Unraveled (The Untangled Series Book 1) Page 7

  I lifted my watch and made a show of tracking the secondhand. Clint swore under his breath and turned on his heel, heading to the rental car parked by the street.

  I didn't think he'd be much trouble. He was an ass. Desperate enough to fly across the country. Desperate enough to risk arrest. But there was something about him that told me he was an annoyance. An irritation. Not a danger.

  I stood inside the gates and waited until he'd started his car and driven away. My gut might tell me he wasn't a danger, but that didn't mean I'd relax our vigilance.

  Cynthia needed a break from this man, and he didn't have to hurt her physically to do damage. Just being here eroded her peace of mind. Wore her down.

  Down the street, almost out of sight, brake lights flashed on. A car starting. A car that had been parked where no one ever stopped.

  The narrow, winding road through Buckhead that led to the gates of Rycroft Castle did not have sidewalks. There were no homes nearby where a visitor might park on the shoulder. This wasn't that kind of neighborhood.

  Clint Perry didn't ping my radar, but those brake lights made me uneasy. Clint could have brought his own security. Would he want a witness when he broke the restraining order? Why would he start using security now when he never had before?

  Clint wasn't the reason for those brake lights. I jogged back up the drive, making a mental note to add cameras along the street.

  Back in Rycroft, I knocked on the door to the control room, a quick pattern of three knocks, followed by two slow ones. The locks clicked open in rapid succession. Summer stood there, blue eyes searching my face, scanning down to my feet, only relaxing when she saw I was in one piece.

  Saying nothing, she stepped back to let me in. Cynthia, who'd been sitting in a chair beside Griffen, stood and threw herself against me, burrowing against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, stroking a hand down her back.

  Cynthia had been flirting with me since I'd arrived, but that was her default. She was a lot like me; she flirted as easily as she breathed. It didn't mean anything.

  This hug wasn't flirtation. This was fear and pain, nerves strung to the breaking point. Summer looked anywhere but at me holding Cynthia, crossing her arms over her chest and conspicuously studying the monitors, now showing nothing more than the empty grounds and gardens.

  Cynthia shuddered in my arms, not crying, but so tense she was having trouble breathing. I didn't have the heart to push her away.

  "Everything's okay," I reassured her. "He left. You saw on the monitors. He can't get through the gates, and he didn't seem to mean any harm. Not this time."

  "Will he be back?" Cynthia asked, tremulously.

  "I don't know," I said honestly. "I think it's likely, but if he does come back I doubt it'll be today. I want you to stay in the house for the rest of the day. Can you do that?" Cynthia nodded.

  Looking to Summer, thinking of the brake lights, I said, "I'm taking you on your errand."

  With adrenaline buzzing in my veins, I couldn't bring myself to leave Summer in anyone's hands but mine. Before Summer could object, Cynthia pressed herself harder against me, looking up with limpid eyes.

  "No, absolutely not. You're staying here with me. If Summer needs security, Griffen can take her."

  Griffen shot me a look and raised an eyebrow. Never mind that I'd been about to let Griffen take her twenty minutes before. Never mind that she'd be safe with him, especially considering I wasn't absolutely sure she was under threat.

  Logically, I knew all that was true. Still, I said, "Cynthia, you'll be fine."

  The diva made her appearance. Cynthia straightened and propped her hands on her narrow hips. "I know I will. Because you're staying here with me. You're the head of security and I'm the client. That's your job. Summer will be perfectly fine with Griffen." Looking over her shoulder at Griffen she said, "Won't she, Mr. Sawyer?"

  The apologetic glance Griffen shot in my direction surprised me. I expected him to smirk at seeing me thwarted once again. He must have known how close I was to the edge.

  Grudgingly, I gave in. "All right. Griffen, it's closing in on five o'clock. Take Summer to the stationery shop before it closes. There and back, no detours. Got it?"

  "Got it, boss." Griffen slid his arm around Summer's shoulders as he led her from the room, sending me a sly wink. Asshole.

  I shook my head as Cynthia said, "I need to shower after that workout. Come with me to my suite."

