I Belong to You (21 page)

Twenty-one

Crystal . . .

I turn over the photo of the man with the scar, and shiver. There’s something about him that spooks me, and I don’t get spooked. “Who is he?” I repeat.

“Everyone out,” Mark orders, pushing to his feet.

The entire room is standing in a blink, making tracks for the door, but Royce lingers. “I’ll call you after that situation is handled.”

Mark gives him a nod. “The sooner, the better.”

“Agreed.”

By the time he’s followed the rest of the men into the hallway and shut the door, I’m on my feet, too.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“The man in the photo is a high-dollar mercenary who’s traveling with Ava. We don’t think he’s working for her. We think he was hired by someone with deep pockets.”

“What exactly does a mercenary do? Did he help her escape?”

“This one is a high-paid assassin. Killing people is what he excels at, and someone with a lot of money obviously contracted him.”

I lean against the conference table. “Oh God. He was in my face, standing right here.” I hold my hand an inch from my face. “Right here, Mark.”

I welcome the way his big body frames mine, his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. “Ryan is being arrested on money laundering charges, and we think he’s behind this. That gets him off the street.”

“It doesn’t get that monster off the street, or Ava.”

Mark cups my cheeks. “I need you to go to Paris until we catch this guy.”

“I’m not going to Paris.” I pull his hands from my face and try to push away from him, but he doesn’t budge. “Don’t do this now, Mark. This is one of those rare times I can feel trapped very easily.”

He instantly steps back and I dart away.

“I’ve been fine through all of this. Completely fine, but what if that man comes after my family? I have to warn them. I have to go see my father today.”

“We’ll go see him together.”

“No, we won’t. He’ll hate you before you ever have the chance to defend yourself. I need to see him myself. I need to call him and figure out when we can meet.” I press my hand to my forehead. “I don’t even want to go to his house tomorrow night. That’s going to bring attention to my family, but he’s going to insist.” I shake my head. “I can’t go see him. That’s not safe. I have to call him.”

“If I could turn back time and make this go differently, I would.”

The rough quality of his voice stills me, and I meet his eyes. “I know. This isn’t your fault.” I wrap my arms around him, inhaling that wonderful, masculine scent of him that somehow soothes my frazzled nerves. “I just can’t lose my family.” I step back and draw in a calming breath. “I need to make the call here. I have two employees in my office going over paperwork.”

He kisses my forehead. “I’ll shut the door on my way out.”

I walk to the opposite end of the long table, where a phone sits, and dial my father’s cell number.

He answers in two rings. “Well, hello, honey. Since my caller ID says you’re calling me from work, I assume you haven’t decided to slow down.”

“I’ll take time off when you take time off.”

“That’s not the answer I wanted to hear.”

“I have a huge auction next weekend.”

“What’s wrong?”

I frown at the phone. “What makes you say something is wrong?”

“I know you. It’s in your voice.”

I dive right in. “You know that the woman who killed Rebecca is on the run, but now it seems she’s teamed up with some sort of mercenary. He . . . I had a brush with him a few days ago. Outside the gallery. He came right up to me and smiled, and then just walked away. I didn’t know who he was then, but—”

“You’re quitting. Right now. We’ll get you out of the country.”

“You’d clearly get along well with Mark. He wants to send me to Paris.”

“That SOB is why you’re in trouble. He’s not sending you anywhere.”

“This isn’t his fault, Dad. You know that. You’re being protective and I appreciate that, but—”

“You’re quitting, Crystal.”

“No, I’m not. It solves nothing. Dad, I’m in love with Mark, and if the plan is to hurt him, I’ll still be a target anywhere I go.”

He’s silent for several heavy beats. “You love him.”

I think of the way he sat down on the floor with me, the way he tried to get me to read Rebecca’s journals to bare all to me, and my answer is easy. “Yes. I love him.”

“You’ve never said that about a man before.”

“I’ve never felt it before.” Then I laugh. “And he can pay his own bills.”

He doesn’t laugh. “I want to meet him. Bring him tomorrow night.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t come. I don’t want to bring attention to you.”

“You’re coming, and you’re bringing Mark Compton. I have plenty of security. I’m going to send someone over to you.”

“I have security people all around me, Dad. Mark won’t let me breathe without someone supervising.”

“Who’s handling the security procedures?”

“Walker Security.”

“I’ve heard of Walker. I’ll be checking them out quite thoroughly.”

We chat for a few more minutes and end the call. I was wrong when I said Mark and I were two bulls after the same red flag. He and my father have become the two bulls, and I’m the red flag.

