Page 14 of Searching for Hope

I laugh. He hasn’t changed a bit. Overconfident and arrogant but still somehow charming. “Not exactly.”

“You’re breaking my heart here, Ev.”

“People have been contacting me about a certain product.” I clear my throat, hoping it will wipe away my nervousness. “A product my father used to procure. Actually, that’s why I’ve come into contact with Mr Priest. He was one such person. People with specific tastes.”

I glance up at him instead of staring at the empty cup of coffee. He’s got a look of amusement on his face. His head is cocked to one side, and he’s crossed his arms over his chest. “I guess they consider me as a stand-in for my father in the family business since the other members are well…” I chew on my lip.

“Unavailable?” Michael offers.

“Sure.” I grin. “That works. I was considering stepping up to the plate but in a different way. More of a middleman than the actual handling of the product, if you will.”

“And you think I can help?” He doesn’t ask for any clarification of the type of product I’m talking about. I take that as a firm sign that his family are exactly who I think they are.

“Your father and my father were close friends. They ran in the same circles.” I peer up at him hopefully. “The same circles I now wish to run in.”

Michael’s face twists into a smirk. “Well, well, well. You are full of surprises now, aren’t you? Look at Everly Atterton. All grown up and wanting to run with the big boys.” He leans forward. “You realize it’s a man’s world in that sort of industry.”

“Which is exactly why I’ve teamed up with Mr Priest. I’ve got the connections. He’s got the dick.”

Michael laughs and slaps the table. “I think I like you even more than I used to. And that’s saying a lot.”

I roll my eyes. “You were instructed to look after me by your father as a personal favor to my father. You were forced into it. Don’t lie.”

“True, true. But it didn’t exactly turn out to be a chore. Tell you what, why don’t you bring Mr Priest over to the house for dinner. That way we can get to know him a little better.”

HOPE

I wake in darkness, my heart pounding. I’m not alone. Someone is breathing next to me. It’s rhythmic. They’re sleeping. They’re in the bed, pressed against me from behind. Cold sweat prickles my skin. I try to move away but their grasp tightens. I feel claustrophobic, trapped.

“Is that you?” I whisper, not having a name to call him by.

There’s no answer. My breathing quickens to panic. Reaching out, I fumble in the darkness searching for the switch of the lamp. I flick it on but nothing happens. The arm around my waist tightens some more.

“I turned the power off.”

Relief washes through me at the sound of his voice.

“It’s you,” I say with a sigh.

He chuckles. “Who else would it be?”

He moves a little, allowing me to roll onto my back but his hand stays wrapped around me.

“Your heart is racing,” he says. “Were you scared?”

“Of course, I was scared. I didn’t know who was here. Why did you turn the power off?”

Taking my hand in his, he pulls it to his face, allowing me to cup his cheek. “This is why.”

His mask is gone. The flesh under my hand is smooth and soft. Feathering my fingers down his cheek, I prod the edges of his jaw. It feels strong and defined. He swallows as I trail across his neck and then up the other side, pulling my fingers over his lips, his nose, his eyes. I thread my fingers into his hair.

He moans and the grip around my waist tightens again. Sitting upright on the small bed, he pulls me up. There’s no light to be able to define the edges of him. His hands fumble for mine in the dark. When he finds them he pulls them to his shoulders, resting them there, and then places his on mine. He’s hesitant in his actions, as though part of him feels as though he shouldn’t be doing this. That this connection between us is forbidden, even though he’s the one that forced it by holding me here.

I find more comfort in his company than I should. I no longer shy away from him. We talk and we laugh without restraint. My life exists in waiting for him. It’s all I do.

There have been many occasions when he’s gone for days on end and it’s in those days that I find my darkest self. I ache for him when he’s gone. I long for him when he’s not here. I spend my time wondering what he’s doing, who he is with, what he is telling them.

His shoulders are bare under my touch. They’re slender, without a lot of padding. The bones of his clavicle stick out awkwardly as I feel my way across his body. But his hands haven’t moved. They stay resting on my shoulders, his breath rising and falling more quickly the further I explore him.

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