Being Emerald (23 page)

Rock stood behind her, also looking at the three-hundred-year-old document. “Too bad it doesn’t mean anything anymore. In this century, not all men were created equal.” He turned and walked away.

The following week was filled with the retrieval, packaging and transfer of priceless art and items of historical significance. Laila meticulously cared for and packaged John Trumbull’s painting of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. But other items on the list, like the Hope Diamond, and printing plates for US currency were either missing or destroyed by vandals.

As Laila admired the next painting she would be preparing for transport, she felt Rock’s sexual need, surging out of him and saturating the area they occupied. It had been over a week since the over-consummation of their relationship. He radiated a constant simmer she couldn’t get away from, adding to her angst at a time when she was already on edge about his still undisclosed plans to leave New Atlanta.

During the first days of the mission, she’d waited for him to tell her. Initially, she was confident that, when the time came to leave, he’d take her with him. But days passed, and the sometimes tedious work she did to prepare items for transport gave her significant time to think of other, less positive scenarios. She dwelled endlessly, wondering why he kept her in the dark. She daydreamed of all the possible things, life changing, future-altering things that would happen if she were to run away with him. It would be crazy, having significant ramifications on her life, including never seeing her mother again and leaving her life’s work behind.

By the end of the first week in DC, she’d found herself emotionally withdrawing in anticipation of the news that someday soon she would have to say goodbye to this man. It was incredibly hard. He often sought her gaze, pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She found it hard to close even one door he’d opened during the two-month inventory he’d taken of her.
When I was sure he loved me
.

He did love her…right? This one secret between them changed her entire perspective on their relationship, and she got a good taste of how it felt to be the person waiting, hoping when the secret was revealed, it wouldn’t tear her world apart.

Since they arrived in DC, they hid their relationship twenty-four hours a day. She felt so far away from him. The sudden, prolonged disconnect had opened her up to doubt and depression that kept getting stronger as the days passed.

After over a week of waiting, there was a change within herself. The blues and insecurity were morphing into something uglier—anger.

She sighed, fingering the chain around her neck and refocusing on the painting in front of her. He hadn’t touched her since that first night, the night of her punishment. Every night since then, they’d lain side by side in their bedrolls with the inches between them feeling more like miles. She’d spent hours lying awake, listening to his even, rhythmic breathing and feeling uneasy about the footing of their relationship. She ached for his enormous frame to surround her. She missed him, missed the routine. Over and over, she thought of his soapy hands sliding over her skin, washing her like he’d done every afternoon since the very first day. The loss of that simple ritual left her feeling detached from him. She missed every single thing they’d spent the last sixty days building. A week ago, she would have said their love was built on bedrock. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She woke near dawn with his vise-like arm around her waist, pulled into the curve of his body with his dick wedged nicely between them. In sleep, his body sought her out, but the erection pressed against her ass was a consolation prize. Something he’d given in sleep. It meant nothing to him but everything to her. Lying awake in his arms, her punishment haunted her. What would their first time together have been like if she hadn’t had to finish her Resistance obligation the night before they left? The natural thought that followed squeezed her chest tight. Would she ever get the chance to find out? She needed his touch so badly she barely contained her arousal. Her body was ready for him, her panties damp as she spent almost an hour longing for his rough palms to rasp over her nipples. She never got it.

A cold, bereft place expanded inside her. This, compounded with her mind’s machinations about whether he would soon leave her wore her patience thin. Something seemed terribly wrong. She wanted to cry or scream most of the time now, feeling muddled with frustration and fear.

They’d spent the last couple of days stalled in the National Gallery of Art. She glanced over her shoulder at the man who, for days, had watched her complete the painstaking work of preparing Renoir’s
A Girl With a Watering Can
for transport.

She tried to wear him down during the hours spent alone with him. She did everything in her power to stoke his need in seemingly innocent ways. His hunger for her spiked every time she brushed against him, and his gaze was on fire when she leaned over, giving him a glimpse of the lace bra covering the curve of her breasts. Nevertheless, he still gave no outward reaction to her provocative teasing, even when no one was around.

