Page 68 of Kept in the Dark
“All on my end,” Wesley confirms, sending James a smile that is clearly as meaningful to him as it is indecipherable to me.
“I lost her glasses. She will need a replacement pair. And an inhaler, I believe. Can you access her medical files?” I ask Wesley, rubbing at my heavy eyes.
“Sure. I’ll have what she needs sent here today.”
Something deep inside twists that I am not the one who can provide this for her, but I nod my thanks, grateful that someone can.
As I turn to leave, I hear Wesley pointedly clear his throat. Looking smug as anything, he holds out his hand towards James, who sighs dramatically and digs into his pants for his wallet. He selects a bill and slaps it into Wesley’s waiting palm.
I do not want to know what that is about, so I continue on my path, but their voices follow me down the hall.
“You were leading the witness,” James grumbles.
“We never defined terms,” Wesley replies lightly. “Andyouwere the one who brought it up.”
There is a pause while James considers, then I can hear the smile in his voice when he concedes, “Worth it for the ‘I told you so.’”
I heave a sigh and scrub at my short hair. My scar aches from being wet too many times, because it makes the skin tight. The headache from thebroken nose is a persistent, pounding pressure in my sinuses that reminds me of its presence with sharp pains through the brain like a migraine.
In the pool house, Nicole is asleep. Her deep, even breathing comforts me as I collect the ibuprofen from the bathroom cabinet and shake six into my hand. I can sleep through pain, but I do not wish to wake up so swollen that I cannot see. When I emerge into my room once again, I glance at the couch, then at Nicole in my bed.
She is afraid of me. She ran from me, called the police, and thought I might kill her.
I am the kind of man she should fear. I want people to fear me—need it, to do my job effectively.
But I do not want her fear. I do not want her to look at me like the monster I am. If she wakes and finds me near her, will she react with panic, or would my presence soothe her, as it did on the boat?
Fuck,she looks so good there.
I am too tired and in too much pain to become aroused, but if anything were going to do it, it would be the sight of Nicole’s tan, bare shoulder and her hair spilling back across the white cotton like spun gold.
Ever since I saw so much of her before she climbed into my bed—even tinged with blue from the cold—I have not known peace. Every inch of her is soft in a way that would welcome a touch as it welcomes the eye. Wide hips, a deep V between her legs covered with curls darker than the ones on her head that I could see through nearly transparent material, a supple stomach, and large breasts. She is a goddess. A curved, golden goddess.
A better man might give her some space and let her sleep. A better man would take the couch. And though I know I must be a better man for her—one who could one day deserve her—I refuse to accomplish this by sleepingapart from her.
She fears me, but only because I gave her a reason to. Because I told her to.
I know this because she had a phone the entire time we were on the water. For days, she could have called for help. And yet she used it only once, when she felt she had no other choice.
Perhaps it is foolish, but I believe that means that I have not ruined this irreparably.
I strip off my shirt so I am just in sweatpants, pull back the covers, and relish in the sight of the long lines of her naked back. I would look my fill, but she shivers in her sleep, so I slide in behind her.
It is a perfect fit, of course. The dip of her waist and flare of her hip are like a space designed for my arm. Her shoulder blades press into the flattest part of my pecs, allowing our bodies to meet along the entire length of our torsos. Back to front. Her round ass carves a space in my lap, and my bent knees nest perfectly in hers.
She sighs, wriggling back a little, seeking warmth, and I respond by tightening my grip around her. I close my eyes with a small smile on my lips, and my last thoughts before losing consciousness are ones of happy satisfaction.
21
Nicole
You are a loose end, and a Bratva does not leave those to unravel.
My first thought is that my whole body kind of hurts, and my second is that I’m comfortable despite that. I inhale deeply through my nose, and fill my lungs with the scents of… him—a strong scent memory, buried under unfamiliar ones that makes the blood pound between my legs. Clean laundry and spit. Soap and cum. It’s aggressively masculine with an undercurrent of something so fresh that it’s almost sterile.
Damn. That really shouldn’t get me going the way it does.
It’s so pervasive, there’s no way he’s not right under my nose. Am I sleeping on his chest?
