong one.” He touched his fingers to his nose and peered at the amount of blood. “She’ll be fine. I know how much is in there. My bartender makes me one every night.”
Evan glanced at Cinderella looking dead on the couch. That looked stronger than a muscle relaxer. But he couldn’t prove anything right now, and Kyle was probably used to this story, which he probably used all the time and had made airtight.
“If she’s hurt, man, I’m going to—”
“Cool down, Captain. I promise. She’s fine. I’d never hurt her. She’s my
employee
, damn it.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but maybe he was saying it for the burly guys. The bouncers bookended Kyle to make sure he was okay. He swatted them away.
Evan went around the side of the couch and scooped Lia into his arms. He couldn’t leave her here another second. He didn’t care if this guy had
five
Harvard degrees. They probably just helped him get out of jams like this.
Lia’s head rolled into his chest as he lifted her, then fell back, her hair all around her face. Her limbs fell over the side of his arms.
“I’m taking her home.”
“We’ll take care of her.” Kyle scowled. “I have a doctor on staff, and I can bring her to my place and—”
“No.” Evan started for the curtain toward the dance floor.
“Hey, hey, hey! Not that way.”
Evan turned, and Kyle indicated the back door. “We’ve got a hallway here. Take her all the way down, to the right. Tom will be there. He’ll bring around another car.” He pulled out his cell phone.
Evan didn’t wait for the call. He kicked the door open with his foot and charged into the hallway, which was narrow and cinderblock sided. He followed it all the way to the end, cold air and muffled music pounding through, where it opened into the concrete hall at the back entrance.
Tom’s face screwed into anger when he saw him. “Damn.” He shoved Evan back into the hallway. “Don’t hold her out in the open like that!”
He marched Evan toward a separate exit farther down. When they all stepped out into the sprinkling rain, the car squealed up immediately. “Get her out of here,” Tom said, yanking the door open.
A light drizzle of rain covered Cinderella’s hair as Evan
slid her into the backseat, then landed in behind her. He told the driver the address he remembered, and put his arm around her, letting her lifeless body slump against him.
Before they’d even pulled away from the curb, he ran a shaky hand down his face.
As images of Renece’s ravaged body floated through his mind, and as the familiar sense of helplessness filled his body, he stroked Cinderella’s hair and let himself cry for the first time in two years.
CHAPTER
L
ight assaulted all her senses as Lia slammed her hand against the screeching alarm clock that bounced along the table. It toppled to the ground, its screech muffled into the white shag rug beneath the side of her bed. She tried to peel her eyelids off her eyeballs, but it felt like they were attached with fur. Her fingertips went up to check.
Every millimeter of movement caused another sharp pain. She gave up on the alarm clock and kept her eyes closed, trying to remember what day it was, what time it might be, how she got here last night. She could hear rain against her window. Last night wouldn’t even come into focus.
Then—oh, yes! Kyle’s club! She remembered the rain, the darkened bar, the ice figures. She had flashes of Evan’s forearms along the bar top, his intense blue eyes underneath black eyebrows. She remembered the cigarette girl, Evan with Avery—was that right? And then . . .
Kyle
? . . . at the bar again? . . . And then . . .
She strained for more details. The clock’s muffled screeches continued. The rain came down harder against the panes. She struggled again for memories. And
then
what happened? . . .
Nothing came to her.
Her hand slithered under the sheets to her body. Her dress was off. She seemed to have some kind of . . . She wriggled to see what she was wearing, but the vise around her brain tightened. It was some kind of . . . Oh, okay, her camisole and slip . . . Was she even wearing this last night? Her bracelet was still on. And she had a . . . Dang, she had a cotton ball taped to the inside of her arm. Did she give blood? Her shoes . . . She made a small movement with her legs. Yes, her legs still worked. Her shoes seemed to be off. Did she just fall into bed last night, without—?
“Mornin’,” came a deep voice from her bedroom doorway.
Adrenaline shot through her as she snapped her head toward the door. The sudden movement sent fireworks off behind her eyeballs, but she could barely make out Evan leaning against the frame, wolfing down a bowl of cereal.
“Want me to turn off that alarm for you?” he drawled.
“Wh-wh—
What are you
doing
here
?” She snatched the sheet up to her chin.
He set the bowl down on her dresser and sauntered into the room, keeping his eyes averted but snaring the alarm clock off the floor and snapping it off. Then he returned to the doorway and his cereal.
He had on the same clothes from last night, but the navy shirt was untucked, partially unbuttoned, and even more rumpled than last night, if that were possible. The stubble was back across his jaw, and his hair fell in disarray. While he resumed his cereal shoveling, Missy rubbed against his jeans and bare feet.
“Who’s Elle again? Did you say she was your boss?” he asked.