I exit the conference room to find Mark leaning against the wall, and I walk over to him. “He wants us to come tomorrow night. It’s not going to be an easy meeting.”

He wraps his arm around me and holds me close. “I can handle it. Royce called. They used Ryan’s credit card to track him to his hotel.”

“Can they legally do that?”

“I really don’t care. He was at the Omni hotel, a few blocks from here.”

“Where you were staying before you moved in with me?”

“He knew it was my place of choice. Royce pulled strings to pick him up for questioning about Corey. They’ll build the case for the money laundering while he’s there.”

“Good. No word on Ava or the mercenary?”

“Jimenez is his name, and no. No word on either of them, but we have a lot of people working on this. Now that Ryan is being arrested, we suspect the police will be brought in on the entire plot.”

“Which is what?”

“Hurting me. And I can only assume that’s because I applied pressure to expose Ryan as being involved in Rebecca’s death. I think we should go home and stay in tonight. I’m telling my father I need to stay away from NYU until this is over.” He strokes my hair. “Ryan’s in custody. They’re going to make him talk.”

His voice is strong and confident, but I sense his unease. I know he’s worried there’s a whole lot more trouble headed our way.

*  *  *

Much later in the evening, Mark and I have eaten the sandwiches we picked up on the way to the apartment and managed to end up naked in the bedroom, where he is tender and loving and . . . vanilla.

By the time we’re headed to vanilla event number three, my fear is confirmed. Because of who he decided I was last night, he can’t be himself, and we can’t be the us that we were becoming. Frustrated, even hurt by the way the past is invading my future, I shove him to his back and straddle him. “I wish I’d never told you about my claustrophobia. Stop treating me like I’m breakable.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I let out a growl. “You don’t wear naïveté any better than you do vanilla. Either fuck me like
Mr. Compton
, or don’t fuck me at all.” I climb off him and scramble across the bed, barely managing to escape his reach.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls out as I dart away.

“To take a bubble bath. It’s what we delicate girls do.” I try to slam the bathroom door but he’s there in a blink, catching it before it shuts. “This is why I don’t tell people I’m claustrophobic, or that I was a foster kid, Mark. They feel sorry for me, or like you, they think I’m fragile.”

“You think that I think you’re fragile?” He sets me on the bathroom counter. “You want to be pushed, I’ll happily push you, sweetheart. I was just letting your pretty pink backside recover.” He steps back and leans on the wall, his shaft thick, his eyes hot with challenge. “Touch yourself. I want to see you make yourself come.”

My bravado fades instantly and I feel the blood leave my face. Mark closes the gap between us, grasping the counter on either side of my hips. “Remember what I said, Ms. Smith. I say. You do.”

“Yes, but I’ve never . . . Not for someone else.”

“Because delicate girls never do.”

Before I can make a smart remark, he takes my hand and presses it between my thighs, using my fingers to explore the swollen, slick seam of my body. The effect is pure erotic thrill, proof that his skills at seduction and control are revved to full throttle. And he’s not done.

Claiming my free hand, he molds it to my breast, kneading and stroking my nipple. The double assault of pleasure has me on sensory overload, and my lashes lower with the impact. “No,” he orders roughly. “Eyes open. I want to see you, and you to see me.”

My eyes snap open, and he wastes no time pushing for another reaction. He,
we,
stroke deeper into the slick heat of my sex, pressing two of my fingers inside my body. I gasp, and not just from the nerve endings we awaken. From the
intensely
intimate experience of touching myself with him. But even more so, it’s the possessive demand in his eyes that says if he wants to own me, he can and will. Pleasure blossoms, thick and sweet, a burn in my belly, a tingling sensation in my nipples. Inhibitions fade, and when his hands leave my hands, settling on my knees, I continue to touch myself, letting him watch. Letting myself go where I would go if I were alone. And I like the tension in his body, the hunger in his expression, that says maybe, just maybe, I own him, too. He leans in and kisses my neck, trailing his lips downward, until he’s licking my fingers where they cover my breast, his teeth scraping the nipple. It pushes me over the edge and into orgasm with barely a warning; I stiffen as my body clenches and spills over into spasms.

Mark doesn’t give me time to revel in the sensations, lifting me and setting me on the floor, then turning me to face the mirror. A few strokes of his fingers between my thighs follow, quickly replaced by the hard drive of his cock stretching me, pleasing me. The thick pulse of his shaft presses to the deepest parts of my sex, creating a fierce physical need.
Everything
about him makes me need. And need more.

