The sun is setting, painting the sky a vibrant indigo. I can already see stars a few stairs blinking their way through the evening sky. For some reason, they make me feel good. You can see lots of stars from my place. You can take a deep breath and smell the grass. When there’s a breeze like tonight, you can hear the leaves rustle in the trees. This is my business. This is where I live, where others live, where others come for pleasure. It’s not a bad place. And despite how fucking close I came, I didn’t ruin it. I didn’t burn it to the ground. And even though I gambled away a shit ton of money, I’ve got more. So I am able to re-build. I might be fucked up—I might be shit for personal relationships—but I’m good at what I do. People like working for me. And I do well enough that even my own fuck-ups can’t bring me down.
The more I think about it, the more I think maybe it isn’t Hawkins messing with my stuff.
I walk out of the maze nearly an hour later with a weight flung off my shoulders.
As I skirt the pond, I remember being there with Suri, and I have the sudden thought: What if I wasn’t bipolar? How would I feel about her then? If I wasn’t a danger to her…?
Why am I even wondering? I am. I know I am. Just ask Marissa.
I’ll never not be a danger to Suri. Maybe I am good at business, but I’m bad for other people. I like Suri Dalton a lot. I like her not just for the sex. I like her for lots of other things. Like for the Wheel of Fortune. And that’s bad. That’s really bad.
Still, I’m fighting with myself. I’m remembering how good my mother was with Riker and I—how our childhood was normal and, as best as I can remember, happy. I don’t know how the plane went down—because much of the body and the control panel were burned. I don’t know what kind of mood she was in that day. Maybe it
wasn’t
mom’s fault.
For just a few minutes, I allow myself to remember her. How full her cheeks were when she smiled and how she always smelled like perfumed lotion. I remember the way she used to yank me up off the ground and spin me in a circle while she sang a silly little kid song when I scraped my knee, how one time when I got in trouble for sneaking out of class in high school—planning to kiss Julie Thomas in the janitor’s closet—she took the principal to task when he suggested I was a troublemaker.
“He’s the president of the beta team!” I remember her exclaiming.
My eyes water a little, because I can still hear the pride and the outrage in her voice.
I’m so overcome in that moment, I sit down on the back steps of the new main house. That’s where I am, sometime later, when I hear what sounds like a baby’s cry. I look around in the darkness, and I hear something rustle in the brush.
Did the sound come from inside the building, or somewhere nearby in the brush? If cats are inside… Has any of the new hardwood been put down yet? I don’t think so, but still. I don’t want those damn cats ruining what progress has been made. I look around once more and step through one of the rectangular spaces where the doors will be.
I’m in the lobby area, looking up at the scaffolding of the grand, curved staircase, when I hear a low thump nearby. I look left and right, and left again. Moonlight spills through the huge squares spaces where windows will go, but I can’t make out what’s on the floor.
I flip open my zippo and step slowly closer.
It’s a cat. A bloody cat. As my eyes adjust to the firelight, I realize it doesn’t have a head.
22
SURI
“I’m telling you, you need to watch it. ‘Girls.’ It starts off a wee bit precious, but you’ll learn to love the little twerps!” Juniper grins and sticks up one hand in a parting wave as I walk to Marchant’s door.
I toss one more glance over my shoulder, and Loveless wags her finger. “Details, woman! Next time I see you, you
will
provide me with details. Even if they’re little baby ones.”
“We’ll see,” I laugh, waving. “Thanks for a good night!”
I step into the cottage in a great mood, already looking forward to telling Marchant about my night. I step into the den and sit my purse on a table beside the couch, and he steps out from the kitchen.
I can tell before he opens his mouth that something is wrong. His face looks stony, and his eyes don’t meet mine for a long moment. Then he pulls my packed bags from behind his back.
My stomach lurches. “What happened?”
“I’m sorry, Suri, but…you have to go. Tonight.”
“What? Why?” My voice is high-pitched.
He shakes his head and strides toward the couch. He sits, then leans over a little and squeezes the bridge of his nose without looking up. His shoulders seem tight. I can feel the tension rolling off him.
“Did something happen?”
When he meets my eyes, his are dark and angry.
“Did I do something?”
“Of course not!”
I jump.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. You didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’ve had some…things come up. A situation. One that changes things.”
“Oh.” At first I’m sure he means a woman. Maybe it’s Marissa. I bite down on my lip and try to keep my emotions off my face as I look down at my hands. Coming here was a mistake. A terrible mistake. I sink down on the couch beside him. Mostly because my legs feel weak.
His lips touch down on mine the next second. It’s a gentle, light kiss with the promise of something deeper—except he pulls away as I start to warm to it.
“Marchant, what happened?”
He shakes his head and looks down at the rug. I’m shocked when, a second later, he says, “Do you remember the guy I got in a fight with at the Wyn?” I nod, and he says, “I think he’s been pulling some shit on the ranch. I don’t want you here for that.”
“What happened?”
He presses his lips together and finally meets my eyes. “I found a headless cat in the main house tonight.”
“Oh my
God
!” I’m terrified for him. “That’s sick.”
He nods grimly. “I’ll handle it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here while I do. I think it’s probably best if I find someone else to finish the project.”
I feel like I’ve been slapped. “Are you serious? How could you? Without even talking to me? Marchant, I’m your friend if nothing else. You can’t expect me just to go because someone’s messing with you!”
He laughs, rough and dry. “Of course I can. I asked you to go; you have to go.”