Elle?
Oh, God.
“Did she
call
?” Lia croaked. She struggled to sit up. “What time—” She yanked the clock off the nightstand with an arm that felt dead. The tape around the cotton was itchy. “What
is
this?” She tried to peel it off.
“I’ve got a lot to tell you, but honestly, you’re not going to be feeling very well for the next few hours, so I recommend you go back to sleep for now. I just need to understand who Elle is.” He gulped down another spoonful of cereal. “And I need to know if that boyfriend of yours might be coming
through that door anytime soon. I don’t need another fist in my eye.”
“Fist in your . . . ?” Her mind made an attempt to put all the pieces together, but it just wasn’t happening. “What—what
time
is it?”
She held the clock in front of her face.
Eight o’clock! . . .
She sprang upward, but as soon as her head changed elevation, her stomach roiled. Her sights landed on a trash can by the side of the bed that seemed to be there for that very purpose, and she yanked it to the side of the bed, clutching it toward her chin.
Her head and eyeballs pounded as she listened to the rain against the window and waited for the waves of nausea to go away.
“You all right?” Evan said softly.
She closed her eyes and rolled back into bed. “I want to die.”
“I’m familiar with the feeling.”
“What happened?”
“Important thing to know is that you’re all right. We just need to keep you hydrated. Drink some of that water by the side of the bed.” He leaned forward, but seemed to refuse to step into the room again, as if it were filled with snakes.
She kept her eyes closed and stretched her memory again to the night before. She was at the bar with Kyle, right? Then what happened? She strained to remember music, conversation, anything, but kept drawing a blank. A strange metal pole stood next to her bed.
“What’s that?” she asked, staring up at it.
“I’m serious about the water. That glass there . . .”
“I see it.”
“Drink it.”
“I will. I just . . .” Her arm felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
“Now.”
The last thing she wanted to do was move, and the second-to-last thing she wanted to do was put anything in her stomach, but she had the sense he wouldn’t drop this. She moved her hundred-pound arm and took a tiny sip.
“I have to go to work,” she croaked out.
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Cinderella.” His voice was almost a whisper.
She willed herself to sit up, to find out what was going on, to get to work, to remember what happened with Kyle—did he . . . Oh, wow, did he
talk to her about investing in Drew’s boat
? And then . . . Oh my God . . .
kissing
. . . Did he ask her to leave with him so she could kiss him? . . . Did he . . .
Her hand ran up her camisole. . . .
Did she do more than kiss?
. . .
“Did I . . . Who did I come home with?”
“Me.”
That didn’t make her feel any better. The satin shorts that matched her cami slid to the left. She was naked underneath. She felt sick again. “I don’t remember anything,” she whispered.
As soon as she said it aloud, the reality of the situation hit her, along with the fear such a statement should bring, and tears sprang to her eyes.
“Hey,” Evan said gently.
She wanted to look at him, but couldn’t. She wanted to ask a million questions, but couldn’t. She wanted to know if she still had a job, if Kyle was still a client, if anyone was manning Drew’s boat, who took her dress off, why Evan seemed afraid to come near her, if she did anything . . . she gulped . . .
if she had sex
. . . if she would ever work in advertising again, if Drew would ever forgive her, and how she could have let absolutely everything,
everything
, slip through her fingertips. . . .
But she couldn’t.
All she could do was let the tears slide down her face toward her pillow and fall into the horrible, hopeless sleep that claimed her.
* * *
The second time Lia awoke, the light was against her east wall. It was still raining. Two aspirin lay on her nightstand with another glass of water and a hastily scrawled note.
Drink this. Whole glass
, it said.
Evan
.
She took the aspirin, drank half the glass, and succumbed
again to sleep. It was better than analyzing her life, which was clearly in its last few hours.
* * *
The third time Lia awoke, the light was gone from the room entirely, but the rain continued. Her nightstand lamp had been turned to the lowest illumination, a T-shirt she didn’t recognize wrapped around the shade to darken it even more, so there was just enough light to see the note below it.
Good job. One more glass. Whole thing. Evan.
P.S. Fed the cat.
P.P.S. Met your sister Noelle.
P.P.P.S. What’s with the shoes? Daily arrival.
She took the next two aspirin, drank half the glass, petted Missy who came to curl up in the crescent her body formed, and even took two of the orange segments that lay peeled for her on a paper napkin. She listened for any movement from the front room, but heard nothing.
Sleep seemed better than addressing her life right now, and she let it claim her.
* * *
The fourth time Lia awoke, it was the middle of the night. The rain had stopped. The vise was no longer squeezing her head. She was able to twist her neck all the way to the side to see her alarm clock.
Two a.m.