My head drops forward and his fingers instantly twine into my hair, pulling my head up. “Look at me,” he tells me, thrusting harder, deeper, as if punishing me, the movement an erotic tug on my scalp. I can hear my own panting, the raspy, urgent whimpers I make. And that mirror is a window to
his
need, his passion and demand. Seeing this, knowing I’ve created it, sends me over the edge. Without warning, no chance to delay and savor our shared pleasure, my sex spasms and my eyes close. But this time, Mark doesn’t seem to notice. As I am lost in my release his hands leave my hair, bracing against my hips for a fierce, final thrust.

I’m in the aftermath of the desire-filled escape that he so easily creates, my knees weak. I’m about to collapse when Mark catches me, steadying me. Once I’m steady he pulls out of me, leaving me gasping with the suddenness of the action. The sticky, wet proof of our intimacy is instant, and I grab the towel on the sink.

Mark’s eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Still feel delicate?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I’m sure.” I turn in his arms and wrap mine around his neck. “I need to know you can handle my past, and not do what you did tonight.”

“I can handle anything you need me to handle.”

My past simmers on my tongue, but I contain it, still uncertain of its release after the reserve he showed tonight.

He
is
a Master. It’s still a part of him, no matter how he’s softened.

Twenty-two

Crystal . . .

Sunday morning begins with Mark receiving a million phone calls. I hop into the shower to get ready for my spa day with Dana. By the time he heads to the bathroom, I’ve showered and dressed in dark navy jeans, a “Pink” brand T-shirt, and pink Keds.

I’m in the kitchen, coffee cup in hand and wondering about Jimenez, when Mark walks in and proves he does faded jeans and a navy blue Ralph Lauren shirt as sexily as he does suits. “I’m coming with you to my parents’ house,” he announces.

I crinkle my nose. “You want to be at our spa day? You realize it’s hair color and nails and other girly stuff, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he confirms, walking to the cabinet for a cup.

I watch as he fills it. “You were on the phone a long time.”

“I wanted to get everything out of the way before we’re with my mother. To summarize: Jimenez is already on the FBI’s wanted list, but they’ve now issued a bulletin that he’s potentially been spotted with Ava, who is also on the list.”

I inhale and let it out. “But no news on where they’re at.”

He gives a grim shake of his head. “No news.”

I nod, and hyperfocus on refilling my cup to keep my mind from going crazy, thinking about how Jimenez scares me. “What about that detective who tried to ambush you at NYU? Has he backed off, now that Jimenez is in the picture?”

“My attorney is in Long Island dealing with him, but no. He thinks I created the story to get attention off me.”

I set my cup down, indignant for him. “He can’t be serious.”

“I wish he wasn’t.”

“So now what?”

“Royce wants to talk to your father’s security people.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Why?”

“He’s just trying to make sure everyone is on the same page and safe. Can you call your father and arrange it?”

I grab my phone from the counter. “Yes.” The knot in my stomach seems to be growing by the second. This hired professional killer, who has me, and the people I love, on his radar, terrifies me.

*  *  *

Hours after arriving at his parents’ place, I’ve managed to set everything aside and laugh with Dana and Mark. Dana’s hair is colored, mine is cut, and both of us have manicures. By the time the stylist has left, Dana is smiling but worn-out. With plenty of time left before our evening dinner with my family, Mark and I settle on either side of Dana on the bed to watch television. When she flips the channel to the movie
Message in a Bottle,
Mark grumbles, but he endures. It’s charming, sweet, and sexy, and I wonder how he managed to keep this part of him alive, when he’d wrapped himself in hard control for so many years.

It’s a good day that’s made even better when Asher, the tattooed employee of Walker Security I’d met a couple of days before, drops by to let us know he’s located the press leak in the building. Turns out it’s the mailman, who has been “dealt with.” We cling to the small piece of good news as if it’s a big breakthrough.

Later in the afternoon, Mark and I stop by a specialty retail shop he favors, and he purchases a large selection of clothes, having brought a limited quantity in his suitcases. Aside from how intimate the shopping experience feels, it delivers a sense of security I don’t realize I need until I experience it. He’s filling the closet here with me, intending to stay in New York.

Too soon, it’s time to head to my apartment—
our
apartment—and change out of our jeans to something nicer for the family dinner. Mark dresses in black slacks and tailored white dress shirt, going sans jacket, while I choose a casual red dress to match his tie. The red had been Dana’s suggestion to bring us luck, which I fear we’re going to need tonight.

We arrive at my father’s penthouse suite overlooking Central Park at seven o’clock on the dot. “Should I ring the bell?” Mark asks, after I stare at it for a full sixty seconds.

