Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3 (20 page)

“Perfect,” he said. “We’ll be in touch, then.”

Karl hugged me again and we parted ways.

Jonathan was quiet in the car while driving me to my studio shoot. He seemed to be thinking and I wondered . . . How did he feel about the nude modeling? What had Ethan told him about it? Had he ever seen any of my pictures? I guess I wouldn’t know if I didn’t ask him, and that was something I didn’t get into with people. My modeling was personal and not open to negotiation.

In no time, it seemed, Jonathan pulled up to the address in Notting Hill and waited for me to enter the elegant white house that was hosting my photo shoot today. I waved to him as I went in, and then I was off to work, my focus shifting smoothly to what I’d been hired to do.

♠
The inane questions people ask during conversations are so ridiculous at times I wonder how I manage not to leap on the table and shout, “How can you be so fucking stupid and manage to still be breathing?!” Alas . . . I’ve learned to keep my flap shut even when it has pained me greatly to do so.

I was just about to sneak in a much-needed nicotine fix after that waste of a conference call when Elaina rang through to my office. She didn’t do it very often, and my curiosity was triggered immediately.

“Ethan, I think you might want to come up to reception.”

“Yeah? What’s going on?”

“It’s Muriel . . . from the newsstand. She’s up here to deliver a package to you personally, and she won’t leave it with anyone but—”

I was out of my office and running to the front before Elaina could even finish her sentence.

My heart started to thump and the insta-worry flooded my system. I slid to a halt as I busted through the doors into reception. There was Muriel in all her horse-toothed, mustached glory waiting for me. She held a packet in her ink-stained hands, and leveled a green-flecked gaze over me as I rushed up to her.

“Mister, I got summat for ye.” She waved the envelope. “Ye said, anyone an anythin’.”

“I did. Did someone leave that at your newsstand just now?” I pointed to what she held.

She nodded and flicked her eyes around the room, taking in the décor and probably calculating her fee. “Yeah, near an hour ago now. I could’na leave t’ stand. ’Tis written out ‘Blackstone’ an I know ye said number forty-four.”

I tried not to be shocked that she could read and nodded back, the adrenaline starting to race around inside me. What was it this time? More death threats for Ivan? “You have an excellent memory, Muriel. Thank you for leaving your stall to come all the way up here to deliver it in person.” I reached into my pocket to retrieve my wallet. “I appreciate your dedication.”

I handed her a twenty and we switched. She gave a short nod and turned to leave. I tore open the red string, releasing the flap on the envelope—acutely aware it was identical to the one I’d received on the day of the Mallerton Gala—the same envelope that contained the photos of Ivan plus a cryptic message that read “Never attempt to murder a man who is committing suicide” or some incoherent bullshit I didn’t have time for right now. Still, I couldn’t take the chance on my cousin’s life. He would be front and center at the Games in another week, announcing all the archery events, deep inside the media circus, being interviewed, in the public view all over. If someone was targeting him, I needed to have precautions in place.

I stuck my hand inside and pulled out photos, again, just like the last time—glossy black-and-white, eight-by-tens. I felt terrible fear slice into me. These were not pictures of my cousin at all. They were photos of Brynne . . .

Fuck no! No. NO!

The pictures were a sequence of photos shot on the street—Brynne and me on the day we went to our first appointment with Dr. Burnsley, and then afterward when we ate lunch outside before we stopped into Fountaine’s Aquarium. Us hugging on the sidewalk after we came out of the doctor’s offices. Me touching her belly and kissing her. Us eating our sandwiches and talking about our run-in on Christmas Eve in the snow. There was even a photo of Brynne taking a picture of me with her mobile and laughing because it had been right after I came out of the shop with the shit-smelling baby. I would have noticed someone snapping photos, though. I would have seen them. How did I miss it? How in the fuck did I miss this?!

I’d been distracted. Distraction is enemy number one in the security business and I had failed miserably. I had been distracted by the doctor’s visit and then by the insanity of the aquarium shop—too unfocused on where we were and who was around us to even notice someone trailing us!

I groaned and flipped through them again. I couldn’t find any message or ambiguous note on the back of any of the photos. I looked up and realized Muriel had left.

I barked at Elaina, “Get Brynne on the line and tell her to hold for me! I need to speak with her now!” Then I ran for the lifts.