“No I don’t. I’m not going. I’m not ready to go, and I’m finishing the project. If you don’t want the burden of keeping me safe and don’t trust me to keep myself safe—which you should, I might add—I’ll hire some security myself. I have my own people in Cali, after all.”
Before I’m finished speaking, he’s shaking his head. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t be responsible for something happening to you.” I open my mouth, and he puts a finger over it. “I
can’t
, Suri. I can’t.”
“You won’t be. I make my own choices!” And something dawns on me. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
His eyebrows raise.
“I answered a call one night where no one said anything. They just breathed. And then another time I got a call from a woman named Marissa. Does that ring a bell?” My voice trails off at the end of the question, because his face has lost its color.
He blinks once, slowly, then puts his left arm out on the couch, as if to steady himself.
“Marchant? Are you okay?”
He doesn’t even look my way. Anxiety writhes like a tangle in my stomach as I watch him stand completely still. For like two full minutes.
“Marchant? Who is Marissa?”
His eyes meet mine, and all the heat has gone out of them. “You need to go, Suri. You need to go because I told you to.”
“What? No way! I want to know who Marissa is. If you’re— if you’re leaving me for another woman, I want to—”
His eyes narrow.
Shit! I said ‘if you’re leaving me’ like we’re
together
! And we’re not together. I’m so stupid!
I dash back to his bedroom with my hand over my face. I’m shaking and sobbing, embarrassed. So very embarrassed. When did I become such a hanger-on? First with Cross, and now Marchant.
I’m the unwanted woman! The friend or the fuck buddy who thinks she’s something more. Where’s my pride? Where’s my
shame
?
It’s right here…
I stumble into the bathroom and lock the door behind me, then I sink down on the edge of the huge tub and let it all out. I sob so hard I can’t hear anything. Can’t feel anything but my grief over the loss of a man I never even had. I must have some problem. Maybe I just can’t stand to be alone. Clearly there’s something wrong with me, I’m deficient in some way, I’m pathetic.
The door swings open and Marchant looks down on me, wild-eyed and extremely wide-shouldered in his button-up. He’s holding the doorknob. He looks stern. Unhappy.
I shake my head. “I’m really sorry for this. If you want I’ll—”
He steps closer. Takes my shoulders. “What I want is for you to strip out of those clothes and get into the shower. What I want is
this
,” he says—and then he pulls the straps of my dress down off my shoulders, turns me around, and unzips my dress so that it falls onto the warm stone floor.
He gives me a gentle shove toward the shower, but before I get to it, he grabs me by the wrist and jerks me back. He pulls me to his chest and kisses me hungrily. First my mouth, but he moves south quickly, dropping to his knees as he ravages my breasts and then my belly, moving lower to where I’m wet and waiting for him. He covers my pussy with his hot mouth, and I moan.
“I want you,” he pants, “and no one else. But I can’t have you…so you’ll have to let this…be enough.”
I’m ripped in half.
I hate what he’s saying.
I love what he’s doing.
Either way, I can’t stay standing.
My knees give out and he scoops me up and steps into the shower. It’s huge—maybe the biggest one I’ve ever seen—and all he has to do is press a few buttons and it’s steaming; heat floods down on us from two huge lamps in the ceiling, followed seconds later by deliciously warm water. He stands me on my feet, quickly strips himself, and takes my face between his two big hands.
“I have to be inside of you. Right now.”
I flatten my palms against the muscles of his chest. “Tell me you won’t make me leave.”
His face twists. “I can’t do that, Beauty.”
I open my mouth to tell him he can, but I realize that’s my problem—dating all the way to Adam. I want things to be the way I want them, and sometimes I don’t think enough about how they actually
are
.
“I want you right now,” I breathe, and our mouths join while his hand works its way between my legs. He slides a finger inside, and I shake my head.
“No,” I say into his neck. I pull away and ease him down onto the warm tile. With water streaming down on us, I crouch with my ass in the air, spread his legs, and suck him into my mouth. I make him come fast and hard, and then I make him come again. I’ll respect his wishes if he doesn’t want me to stay, but first I’ll try to change his mind.
23
MARCHANT
It’s three a.m., and I’m awake after only two hours’ sleep. That’s bad. I need a consistent sleep schedule to help deal with the Bipolar. But I can’t take my eyes off her. Tomorrow, I’m going to make her leave, if I have to strap her into the plane myself.
Tonight, I stroke her bare shoulders and I tuck myself around her. I press my face against the warmth of her arm and allow myself to inhale the sweet scent of her skin. Even covered in my soaps, she smells like a woman.
“That feels good,” she murmurs, and I freeze.
I contemplate closing my eyes and faking sleep, because I’m not sure I can stand talking to her. More so than even her body, I’ve become addicted to her words.
“I thought you were asleep,” I whisper.
“Not anymore.” I can hear the smile in her voice, even though I can’t see her face from where I’m lying.
I kiss her arm. “You should go to sleep.”
“I will,” she says though a yawn. She moves her arm so it’s around my back and shoulders, and this time, I close my eyes. It feels good. Her fingers skate over my skin, and I feel her lips touch down atop my head.
“Are you going to tell me?” she whispers.
“Tell you what?” I whisper, too.
She twines her leg around mine. “I want to know why you said what you said in the shower. That you can’t ‘keep me.’” Silence closes around her words. With my head against her ribs, I can hear her heartbeat.
Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.