I turn to him. “He’s going to be protective.”

He caresses my cheek. “A good father should be.”

The door opens and I jerk around guiltily, as if Mark and I are teenagers who just got caught kissing. My father and stepmother stand in the entryway, him looking his normal tall, elegant self in gray dress slacks and a white button-down, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. My stepmother, Anna, looks pretty and conservative in a long blue floral skirt with a light blue silk blouse, her raven hair tied at the nape.

“Mom and Dad,” I begin, “this is—”

“Mark Compton,” my father supplies, offering his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Mark shakes his hand. “Not all good, I’m sure.”

My father tightens his grip and holds on, pinning Mark in a direct stare. “She’s in danger, and I don’t like it.”

Mark doesn’t miss a beat. “Neither do I, Mr. Smith, and I’d send her out of the country if she’d go.”

I groan and move forward to hug Anna, whispering, “Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.”

She laughs and I follow her down the short hallway, which is floored with the same gorgeous black African wood that runs through the house. Pausing as we reach the contemporary living room furnished in soft blues, I glance behind me. Mark and my father are huddled together, speaking softly.

Sighing, I turn back to Anna. “They’re either going to throttle each other, or plot my deportation.”

Evidently not worried about either possibility, she motions me forward. “Leave them to work it out. The boys are hanging out in the kitchen, ready to pounce on the lasagna when I take it out of the oven. It should be ready in about thirty minutes. Just enough time for everyone to chat and have a drink before we start.”

“The boys?” I tease at the reference to my two older brothers. “Daniel and Scottie are both in their thirties.”

“Scottie is barely thirty and Daniel is only thirty-two. That’s young.”

“Then I’m a baby.”

She wraps her arm around me. “Exactly,” she says, proving how much she feeds the overbearing macho male attitudes in this house. “That’s why they all want to take care of you.”

In the kitchen I find Daniel and Scottie leaning on the island that’s the centerpiece of the gray and white tiled room. They’d done exactly the same thing when I’d cooked for them years before.

“My two Twinkies,” I tease, noting they’re both wearing navy blue, Daniel in a sweater and Scottie in a button-down.

They straighten to their freakishly tall heights to greet me, both with wavy brown hair and green eyes. “We might look alike,” Daniel comments, “but I got all the brains.”

Scottie grimaces. “People who have to claim their own brilliance rarely possess it, and after what you put on her cake, I’d say ‘stupid’ fits. She’s going to make you pay.” He points to the giant chocolate cake sitting in the center of the island.

Anna holds her hand up and shakes her head. “I’ve already yelled.” She heads toward the oven. “Loudly,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Now I’m afraid to look.” I move to the island and grimace as I read, “Soon to be an Old Maid.”

I give my brothers a scathing look. “And you both wonder why I won’t work for you? I’d be taunted half the time, and bossed around the rest.”

“Hey now,” Scottie objects, holding up his hands. “I had nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, please. Daniel just thought of it first. And for both of your information, not every woman needs a man to take care of her. I hope you both end up with a strong woman who teaches you a lesson or ten.”

“I think I’m at about ten.”

The sound of Mark’s voice makes me turn. While his comment is a compliment, there’s an edge of possessiveness to his tone and the way his hand settles on my lower back. Like he doesn’t like something in the exchange. And of course he doesn’t. He’s as protective as they are.

“And apparently,” my father adds, “we won’t be convincing Crystal to come to work for us anytime soon. I’ve just been told that Riptide profits are up substantially under her management.”

“Little sis is kicking some ass,” Scottie says, always the positive one of the group, though still dominant. He just comes at people with a coaxing hand, while Daniel and my father give them a shove.

Daniel focuses a hard stare on Mark. “You must be the notorious media magnet.”

Mark takes the punch on the chin. “Not by choice. I prefer privacy for me and those around me, but it’s not been easy to manage these past few weeks.”

“Sex scandals tend to create problems, I imagine,” Daniel replies dryly, and it’s all I can do not to shake him.

If the flex of Mark’s fingers on my back is any indication, he feels the same. “Under the circumstances,” he says, his tone low and tight, “I really don’t give a damn about sex scandals. I care about the murdering bitch who created them and is now on the loose.”

The room is stunned into silence by the bold rebuttal, but bold and honest is everything my father has always preached. Scottie grins. “Mark Compton, I’m Scottie Smith. The younger, more forward-thinking brother. I hope that they catch the bitch in question—and as for the press, I hear ya, man. They’re like a one-night stand that just won’t go away.”