“Muriel, wait!” I chased her down in the lobby as she was exiting the building. I’m sure others must have thought I was insane for all the spectacle I was giving them, but it didn’t matter. They could think whatever they liked.

“Yeah, mister?”

“Who? Did you see who left the envelope?”

She flicked her eyes up and they flared a little. This was it—the moment of truth where she either helped me because she was a good person or she took advantage of me because she wasn’t.

“I did as he walked away. I seen the back of him.”

“What do you remember about him? Build, hair color, anything to give me at all? It’s so very important,” I begged. “My—girl—my wife’s pictures were in that packet. Her life could be in danger.” I lowered my voice. “Please, Muriel? Any small thing you may remember could help.”

She pondered it for a moment, her eyes moving infinitesimally. “He were talkin’ on a mobile an I only seen ’is back walkin’ off. ’Is hair were brown an he were not as tall as ye.”

Brown hair and shorter than me. Not much help in a place with millions of the same right now. I needed to get back upstairs and make sure Elaina had found Brynne. “Thanks again,” I said halfheartedly and turned to go.

“There were summat I did notice, though,” Muriel called out to me, “ ‘is voice . . . he weren’t native. He were a Yank.”

The stalker is an American. It has to be coming from Oakley’s people . . . or maybe Fielding isn’t dead after all. Maybe he’s here in London. Oh no! Please no!

My blood ran cold at what Muriel had told me, all the possibilities and scenarios spinning in my head in a terrifying entangled rush.

And then my legs started moving.

19

♥
M
y phone went off just as I was heading out of the dressing room. I could tell it was Elaina calling from work by the ringtone, so I let it go to voice mail without listening to the message. I sent her a fast text instead:

Can’t talk . . . on photo shoot now. Call u later. —B

I silenced my cell but left it powered up as Ethan had told me to—something about the GPS app he’d activated—slipped it into the pocket of my robe, and didn’t give it another thought. I had a job to do and found my focus.

The hair extensions tickled my back and the floor was downright cold under my ass. I wasn’t wearing any string thong today either, but I did have some really gorgeous black stockings with pink ribbons laced around the top of my thighs and tied into bows.

Simon, my photographer for this shoot, was an unconventional dresser at best, but with his electric-blue skinny jeans paired with a lime-green shirt and white-patent-leather ankle boots, not only had me in need of retina protection but had me attempting a shot I’d never tried before. I could only shudder at what Ethan would say when he got a look at the proofs.

He would hate them on sight, and then try to buy the images so no one else could have them.

I felt the rush of adrenaline, though—the knowledge of doing something a little scary and unfamiliar. I liked to push myself, and wanted these pictures to turn out well, to deliver the most professional services I could to the artist.

My back faced the camera, legs spread open, knees slightly bent, feet flat, my palms holding on to my inner calves to hold my legs apart. It was meant to be a provocative shot, and anyone who walked in front of me right now would see my lady parts on full pornographic display.
Ethan will definitely disapprove.
But I wasn’t worried. There were rules in place, and everyone followed those rules . . . or they didn’t get called back again for another job.

The ends of the hair extensions just barely brushed the floor, in effect covering my butt, which was a good thing because I didn’t want ass crack to be visible in these pictures.

I told Simon and he laughed over at me. “Brynne, my luv, if anyone can do elegant bum cleavage it would be you.”

“Well, thanks, Simon, but no thanks, if you get my drift. No vertical grin for me on this one, please.”

“I promise you, all I see is a suggestion of curves and your long sculpted legs. You are absolutely glowing, darling. New vitamins?” he asked distractedly as the camera clicked away.

“Well, actually, yes.”

“Oh, share with me, please,” he gushed. “I need any beauty secrets you’ve got.”

I snorted out a laugh. “I don’t think you want what I’m taking, Simon . . . unless you desire a set of breasts.”

“Oh, darling, please tell me you’re not going for implants. Your tits are perfection as is!”

I laughed at the canvas drape in front of me, wishing I could see his face. “Um . . . no, not getting implants. They’ll get bigger the natural way.”

“Huh? What treatment does that?” I could tell he was way off base from where I was trying to lead. Gay or not, Simon was a man, and they just don’t catch on to subtleties in these matters most of the time. I’m guessing it has something to do with having a penis.

