T. Grey: Tempting Whispers

“Is this your place?”

He pulled the SUV into a garage port on the right side of the house and cut the engine. “Yes.”

The stream of rain pinged off the roof of the garage like rubber balls bouncing up and down. A skitter of awareness flashed through her. She was sitting next to a powerful, strong man in the dark. His eyes stayed forward, hers locked wide, alert on his face. She could see the deft angle of his chin, the hard line of his jaw which held the beginning growth of a beard. The hair on his chin and jaw held a reddish tint, or maybe it was just the moonlight reflecting off something in the garage that played games with her eyes. He looked the same from when she last saw him, yet now when she looked at him, she had different thoughts. Like how she wanted to crawl into his lap and press her lips against the hard line of his jaw.

“I wouldn’t have pictured this.”

“Really. What else did you have in mind?” he asked in a voice that teetered on bored.

“A big, manly-type log cabin.” She couldn’t help but grin.

He shook his head, sending her a contemptuous look. “Lykaens,” he muttered, then got out of the car.

She heard the sound of pouring rain much louder outside. She tossed her satchel of goods over her shoulder and tightened her fist around it. Rain was so innocent, yet every time it did rain, it became a battle not to let it touch you, not to let it win. While she was bouncing on her toes and tracing the nearest door to his house with her eyes, ready to make a sprint for it, he stood at the edge of the garage calmly.

“Come on; we finish this inside.”

Whether it was the rain that sprayed inside the garage splashing against the bare skin of her arms or the deep, almost wicked, tone to his voice, she shivered and followed him. She was drenched by time they made it inside. Not from the rain outside which one could hardly call a downpour or ‘torrential,’ but because he’d chosen to take his fine time getting to the front door. For such a stiff man, he didn’t mind getting his suit drenched. Inside the house, he flipped on the light switch and a variety of lights flickered on throughout the first floor. To the left was a living area with white couches and a glossy black table sitting between them. Around the room were plants in sleek black, bronze, and opal white vases. They even looked real. Vanessa couldn’t believe this place. This looked like the home of a sleek business tycoon...or a serial killer.

She didn’t get a chance to check the rest of the place out because he cleared his throat which snapped her attention to him.

“Hmm? Did you say something?” Her chest tightened at those striking eyes. It was almost unsettling; it gave her the urge to turn away and not stare for long, lest he learn every flaw and problem she had. He might be able to do that anyway, without the help of any possible psychic ability. He was smart, after all.

“Come on. You can take a shower and then you’re going to tell me everything. And I do mean everything, Vanessa.” He stared at her, flat-lipped until she indulged him with a nod. Still, a shiver raced down her spine and not from her wet clothes. Appeased, he made his way up the stairs made of a yellowish wood that shone under the modern chandelier in the foyer. Their wet shoes squished and sloshed uncomfortably loudly in the quiet house. Even a small echo of it sounded from the top floor, which veered off left and right. He took her to a room at the far right and flipped on the light. The room looked like an unused spare bedroom. A normal bed with, not surprisingly, a white comforter on top matched the five-drawer white dresser with an oval mirror above it in a golden frame.

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done,” he said. The order sounding very much like a command.

The door shut behind her and Vanessa could only stand there in the quiet, unfamiliar surroundings and try to orient herself. The room smelled clean, like Pine-Sol. The floors were wood and also shined like everything else in the house. She was leaning closer to serial killer now, than tycoon. She laughed, and it felt so good that she did it again just for the fun of it. She paused after, a silly smile on her face, but no one charged into the room. No asshole stood and loomed over her with fists ready to pummel.

In the bathroom, she let out a low whistle. “Seriously, this is the guest bathroom?” Talk about nice.

Tiled floor in a white stone material which also matched the walls. The double-wide sink sent her brows flying high. The bowl for it was clear like glass and rose up from the bureau. The handles were thin little squares that turned toward her to get hot or cold, and the water spilled out straight from a rectangular nozzle into the clear bowl before draining down. She whistled again.

“Fancy schmancy.” The sink at Joseph’s had a chip in it and a line of rust around the drain. Not so pretty.

A chill swept through her so she pulled off her wet clothes and let them drop into a wet pile on the floor. The shower was square and see-through with a door that opened. Inside was a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, even a disposable razor with the cap still covering it. Did he have women stay here? Was this room for his special ‘dates’? She laughed at the thought, but the sting, surprisingly of jealousy, stabbed her heart. She washed her hair and body and got out of the shower, trodding wetly across the floor to the bathroom cabinet for a towel.

Maybe coming across Brayden was a good thing. Maybe he was just the person to help her. Her pride protested the idea of accepting help from someone, a man even, but things were more important now than her pride. She’d escaped from that asshole and she wasn’t going back, no matter what. She’d planned her escape for too long to let it go wrong now. She was going to do all the things she’d dreamt about—and there had been a lot of dreams—in the past two years. She planned to do every single one of those dreams. She pulled her brush through her hair and checked her reflection in the mirror.

What did he see? He, the man who’d taunted her dreams at night—and even some during the day—ever since she’d met him. Maybe he’d thought of her, too. She combed her wet hair until it hung sleek and heavy around her shoulders to dry. A frown curled her mouth down as she checked her body out from the front, side and back. She hated her body. Okay, hate was too strong of a word. She’d always dreamt of having some kind of luscious goddess-like body that’d have men wiping drool off their faces when they saw her. Instead, she was near stick thin, with hips that didn’t want to curve out, but preferred their nearly straight up and down line. And the breasts? Too small for even a push up bra. And, Lord knows, she’d tried. The push up bras made her look desperate to show off her little A cups.

Before her mother had left her father, back when she was almost ten, she remembered her mother’s words. Her words were some of the only things she could remember, that and little snippets of doing meaningless things with her mother, like cooking dinner together. Vanessa felt her eyes wetting and slammed them shut. She wasn’t angry at her mother anymore; okay, not that angry. She’d left because of dad and she got that. Totally. Though little her still jumped up and down screaming, “Why didn’t you take me!”

She shoved her mother’s memory way far down in her psyche, into the dark place of shit she didn’t like to think about. It didn’t matter anyway. It was over. She hadn’t seen her since she left and she never wanted to. It’d bring up all those emotions she’d long buried. Besides, a part of her really did understand why she did it and why she had to leave her there. Without a proper divorce, which dad would never give her, she couldn’t legally take her away from him. He could’ve had her arrested for kidnapping and sent her to the Justicar’s jail. Not good.