It could be his way of distancing himself. That meant he would return her to New Atlanta and leave her there.

“What are you thinking? I’ve never seen that look on your face before.”

Rock’s words sucked her back into the present. “I was actually thinking about you.”

He raised his eyebrows as if surprised at her answer. “What about me?”

“I can’t figure out why you’re working so hard to stonewall me.”

Rock straightened and replaced his expression of interest with his Rock wall. “I’m not.” He began to turn away and walk to the chair by the doorway. Laila grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Is it me? Is there something about me that isn’t attractive to you anymore?”

His expression darkened as he cupped her face. “God, that couldn’t be further from the truth.” His hand lingered on her cheek. A look of sadness, or maybe regret, clouded his face. He twirled a wayward curl around his finger then he dropped his hand.

“Then why haven’t you told me you’re not returning to New Atlanta?” The words were squeezed through her constricted throat. She was a moment away from bawling like a pathetic idiot.

He straightened, obviously surprised she knew. “I’m not sure yet how I want to proceed. I’ll tell you once I’ve decided.” His tone had been sharp, the words clipped.

“What exactly needs to be decided?” She waited for his answer, heart thumping hard in her chest. He’d find the right words. He’d tell her he’d never leave her. This worry she’d been carrying around with her would seem like a silly tangent her mind had traveled.

He glanced over his shoulder in the direction where they’d left Garret and Sydney. “When I know, you’ll know, and that’s all I have to say on the subject right now.”

Laila looked down at her toes. It was not the profession of love she’d been hoping for. She deflated. “Okay. I get the message. I’ll leave you alone.”

Rock squared his jaw and stared down at her with a cool mask of indifference. She waited for him to say something else, but got nothing. For an instant, she felt his struggle, and then that was gone, too. She didn’t feel the connection she craved, only a vague sense of isolation. He had closed himself off.

Laila turned her attention back to her work, essentially turning her back on him. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to get a grip on her emotions. How the hell did her dream, her heart’s desire to be on this mission turn into something else entirely? She was miserable and very tired of the bipolar roller coaster ride of hope and rejection. She’d had enough.

The simmering anger she’d been harboring since she woke up that morning advanced to a rolling boil. His detachment made her crazy and exposed her insecurities, making her feel desperate and pathetic. Fury rose within her. Her face heated with the rise of her blood pressure. She pulled in a long breath. She had never been so mad at anyone, ever.

Rock moved behind her. Then, his hand landed on her shoulder. He turned her around and sighed. “Laila—”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she warned through clenched teeth. “I never want you to fucking touch me again.” She jerked herself out of his grasp and walked away, never looking back.

* * * *

Rock’s attempt to stall his decision had unintentionally hurt Laila, but he hadn’t known it until just now. He found her where Garret and Sydney stood at the front entrance of the museum. Laila stood close to Garret with her head tilted up, looking at him and smiling. Fucking smiling, when just a moment ago she’d shot him a look that made him flinch.

Sydney looked down on his sweet girl with sheer hatred in her eyes. He’d not seen the woman look at Laila like that before. He swore under his breath and knew he’d made their lives more dangerous by putting Sydney in her place all those weeks ago. Blood rushed full bore through his veins. His temper rose and his thoughts roared, demanding Laila be moved away from Garret and Sydney. Standing there, watching Laila’s silhouette in the open doorway, Rock came to the harsh realization that, for the first time in his life, he was stuck. He was off his game, scattered and indecisive. There was no right answer to the dilemma of where to keep her as safe as possible while he set up their home. There were only varying levels of danger.

The unknown of traveling and establishing a home base was overwhelmingly more dangerous than being an Emerald in New Atlanta. Yet, he hadn’t been able to tell her he’d be leaving her there. Probably because he knew they’d both languish without the other. As the days progressed and the withdrawal from their constant connection affected her, he was glad he hadn’t. His tentative decision, to leave her in New Atlanta, began to vacillate again. The more time elapsed, the more she deteriorated.