  Great. The stiff set of Summer's shoulders told me she'd heard every word.

  Fuck me. Cynthia didn't know, hadn't done it on purpose, but the last thing I needed was for Summer to think I was banging her boss.

  Chapter Nine

  Evers

  Rycroft Castle was quiet. Finally. Cynthia had too much wine at dinner, overcompensating for the stress of the afternoon, and insisted we all gather in the theater to watch a movie.

  Summer was the only one who escaped, pointing out that if she didn't finish the invitations no one would show up to Cynthia's party. The rest of us piled into the theater room, popped some popcorn, and watched an absurd, repetitive chick flick Cynthia just had to see.

  I understood that she didn't want to be alone. I knew she was under a lot of pressure. And if she forced me to watch another movie like that, she was going to have to find a new head of security.

  Griffen stayed in the control room watching the monitors. I was supposed to be in bed, catching some sleep before my shift in the control room.

  I couldn't do it. I couldn't lay down in that bed across the hall from Summer and find sleep. I tried. I stared at the ceiling. Counted sheep. Closed my eyes and remembered Summer. Her soft skin, the smell of her hair. The way she'd fall asleep against me, her arm draped across my chest.

  The way she'd trusted me and the way I'd ruined it all.

  I'd never spent the whole night with her. I'd wanted to. Thought about it so many times. But when I got close, when I convinced myself just once wouldn't make a difference, I'd hear my father in my ear.

  Never let them get their claws in you, kid. Just fuck and go. They all say they love you. Say they want a ring. A family. What they really want is your freedom.

  My dad was an asshole when it came to women. He cheated on my mom constantly. I never understood why she put up with him. She'd once told me, after a few too many gin and tonics, there'd never been a divorce on either side of the family, and she had no intention of being the first. Lacey Sinclair was not a quitter.

  Upholding tradition didn't seem worth a lifetime of misery. When we got word my father was dead, I'd swear the look in her eyes was relief.

  My father liked the idea of molding the next generation of Sinclairs. He'd pat me on the back and say, You're just like me, kid. A ladies’ man, too smart to get tied down.

  I knew he was wrong. The cheating. The way he treated my mom. I didn't want to be him, no matter how much he saw himself in me.

  In the hidden chambers of my heart, I was terrified he was right.

  That dead look in my mother's eyes when he came home smelling of perfume. The way she went straight to the bottle to drown it out.

  I couldn't do that to a woman. I wouldn't.

  I focused on my job, on building Sinclair Security into more than just the premier security agency in the country. We had ambitions, my brothers and I, and a woman, a family, didn't fit.

  That's what I told myself. Despite seeing Axel fall in love, I'd been so sure it wasn't for me. I'd had no idea what I was missing, moving from one empty fuck to another. No clue how miserable I'd be once I had a taste of something real and lost it.

  Was she sleeping across the hall now? Tucked under the covers, the crease of the pillow on her cheek, gold lashes fanned across her skin?

  Was she wearing one of her cute tank top and boxer-short pajamas that made her look like a college student? Or one of her silky bits of lace she said she wore because she liked the feel of the fabric on her skin?

  Without even thinking of it,
I reached beneath the covers and palmed my half-hard cock. I'd been on the edge of an erection since I'd seen Summer earlier that afternoon. My cock and my hand hadn't spent this much time together since I hit puberty.

  I won't lie. After Summer threw me out, I thought about going to another woman. Hell, I’d tried. Once. Every other female left me cold.

  I squeezed my fingers hard on the length of my cock and stroked, remembering the smell of her, lemon and flowers and woman. The tight, clasping heat of her pussy. The bounce of her breasts when I fucked her. The way she kissed me when I was inside her, hungry and demanding and so fucking sweet.

  With a grunt of sheer frustration, I rolled from the bed and threw myself into a cold shower, gritting my teeth as my soap-slick hand pumped my cock. Summer, her teeth biting her lip, pupils dilated with orgasm. My mouth sucking her breasts.