She managed to stumble out of bed. The metal pole that had been in her room was gone. Instead of her zombie-walk to the bathroom, she shuffled out to the front room to make sure life was still as she knew it. Somehow, she half expected to walk into a different time-zone, a different era, a different life. But everything was as she remembered.
Except Evan’s huge form stuffed into her love seat.
He looked ridiculous on the small piece of furniture, the pillows lined up on top of his body like a desperate blanket. His shoes were off. He had different jeans on, and a different shirt, this one a gray tee that showcased his arms. One of his tanned forearms was thrown over another of her white-brocade fringed pillows. A white bandage was wrapped across
his knuckles and through his fist like a boxer. She stared at it for an unreasonably long time, marveling at the cross between his masculine arm and her feminine pillow.
She knew a normal reaction here—upon finding a man you barely knew sleeping on your couch without your permission—would be fear. He obviously had her key. He’d obviously been here awhile. She’d obviously been passed out. But fear didn’t even enter her veins. Instead, she was flooded with a warmth, that a man she barely knew was sleeping on her couch because he was probably taking care of her. All of her annoyance earlier at Evan’s crazy protectiveness slid away, and she was now filled with gratitude. Along with that damned warmth that started in her scalp and oozed like honey through her body.
He sucked in air and growled a bit, then turned his body as if he were trying to get more comfortable. Three of the pillows he’d been trying to balance tumbled to the floor.
Lia stumbled into the kitchen beneath what felt like cinderblocks on her shoulders and saw that Missy’s water and food bowls had been filled. She poured a glass of water and shuffled back toward the bedroom.
On the way, she stopped at her linen closet and took a blanket off the top shelf, then went back and laid it over Evan.
Almost back in her own bed, she realized she forgot her cell phone. She spun back for it, but her stomach violently rolled and she rushed the other way to her bathroom. She threw up the orange and the water. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she got up, brushed her teeth, splashed her face, and crawled back into bed.
She still forgot the cell. But it wouldn’t matter anyway. Her life was over.
* * *
The next day was a repeat of the last. Notes from Evan. Glasses of water. Aspirin. Updates on Missy. A note that her mom called, and her sister Giselle. Oranges followed by small bowls of broth. A small roll. Lia ate everything but threw up everything.
Her cell was missing.
Missy curled up with her, and Lia pretended to die.
* * *
When the light hit her next, she rolled over and marveled that she felt human.
The rain had stopped and was replaced by sunlight through her window. Morning sun. It must be mocking her, lovely light for a woman whose life was now darkness.
The vise was gone from her head. Her brain felt normal-sized. Her stomach didn’t feel like it was going to heave, and her mouth—while dry—didn’t feel like it was coated in cotton. Her eyes opened of their own volition.
But she didn’t want them to now. She could explain to the Vampiress if she were dead. The Vampiress would forgive her for that. Might even send a wreath of flowers to her funeral. But if she felt fine, she’d have another thing coming. Worse than death—failure, her desk packed up, a sense that the last decade of her work was for nothing. . . . Humiliation.
She stumbled into the front room, where the shades still seemed to be drawn. Someone had put socks on her feet. She had no idea what day it was.
She gripped the living room doorway as she rounded the corner, tumbled into the next room, and let out a shriek.
There, in the middle of her living room, was a naked Evan. He was hopping into his jeans—full frontal nudity. She threw her hands over her face.
Apparently, he went commando.
Who knew?
He spat an obscenity under his breath, and she could hear him hop in a circle and yank the jeans up. Zipper. Button. She could hear the belt clinking.
“Coast is clear,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”
She peeked through her fingers. He had his back to her now, looking down to fasten the last of his belt. His back was wide and tan, filled with the valleys and hills of muscles across the shoulders, the same back she’d admired that first morning she’d seen him in his sailboat galley. She watched his triceps flex as he finished the belt, then he leaned over to snatch his shirt off her ottoman. He still had the bandage wrapped around his hand. She flashed back to her peek at his
privates, and a blush ran up her cheeks—Evan was strong and bullish
everywhere
, apparently.
He slid the shirt on, then turned and looked for his shoes, snagging them off the floor. “Sorry again.” He glanced up at her. “Gotta run. Tours today.”
“What is today?”
“Friday.”
“Today is
Friday
?” The blood that had rushed to her cheeks drained.
He straightened, and a corner of his mouth tilted up. “Maybe I should have been calling you Sleeping Beauty instead of Cinderella.” He buttoned his shirt from the bottom while he glanced around for his other belongings. “But I’m glad to see you upright. You look great.”
Great
? Her hand went to her rat’s nest of hair that hadn’t been washed for, apparently, three days, and glanced down at the slouchy socks, taking in her wrinkled camiso—
Crap!
She threw her arms around her body to block the view of her puckered breasts, now standing at attention beneath the champagne-colored top.