Page 57 of Somebody's Watching Me
Emily hadn’t been as lucky.
Grabbed by four strangers as she left her friends, she had been taken to a home in some suburb of Seattle. Jamison didn’t have much information, but from what she’d learned after eavesdropping on Liam’s conversations with his father, Izzy had made it to Seattle in record time, and tracked Emily’s location without much help. She led a raid on the home with local police like she was some sort of superwoman. Out of the four Zanmi members, one managed to flee, while the others were dead by their own hands.
Izzy was apparently staying in Seattle until Emily’s brother arrived to escort her home. Damon was already enroute, while their parents were trying to catch the first flight home.
Not long after the news of Emily’s rescue, Rowan returned with Simone and the twins.
“They said her shaking is an allergic reaction and should subside within twenty-four hours,” Rowan had informed everyone while the twins helped their mother to bed. “We were sent home with some epi-pens, but that’s about it.”
Selah was flying down in the morning with Lenora and their son, Xavier. The original plan had been for them to stay in Atlanta, but Selah wasn’t having it.
As the scope of what they were dealing with truly began to take shape, Samuel became antsy to get his girls home and secure. He and Evie left late in the afternoon, taking a fleet of security personnel and Liam’s promise that his man Holden would arrive soon.
“Shouldn’t Holden stay with Claudia?” Jamison had asked during one of the rare moments she and Liam were alone. “They might come back to try again.”
“Evie is the highest target,” Liam said, careful to keep his voice low so Samuel wouldn’t hear. “She and the girls need the most protection, and next to Izzy, I trust Holden the most.”
Next to Izzy.
It was ridiculous for her to be so consumed by the idea of him being with someone new, considering everything happening, but she couldn’t stop. Once her siblings left, and Simone finally went to sleep, Jamison snuck off to her room, claiming to need a shower.
And it wasn’t a lie. The feel of the robe and lingerie scraping her skin was driving her slowly insane, and hidden upstairs in the bathroom, Jamison peeled them off her body with such disgust that the bodice of her nightie accidentally ripped. The guilt over its destruction gnawed ather but was swiftly erased by the satisfying way the lace continued to tear in her hands.
Leaving the outfit in tatters on the bathroom floor, she stood under the hot water, allowing it to purge the remains of the last twenty-four hours. She scrubbed every scrape, every streak of dirt, focusing on the parts of her body Michael Sinclair touched. When there was nothing left to clean, her legs gave out, and she sat on the shower floor as the water continued to beat down upon her. Each second brought another memory, and soon, she was gasping through tears, reliving the entire ordeal.
Somewhere around the half-hour mark, long after the water had turned to arctic levels, a familiar male hand slid through the curtain to shut the water off. “Pajamas are on the bed, and your hairbrush and lavender lotion are on the nightstand.”
Part of her wished he would have slid the shower curtain aside and taken care of her. Old Liam—her Liam—would have done just that, unable to handle her tears for even a second.
But this new Liam left the bathroom without another word.
Getting out, she fought the urge to continue her cry fest, and nearly lost control again when walking into the bedroom to find her favorite pajamas laid out neatly. Liam hated the set, teasing her whenever she wore them. He claimed the round-eyed kittens covering the material were creepy.
But he had known she would want them and the comfort they brought.
Dressing quickly, she crawled onto the mattress and sat cross-legged to brush her hair. Rain pattered on the windows, and the soft glow from the bedside lamp made the world a little cozier, calming her as she worked through the tangles.
That is until the quiet click of her bedroom door opening had her tensing for a second.
“I need you here, Iz,” Liam said into his phone as he pushed open the door. Knightly scurried into the room with him, the beast finally showing his tail now that his favorite human had arrived. “The Houston team will care for Emily, and I expect you on the first flight.”
The door closed, and Liam tossed the duffle bag he was carrying onto the corner chair. “Stop arguing with me and get on the damn plane.”
With that, he hung up and slid the phone into his pocket. Knightly hopped onto the bed to meow loudly, wanting attention.
“Hey, old man. I’ve missed you, too.” Scratching the cat behind its ears, Liam looked her over. “Need me to do it?”
The question had her bottom lip trembling, and Jamison sucked it between her teeth. Him brushing her hair was a thing that started on their first vacation together when they rented a villa in Barbados. Liam had attempted to teach her to surf, even though her brothers had already tried, but the rip current had been wicked strong that day and pulled her into its clutches enough that she had to be rescued by him.
Later that night, in the aftermath, she’d been so distraught over the ordeal that she couldn’t finish brushing her freshly washed hair, and he finished the job. From then on, anytime she was upset, Liam’s first response was to brush her hair until she felt better.
And he never minded doing it. Most likely because it eventually led to great sex.
A gentle whisper of his lips along her neck would be all it would take to have her falling back against his chest. The excruciating attentiveness he exhibited, and the slow glide of his body moving in and out of hers were some of the most achingly tender moments in their relationship. Any other time, their sex life had a taste of violence to it. A race to the death, each chasing the high of fulfilling the other’s needs. Sweaty. Hot. Hard. The very definition of fucking.
But on the nights when he knew she needed to feel the connection they shared, he would begin with the simple act of brushing her hair.
Unable to look at him, she set the brush on the nightstand. “No, thank you.”