  When I came, the pleasure was hollow, a momentary relief that did nothing to assuage the craving deep inside me. My hand was a poor substitute for Summer, barely better than nothing at all.

  I stepped out of the shower and dried my hair, deciding to walk the house. Clearly, I wasn't going to sleep. I'd make sure everything was quiet—though I already knew it was, considering that my phone was jacked into the monitoring system. I could make myself a cup of herbal tea or some shit in the kitchen. Maybe see if I could hunt up a shot of whiskey.

  Lit by moonlight and silent as a tomb, Rycroft Castle left me feeling as if I'd stepped back in time. The place was unbelievable. Over the top. And this is coming from a guy who's been in and out of some of the best homes in Atlanta. In the country. I practically grew up rattling around Winters House.

  Rycroft Castle was something else. As I'd expected, the place was sealed up tight. Quiet outside. Quite inside. I didn't stop in the control room, knowing Griffen would give me crap for being awake.

  Done with my rounds, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping I'd find a box of herbal tea. I thought wistfully of a few fingers of whiskey. The bar was stocked with the best, but I had a shift in the control room in less than six hours, and I didn't want alcohol in my system. Bad enough that I was short on sleep.

  I pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen and stopped at the unexpected gasp of surprise. Summer, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, her blonde curls in a messy knot on the top of her head, a tea kettle in one hand and a box of tea in the other.

  "Exactly what I was thinking," I said. At her look of confusion, I tilted my head at the teapot. "I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd make a cup of tea."

  "You drink tea?" Summer asked, looking from the box of herbal blend to me and back again.

  "Not usually," I admitted. "I figured it couldn't hurt."

  "Do you want me to make you a mug?" Summer asked, her voice quiet. Hesitant.

  "If you don't mind, I'd appreciate it." So polite. I fucking hated the distance, but it was better than me being a jackass and her hating me even more.

  "How are the invitations going?" I asked, floundering for something to say.

  Summer set the kettle on the gas burner, dropped a teabag in each of the mugs she'd pulled from the cabinet, and turned around to face me. Leaning against the counter, she looked down at her fingers, the tips stained dark with splotches of ink.

  She stretched her hands, using the heel of her palm to press her fingers back on one hand then switching and doing the same to the other.

  "They're done. It took forever, but they're done."

  "All of them? Seventy-five invitations?"

  "Yep. At least we kept it short. Just Cynthia Stevens cordially invites you, etc., with the date and time, RSVP to my phone number."

  "Your hands are sore?"

  I watched her rubbing her fingers. She'd been in her office for hours working on those invitations.

  She shrugged a shoulder. "Calligraphy always makes my fingers sore. That much of it…"

  I crossed the room, holding up a hand when she started to back away.

  "Don't. I know you're angry. I know you hate me. But let me help."

  Summer didn't move. Her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, she reminded me of a doe startled in the woods. The slightest wrong move and she'd bound away.

  I reached out and took her fingers in mine, keeping my distance but pulling her hand closer. I pressed my thumbs into the meat of her palm, massaging the tight muscles. Her knuckles were red and swollen.

  "Your fingers must be killing you," I said.

  "Yeah," she breathed.

  Sidling closer, I changed my grip on her hand, working my thumbs into her palm, massaging her strained muscles, chasing away the pain one sore finger at a time.

  I glanced up once to see her slumped against the counter, head dropped, eyes closed, teeth sunk into her lower lip. It took everything I had not to pull her into my arms.

  My kneading fingers moved from her hand to her wrist, then her forearm where her muscles had tightened into hard knots. Seventy-five invitations, all in calligraphy. Normally I liked Cynthia, but this party was bullshit. She worked Summer too hard. Expected too much.

  "Feel better?" I asked.

  "Mmm-hmm," Summer answered, her voice fuzzy with exhaustion. I recognized that tone. She was only minutes away from passing out.

  "Turn around," I said softly.

  She didn't answer but pulled her hand from mine and turned, giving me her back. Brushing stray tendrils of hair off her shoulders, I closed a hand around the base of her neck and squeezed. She let out a low groan.

