Page 4 of Make Me Yours

I make it through the graciously appointed living room, down the narrow hallway, with the bathroom and smaller bedroom on either side, and back to the master, where Mark lies sleeping beneath the covers.

I can just make him out in the gloom.

The room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moonlight penetrating the curtains on the left side of the space. The curtains appear to be a lighter color, but they’re thick, rich people curtains, with a dense weave that keeps light out and sound in. I bet Mark could be banging his girl of the moment in this bed and no one on deck would hear a thing.

As I step inside, my footsteps silent on the lush carpet, I have the sensation of being swallowed. Everything feels muffled, like I’m in the belly of one of the whales that arrive here in the spring to gorge on plankton and fish.

Later, I’ll blame the sound-dampening properties of the space for the fact that I don’t hear Mark moving until it’s too late.

As for the fact that I don’t realize the man in the bedisn’tMark until I’m pinned under his powerful body?

Well, I’m not sure what to blame for that except the darkness and bad fucking luck.

two

Weaver Tripp

A man who just captured an intruder.

A very beautiful, intriguing intruder…

Wakingup to a man trying to kill me in my sleep in New York, would have been shocking, but not completely out of the realm of possibility. New York is a big, bad city, after all, not a sleepy hamlet like Sea Breeze.

Sea Breeze is one of the safest small towns in the country, a fact proudly proclaimed on its website, and one of the reasons I went out of my way to avoid coming back here, once I finally got out.

I couldn’t stomach the hypocrisy or the disconnect between the propaganda and reality.

This town wasn’t safe for me or my mother, not by a long shot, and hearing everyone from the mayor to the principal talk about how lucky we all were to live in such a sheltered haven,made my blood boil. I couldn’t get out of here fast enough. The second my diploma was in hand, I was on a plane to New York City, bound for a high-profile internship before starting business school at Columbia.

But that was fine. No one was sad to see me go.

Rodger, my much older brother and Dad’s favorite, was champing at the bit to take over the family business. By the time I graduated with my MBA and a job waiting for me at one of the biggest banks in the world, Rodger had the seafood empire well in hand.

He also had several dirty politicians in his pocket, men and women who, in exchange for large campaign donations, were happy to overlook the fact that the Tripps were violating Maine law. According to the state fishing code, professional lobster harvesting must be done by small, independently-owned operations.

Our operation is independently owned, but there’s nothing small about it, and nothing legal about the way my father and brother organized the business. For two generations now, they’ve forced members of our own family to pay a percentage of their profits to them in exchange for “help” with boat maintenance. Once my brother took over, he added another fee for shitty group health insurance that leaves everyone paying for most services out of pocket.

If I were a better man, I would have stepped in and called my brother on what he was doing. I would have protected the younger, more vulnerable members of the family. I would have been the hero our mother believed me to be before she died just six months after my abusive father, proving there’s no justice or mercy in the world.

But I’m not a hero.

And I’m not a good man, a fact I prove by remaining on top of my intruder once I realize he is actually ashe, and that she’s probably one of Mark’s chaotic group of friends.

Or one of the many girls he’s fucking…

She looks like his type.

As I roll her onto the mattress beneath me, her long, wavy blond hair spills across the sheets. The moonlight reveals plush lips parted in an “O” of surprise, cheekbones a princess would kill for, and big eyes I’m guessing are blue, though I can’t make out their color in the darkness.

Mark’s conquests are always blondes with blue eyes, girls who look like they could use a sandwich and an intervention with whatever they use to dissolve the filler dermatologists pack into women’s lips these days.

But this woman’s lips aren’t artificially plumped, they’re too soft-looking for that, and she isn’t his usual waif. When she shifts beneath me, trying to wiggle free, I can feel the strength in her long frame. She’s in amazing shape, but not strong enough to buck me off when I grasp her wrists and pin her to the mattress.

I’m not like the other Wall Street lifers at my investment firm. I don’t rely on my power or money to make me attractive to the opposite sex. I wake up every morning and hit the gym at five a.m., exorcising my demons and honing my body into a loaded weapon in the process.

I’m obviously not going to hurt this woman with my superior strength—I’m not my father—but I’m not above pressing an advantage.

“Who are you?” I demand.

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