He didn’t want her to suffer when they were apart, and she would. She already suffered from the distance between them even though they’d still been in each other’s presence twenty-four hours a day. The only thing that had changed between them since they’d left New Atlanta was the intimacy. And on this, he wouldn’t budge. If Sydney and Garret knew they were in love, it would only take a minute for Morgan to know too, after they returned to New Atlanta. That would be a dangerous position for Laila, especially with him still in Onyx, setting up their home. It was actually safer if Sydney and Garret saw they weren’t getting along.

Rock followed Laila as she left the two guardsmen at the doorway. Her long brown curls bounced along with her determined strides. He caught up to her at the truck. She let out a disgusted huff and tried to walk away. He caught her easily and trapped her against the flat metal side of the armored vehicle, placing his hands on each side of her body and closing in on her.

“Laila.”

She wouldn’t look at him.

“Peanut.” He caught her chin and directed her gaze to meet his. “I don’t know if you’d be safer in New Atlanta or with me.”

Laila’s grief-stricken expression declared her emotional state loud and clear. Her eyes traveled over his face until their gazes locked again.

“So you’d leave me?” she whispered.

“Right now, I think leaving you is probably the safer option of the two.” He continued to withhold his emotions, not wanting to overwhelm her with his turmoil. But even that backfired, because his statement was so devoid of emotion, it seemed to add to her distress.

Her brittle composure snapped like a twig. “Please don’t. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“Yes, it does,” he said gently. “There’s no future for us in Atlanta.” He stared down at her, reading the emotions as they flashed quickly and jumbled across her features. Her jaw dropped as she stood staring at him. “I can’t believe what you’re saying to me right now.”

He stepped in closer. The planes of their bodies skimmed against one another. With his lips close to her, he rumbled, “I’ll set up a safe place and come back for you.”

Laila shivered as the air from his words wafted over the curve of her ear. “Please don’t leave me, Rock. Please.” Her plea broke his heart. Tears trailed down her cheeks. “Please.”

He looked over his shoulder and caught the approach of the two guards he’d left behind at the museum. “Now is not the time for this discussion.”

“So when is a good time, Rock?”

“I don’t know, but now isn’t it.”

“I hate you for doing this to me,” she seethed. Laila swung her arm in a wide arc, and Rock caught her wrist, stopping the slap aimed at his face. He growled, squeezing her wrist tightly. “I know this is hard, but I’m right here. You have to trust me, trust what we’ve built.” His words were a low rumble, meant to soothe as much as caution. But when he looked in her eyes, he realized they’d done neither.

“Let me go!” she yelled as she attempted to yank her wrist out of his grasp.

“Hey!”

They both turned as Garret walked toward them.

“Step off, Garret. This doesn’t concern you,” Rock stated coolly. From the corner of his eye, Rock saw Laila ever so slightly shake her head. She was signaling Garret to let it go, treating him as if he could read her. And, he could, because Garret stopped in his tracks.

Rock turned away from Garret and Sydney, who’d just joined them, and strode in the opposite direction, dragging Laila behind him.

“Why are you giving him signals?” he hissed as he put distance between them and the man who was quickly growing to be his nemesis.

Garret caught him by the shoulder and swung around. “Let her go.”

Rock released Laila’s hand and stepped into Garret’s personal space. “You need to go away before I snap your neck.”

Garret took a step toward him. “You could try.” The words were barely out of Garret’s mouth before Rock rushed the man. Garret landed with a thud on the pavement, taking the brunt of the fall with Rock’s weight on top of him.

Laila yelled for him to stop, grabbing at his Kevlar vest, pulling him back. She whispered in his ear, “He’s Resistance, Rock.”

Rock stopped at those words, and Garret got in a good jab to the side of Rock’s face before Rock had the chance to scramble off the man.