  "Your muscles are like rocks. Your shoulders are so tight."

  "Bending over my desk for hours," she murmured. I worked my thumbs into her traps, loosening the tension, relaxing her, doing everything I could to drag out the moment. To keep touching her.

  She sighed, sagging with fatigue as her strained muscles eased. I wanted to tell her to go to bed, to get some sleep, but I didn't want to leave. I worked my thumbs around her shoulder blades, and she let out a moan of pleasure that had my cock rock hard in an instant.

  Leaning into her, I dropped my head, my lips grazing her hair, breathing in the lemon and flowers scent of her.

  "Summer," I whispered, "Summer. I—"

  Chapter Ten

  Evers

  She turned her head—maybe to move away, maybe to say something—and my mouth grazed the warm skin at her temple. She went stiff for a heartbeat before she shifted to face me, lifting her face to mine, her eyes shadowed and impossible to read.

  Following instinct, I dropped my mouth to hers in a soft, gentle kiss, giving her all the time in the world to move away.

  "Summer," I breathed against her mouth, my lips brushing hers with a tenderness I'd never known until her. "I missed you so much."

  Cupping her cheek in my hand, I deepened the kiss. She tasted the same. Better. Everything I remembered and more. I dropped my arm around her back, pulling her flush against me, the need inside me breaking through, pushing me to kiss her harder, to take more. To take everything.

  The shrill of an alarm sliced through the heavy quiet in the kitchen. Summer stiffened, jumping back, her arms swinging wide in surprise and panic, knocking over the mugs and almost hitting the boiling kettle behind her.

  I tugged her clear of the stove, letting go when she jerked from my grip and wrapped her arms across her chest. I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the screen.

  The perimeter alarm again. This time in the back of the property. A gate in the wall adjoining the neighboring lot. I pulled up Griffen's contact and called. Faster than running down the stairs.

  "Where are you?" he demanded.

  "Kitchen. I've got it."

  "You sure?" he asked.

  "I'm right by the door."

  "Be careful. The camera can't get a solid view, but it's not Perry."

  "Got it." I slid the phone in my pocket and looked up to see Summer watching me, her eyes wide with nerves and a hint of fear.

  "Is it Clint again?"

  "Someone's trying to get in th
e back gate. Tampering with the lock. We don't have a good angle on the camera, which means they know it's there. Griffen said it doesn't look like Clint."

  "If it isn't Clint, who is it?"

  "That's what I'm going to find out," I said, reaching behind me out of habit to check that my gun was in my holster. I pulled a small earpiece from my pocket and slipped it in my ear. Griffen popped online with, "Got me, boss?"

  "Got you," I murmured back.

  "Shouldn't you call the police? If someone's trying to break in?"

  I resisted the urge to laugh. She was tense. Brittle. Break-ins and angry spouses weren't Summer's life.

  "This is my job, Summer. I can handle it. Go to your room. There's nothing to worry about."

  "I'll wait here. Go. I know you need to go. I'll be right here. Come tell me what happened so I know you're okay."

  "I'll be right back. I promise."

  I left Summer in the kitchen and raced to the side door of the house, headed straight for the wall surrounding the property. I was through the access door by the garage in less than a minute, sprinting down the length of the tall limestone wall as silently as possible.

  In my ear, Griffen said, "Must have spooked him. He's taking off. Headed north along the wall."

  A shadow moved ahead of me. A tree swaying in the breeze, a cloud passing in front of the moon, or my intruder. I put on an extra burst of speed.

  "He's off the cameras. Last I saw he was still moving north along the wall but about twenty feet west, just out of range. He did recon."

  Fuck. This was not looking like Clint Perry. Clint did not do recon. Clint Perry showed up at the gates with a sad bouquet of flowers looking like a kicked puppy. This was something else. Fucking fuck.

  To my left, I caught movement in the dark. Definitely not Clint Perry. Shorter and leaner. And fast. Fucking fast. The figure took off, weaving through the trees, slipping in and out of the dappled moonlight, feet crunching branches.