“Scottie!” Anna exclaims from behind him. “That’s inappropriate.”

Scottie grins and my father chuckles. “Well, he
is
right, Anna.” My father lifts his chin at Mark. “I’m sure Mark here agrees.”

“I plead the Fifth.” He glances at my father. “You’re going to get me in trouble, Hank.”

“Smart man you’ve got there, Crystal,” Anna says, glaring at my father before she turns to open the refrigerator.

I’m having a happy few moments, absorbing Mark being on a first-name basis with my father in record-breaking time, when Daniel pushes off the island and grumpily announces, “I think I’ll go have a drink.” He cuts behind us and disappears.

Scottie sighs. “He had a bad day in the stock market. I’ll go toss that drink down his throat.” He takes off after Daniel, and my father glances at Mark. “Welcome to my home, in all its colorful glory.”

Mark gives him an understanding look. “You don’t know colorful until you spend a few hours with my mother.”

Anna joins us. “Crystal has told us so much about Dana. How are her cancer treatments going?”

“Better, now that Mark is here.” I wrap my arm around him. “He’s totally turned her spirits around.”

Mark drapes an arm around my shoulder. “I want you both to know that Crystal has quite possibly kept my mother alive. Your daughter is special, and so is what she’s done for my family.”

My father’s eyes meet mine. “I know it is—and I know
she
is. Many years ago, she kept me alive.”

My heart squeezes and I go around the counter to hug my father. He buries his face in my hair and whispers, “I’m so damn proud of you.”

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He leans back, his expression going from soft to hard as he releases me and focuses on Mark. “Hurt her, Compton, and I’ll hurt you.”

Approval fills Mark’s eyes, and it pleases me, as I know it will my father. “I’d expect nothing less.”

It’s a perfect answer, but my father quickly makes it known that he is
not
going to let Mark off that easily. “I still have questions.”

I pat my father’s chest. “Of course you do. You always have questions.” I flick a look between the two men. “I’ll let you two work it out.”

I move to the counter and face Anna. “What can I do?”

“I just need to make a salad. Can you slice the tomatoes?”

“Of course,” I say, moving to the fridge.

“You invest all that money you make?” my father asks Mark, as I set several vegetables on the counter and find a knife.

“How do you know I have money?” Mark counters, not missing a beat.

“I had you investigated a couple of weeks ago.”

I whirl around, the blade in my hand. “You did what?”

My father glances at the knife. “Easy there, baby.”

“I’m serious, Dad. You had him investigated?”

“Hell, yes. You work for him under unusual circumstances.”

“I’d do the same,” Mark comments.

I turn my full attention to Mark, the Master himself, and grimace. “Yes, you would. Yet I’m in love with you. Someone help me; I need a sanity pill.” I go back to my tomatoes.

Anna snickers, and Mark dives back into the verbal wrestling match with my father. “In answer to your question, yes, I invest.”

“Any tech stocks in your portfolio?” my father asks.

Anna and I exchange an eye roll at my father’s obvious baiting.

Mark throws the bait back in my dad’s bucket. “Are you asking if I invest in your company?”

“Exactly.”

“I did, but I sold it last year.”

“Why?”

“Better numbers elsewhere. I’m holding out for your next financial report to opt in again.”

Ouch! I glance over my shoulder at the same time my father looks in my direction. “He’s honest. You know I like honest.”

I let out a relieved breath. “Yes, I do.”

“And now I know why she has no filter,” Mark comments.

“I have a filter,” I argue. “And a brain to know when to use it. I just choose not to with you.”

“Don’t I know it,” he comments dryly.

“She had to learn to speak her mind to survive around here,” my father says. “And for the record, I’d really like to comment on the stock situation but I can’t. We can talk after the report.” Then he says, “Now, on to the most important topic of all.”

I hold my breath, waiting for what’s coming.

“Is your father going to go all the way to the championship this season?”

I smile and return to my chopping.

“If he doesn’t,” Mark replies, “my mother will get well just to kick his ass.”

“That’s the truth,” I mumble.

My father chuckles, something he rarely did before Anna came into his life. “You know,” he says, seeming to think out loud, “if anyone can convince Crystal to go to Paris, it’s her.”

“That’s it,” I say, abandoning my slicing duties to face both men, hands on my hips. “You two plotting against me is not the kind of bonding I was hoping for. It’s my pre-birthday celebration.”

Anna joins me, proving that her pride in being the keeper of family traditions will not be tested, even by a Smith and a Compton. “It’s her birthday party,” she states. “I’ve worked hard to make tonight special.”