“The kind where you have a baby at the end of it.” I grinned and wished I could see his face now more than before.

“Oh my god! You’re up the duff, aren’t you?”

“That has got to be one of the most hideous terms you Brits have ever come up with, but yes indeed, I am.”

“Congratulations, darling. I hope this is happy news for you?”

“It is.” I was quiet for a minute, thinking about everything that had changed for me in such a short time, battling the emotions that seemed to simmer just under the surface these days. Maybe I could blame the hormones raging inside me, but it was a still a daily struggle to stay even.

Simon continued to snap pictures, directing me with subtle changes of position and then the lighting, keeping up a dialogue as was his style. He chattered constantly while he worked. “So you’re getting married to your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, August the twenty-fourth is our big day. We’re doing it in the country at his sister’s Somerset mansion.”

“Sounds very posh . . .” Simon mused over a new direction. “Can you tilt your head back and look upward for me?”

“Yeah . . . that too,” I said dryly. “Do you want to come, Simon?”

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! Perfect excuse for a new suit,” he babbled, going off on a tangent about Italian silks and something about a green one he’d spotted in a shop in Milan that would be just perfect for a country wedding.

I thought about my dad and how he wouldn’t be getting a new suit for my wedding. He wouldn’t be there to give me away. I had nobody to do that for me now. I wasn’t asking Frank either. My mom had already tried that angle with me and there was no way. I’d go down the aisle alone before I did that one. Nothing against Frank, but he was not my father in any sense of the word. He was my mother’s husband, and that’s all he was.

The wave of grief came upon me suddenly and I tried hard to suppress it, but my posture must have showed signs of fatigue because Simon asked, “Need a break, sweetheart?”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. All I could manage was a deep swallow.

Sometimes when a person shows some kindness and you are in a vulnerable state, everything comes tumbling out no matter how hard you try to hold it inside you. That’s what happened with Simon when he put down his camera and walked up behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder in a simple gesture of support and comfort.

“I heard about your father. I’m so sorry, luv. This must be a terribly hard time for you.”

“Thank you . . . it’s still very fresh. Little things remind me . . . and I miss him so mu—”

And that’s the moment when Ethan busted into the room looking like a gladiator ready for the arena.

♠
“Brynne! What in the fu—” My speech cut off. It just up and died a quick and silent death once I got a good look of my girl fully naked with her legs spread and some toff with his hands on her!

I reacted and moved. That’s pretty much all I can recall. I got Brynne flying to her feet and the bloke in the green shirt flying into the canvas backdrop.

“Ethan!” she screamed, “what are you doing?!”

“Trying to find you! Why don’t you answer your goddamn phone?”

“I was working!” she screeched, standing fully nude except for some black stockings and something added to make her hair longer.

“You’re finished here. In fact, this whole mess is finished!” I waved my hands and stalked toward her. “Get dressed, you’re leaving.”

“I am not leaving, Ethan. What in the hell is wrong with you? I’m working right now!”

Oh, yes, you are leaving, my beauty! In fact, I’m dead certain you are, because I’m taking you out of here myself.

The photographer wearing all the colors decided to make his move right then and pulled out his mobile. “Call security—”

“I
am
the security when it comes to her.” I pointed in Brynne’s direction as I relieved him of his mobile and cut the fucker off midcall. “Brynne is finished here. Ring my office if you want compensation for your trouble. I will gladly pay.” I took out a business card and flicked it. It spun through the distance between us and landed at his feet on the floor. I thought I was being remarkably calm, considering . . .

He glanced over at Brynne, who just stood there, staring at us with her mouth hanging open. And still fucking naked!

“Don’t look at her, motherfucker!” I yelled at him.

He squeaked like a girl and turned his head away, cringing.

“Simon, I am so sorry for thi—” Brynne stepped toward him.

“Oh, no you don’t!” I grabbed her arm and spun her, shielding her body with mine. “Would you put something on? You’re standing around here fucking naked, for fuck’s sake!”

Brynne glared at me with daggers shooting from her eyes and reached for her robe. It had been on a side table the whole time, just out of the camera’s view. I hadn’t noticed it there a moment ago. She pulled it on and belted the waist, her arms and hands making hard, snapping movements as she squinted her eyes, searing fiery brown daggers at me. She stuck her hand up under her hair and worked it around for a moment before extracting a long wavy brown hairpiece. She set it carefully on the table. Then she turned her back on me and bent over first one leg and then the other, removing the stockings and straightening them out to drape over the table next to the hairpiece.

