One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

Her palm is flat on my stomach, and she spreads her fingers wide. “I’ve thought about it before, and actually, it’s a pretty easy decision. You?”

Wrapping my fingers around her slim arm, I slide my palm up her skin as I think. “Invisibility would be better for my job.” Her fingers curl and her nails bite against my skin. “Still, I’d really love to jump up and just... fly.”

I feel her cheek rise against my skin. “Where would you go?”

Wherever you are. I don’t say that, of course. “Everywhere—Paris, Bora Bora...”

“I’d visit the desert then Australia...”

“The Tahj Mahal...”

“Dubai.”

My arms tighten around her. “You think living on a boat is ultimate freedom. Try flying.”

Chapter 11: The Signal

Amy

Fear ripples through my chest like pebbles in a rain stick. I’m lying on the couch with my head in Sylvia’s lap pretending to watch her favorite Victorian-era mini-series with her, but the events of the last twenty-four hours keep spinning through my mind like a tornado.

Marcus blindfolding me, Marcus holding me down, Marcus making me scream, Marcus taking my pictures, holding me in his arms... stroking my hair... asking me about my dreams... talking about flying.

When we parted this afternoon, he kissed me long and slow, and my knees turned to jelly. We only said a quiet goodbye. We hadn’t made promises about the future, there was no going back on our deal, yet I couldn’t make eye contact.

Walking away, driving home, even lying here on the couch, every muscle in my body is a screaming reminder of how many times and how hard we fucked. When I changed clothes this evening, the red marks on my breasts and inner thighs reminded me of how unrestrained we’d been.

Of course, my mother didn’t ask where I’d slept last night, but I know she’s curious. She’s never questioned my independence or put pressure on me to change, and if she started now, I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t want to give her false hope, but at the same time...

It’s like he imprinted me or something, and what’s even more disturbing is the warm pleasure spreading through my belly at the thought.

An involuntary shiver crosses my shoulders, and Sylvia’s quick to mother me. “Are you cold?” She reaches for the cashmere blanket behind her and drapes it over my legs.

“Not really. I must’ve felt a chill.” I’m in grey sweats and a cropped, long-sleeved white tee. “I don’t need a blanket.”

Sitting up, I meet her smile before dropping my chin. I fiddle with the ends of my long, blonde hair fallen over my shoulder. “I think I’ll turn in early.”

Her gentle hand touches my cheek. “I’ll probably do the same. I’ve been tired today.”

Blinking up to her, I notice the faintest dark circles under her eyes—very unlike my highly refined mother—and I scoot toward her, leaning forward into a hug.

“I have to work tomorrow, but maybe we can go for lunch later in the week?”

She rubs my back, and I feel her nod. “Thursday would be better. On Friday I’m supposed to help with the flower arrangements for the gala this weekend.”

That fucking gala. Marcus invited me to go with him. “Are you planning to go?”

“I haven’t decided,” she says with a sigh. “I don’t have an escort, and I’m not sure I feel up to it this year.”

Leaning back, I study her face. “Who did you go with last year?”

Something flickers across her face before she answers. It’s gone just as fast. “Bill was in town, so he went with me.”

“Uncle Bill?” I can’t help wondering what on Earth would drag my reclusive uncle from his sprawling horse ranch in Montana, but Sylvia stands and tightens the belt of her cream silk robe.

“As much as I’d love to visit, I’ve felt a mildly ill all day.”

Hopping up, I place my hand against her forehead. “You don’t have fever.”