I could tell she was beyond enraged with what I’d done, but I simply did not care. She was okay, at least. Couldn’t say that with much certainty about her photographer friend, but Brynne was safe in my sights and not in the hands of abductors. She was fucking naked alone in a room with another man having her picture taken, but at least my worst nightmare wasn’t a reality. She was here and I could see her.

The ride home was pretty silent. Just some sighing and the swishing of bodies on seats, and not much else. Brynne wasn’t speaking and I was in no shape for discussion either. No telling what would come out of my mouth the way I was feeling at the moment. Best to leave it stewing for a bit.

Once we arrived and got inside the flat, she beelined it into the bathroom and locked me out. I could hear the water running, but no other sounds. I put my ear up to the door and listened. I didn’t want her to cry alone if that’s what she was doing, but I was still furious. This modeling thing? It had to go. I just couldn’t stand the idea of it anymore, and it made me utterly irrational to think of her posing in the nude for others to see.
And fantasize about fucking her . . . or worse!

There were a million things I needed to do at this moment. Places I should be and people I should be meeting with, but did I even consider leaving Brynne at home and going back to my office? Negative. I was going fucking nowhere right now.

I stepped out onto my balcony instead and settled onto a lounger where I could watch the city change from day into night. And smoke cigarette after cigarette after cigarette. It didn’t help me much. Funny how something that used to soothe me when I felt agitated didn’t really do the trick anymore. I waited for Brynne to come out of the bathroom, but she took the first round in a knockdown. It didn’t look like she would be making the first move tonight.

When I couldn’t bear my self-imposed solitude for another second I went back inside to try to reason with her. “Brynne?” Silence. “Let me in.” I rattled the knob, and to my great surprise it turned.
Not locked out after all.

I opened the door to find her perched on the vanity stool painting her toes, her hair pulled up in a clip, wearing the yellow silk robe that made her skin glow. She wouldn’t look at me, but continued to work the dark pink nail polish as if I wasn’t there.

“Can we talk?” I asked finally.

“What about? How you manhandled me in the middle of a photo shoot, which happens to be my job, and practically beat up the photographer? Not to mention the damage done to my reputation in the business.” Her voice was flat.

“I don’t want you in that
business
anymore.”

She capped the lid on her nail polish and set it on the vanity counter. “It’s all about what you want, huh?”

“I needed to know where you were and you wouldn’t answer your mobile.” I let a moment go for some kind of an explanation but she didn’t offer one. “Fine, I admit I went in there hotheaded and lost my temper, but I was running on clues that led me into a panic situation.” I dragged a hand through my hair and kept it stuck there. “And you were fucking naked, Brynne.”

She stared down at the floor as she spoke, “I probably won’t get any more calls after today. Nobody will want me now.”

Oh, the motherfuckers will still want you.
I stood in front of her and took her chin in my hand, forcing her to look up. “Good. I hope they don’t call you.” She still stayed silent but her eyes flashed. “I’m serious, Brynne. You’re not posing naked anymore.” There, I said it.

“It’s my decision, Ethan. You have no right to tell me I can’t do it.”

“Oh, really?” I grabbed her left hand and held it up. “What’s this ring mean, then? You’re going to be my wife, the mother of my child—a person whom I don’t want posing in the fucking nude
anymore
!” I glared right back. “I definitely have a say.”

She snatched her hand away and spit up at me, “You don’t get it. You just don’t understand ANYTHING about me!” Screaming now, and looking utterly furious, she pushed at my chest to keep me from getting too close.

Fuck that!
My temper was getting the better of me again as I struggled with how to bring us back together on the issue. One idea came to mind of how I might accomplish it, though. I could tear off that yellow silk robe she had on and fuck her into next week, and
then
we could have this conversation, or argument, or whatever the hell this shit was right here. That might work.

I pulled her up from her seat by the shoulders instead, trapping her arms to her sides so she couldn’t fight me. She still struggled, though, even as I had her gripped tight against my chest, our faces an inch apart, her soft curves melting into me and making my cock rock-hard.