Naked Risk (Shatterproof #3) (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-three –
Catherine

After leaving Watts and Mr. Atherton
, I walked around the house, slowly, taking it all in—the marble floors and staircases, two elevators, high ceilings with enormous chandeliers, the kitchen that felt almost as big as some houses I’d lived in, the dining room with a table that must have sat forty people, indoor fountains and gardens…all of that and more, and that was just the first floor.

I wanted to look outside while it was still light
enough. I could explore the rest of the house later.

It was warm and a soft breeze rolled across the enormous estate. Off in the distance, I saw a
lake with a boathouse, and in the other direction, a fenced-in area with stables. I didn’t see any horses, but there were people carrying buckets around the area, so I figured there would be some.

On the other side of the mansion,
a helicopter sat on a helipad.

I walked around the perimeter
of the mansion and found an enormous patio and gazebo, right next to an irregularly shaped pool with underwater lighting, and a grotto with a waterfall at the far end.

The combination of the breeze and the sound of the water trickling into the pool
was too relaxing to leave. I sat in one of the lounge chairs, fighting the urge to close my eyes. I was tired and hungry, a bad combination. I didn’t want to close my eyes and fall asleep because I didn’t want to miss anything, but I also needed a rest.

The relaxation ended when I heard gunshots off in the distance. For a brief second, I thought maybe they were firecrackers, but I knew they weren’t. I stood, looking around, wondering what was happening.

I went back to the side of the house where I had seen the lake and the stables in the distance, and I saw then that there was a clearing even farther out on the property. I saw flashes first, then heard more shots. It was a firing range.

I relaxed again, remembering when Watts told me his entire story and had mentioned that they had all trained here on Atherton’s farm. I
watched as more rounds were fired, wondering what specific mission these guys might be training for, and hoping like hell Watts hadn’t signed up for yet another one himself.

With the noise from the gun range and the wind picking up, I didn’t hear him walking up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me and I flinched at first, but without looking over
my shoulder I knew it was Watts.

“I’m starving and tired. How about you?” he said.

“Both.”

He kissed my ear, then my neck, his mouth holding there for a moment as I felt his warm lips sucking lightly on my skin. I felt him growing hard, pressing against my lower back.

“You know,” he said, “we could drop down on one of those poolside lounges and go for it right there.”

“Outside?” I said.

Watts ran his lips down my neck, then back up toward my jaw, his tongue drawing a line along the way.

“It’s getting dark enou
gh,” he whispered. “No one will see.”

I paused, just taking in the feeling of him standing behind me and holding me tight, trying to seduce me with his words and doing a good job of it. “What if I want to see?” I said, spinning around to face him and pressing my palms to his chest.

“Then we really should go upstairs,” he said, just before his lips pressed to mine.

. . . . .

Watts led me back into the house and to the second floor, down the long hallway and to our suite. A food cart was outside our door.

“Fancy,” I said, looking at the silver cover that hid the main dish, a basket of bread wrapped in a white cloth, an arrangement of fruit and c
heese, and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.

I reached for the silver cover, curious to see what was under it. It was warm to the touch.

Watts touched my wrist. “Let’s wait until we’re in the room.”

I opened the door to find exactly what I should have expected by now—pure luxury. Watts pushed the cart into the room and I walked around and looked at everything:
the bed, with one corner of the sheets and comforter turned down; the bathroom, with a huge jet tub and an open shower with slate walls; and the balcony. I opened the French doors and the breeze made the curtains dance in the air.

I stepped outside to the edge of the
balcony.

Watts came up behind me as I stepped toward the edge, his arms on either side of me, hands locking onto the wrought iron railing, caging me in.

The gun range had quieted down for the night, the sound of shots being fired replaced by the soft trickling of water in the fountain off to our right in the yard.

“I can’t believe this,” I said.
“This is amazing.”

Watts kissed my neck. “Believe it.”

I tilted my head, giving him better access to my neck, wanting to feel his lips on me.

“Come back inside.” He stepped back, putting his hand on my hip, urging me to follow him. “I’m going to keep you up for a long, exhausting night. You
’ll need to eat.”

Chapter Twenty-four –
Watts

It’s
just after 5 a.m. when I wake up, surprised to find that Catherine is awake as well. She’s propped up on an elbow, facing away from me.

I move closer to her and she looks over her shoulder. I see that her eyes are wide and bloodshot.
She looks away again.

“Have you been crying?” I ask.

“No.”

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

She hesitates before answering. “I haven’t slept at all.”

I conside
r that her internal clock is screwed up.

“
I don’t want to sleep,” she adds.

I laugh, thinking she’s just so excited she doesn’t want to w
aste a second of our time here.

“You should sleep. We have all the time in the world now. We can do whatever you want. I was thinking last night that in all of the time we’ve spent together, I’ve y
et to take you on a proper date and I should remedy that as soon as possible.”

She looks back over her shoulder.

I smile.

“That sounds great,” she says, and I know she means it but there’s a
flatness in her tone and I’m sure it isn’t there because she’s tired.

“What’s wrong, Catherine? Talk to me.”

She looks away again before answering. “I’m afraid if I fall asleep, I’ll wake up and all of this will have been a dream.”

My heart aches at her answer. I kiss her shoulder, moving closer to her, our bodies fitting together. “It’s real. I’m real. This place is real.” I pause for a moment before saying, “You promised me you would trust me. Trust me, this is real.
We’re
real.”

She nods.

“Get some sleep,” I whisper. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I kiss the top of her head. Her hair is soft and
smells like strawberries. After coming in off the balcony, planning to eat, I couldn’t resist her anymore and I pulled her onto the bed, shedding her clothes. We ate afterwards, made love again, and then took a shower. It was shortly after that when I fell asleep.

We’re silent, and I notice within a few minutes that her breathing changes. It slows and becomes even.

She’s sleeping.

I know I won’t be able to.

Now it’s my turn to stay awake, but I don’t have to hope this isn’t a dream. I know it isn’t.

It’s real. It ha
s
all
been real. I know it is because there’s still a little pain, the kind you can’t feel in dreams.

I fe
el it when I think that sometime in the next few days I will find a way to visit my family’s graves alone. I’ll take Catherine there at some point, if she wishes, but this time I’ll need to do it alone.

I feel the pain when I think of everything Catherine has been through in her life.

But all of that is gradually diminishing.

We’ve both been through some horrible things in our lives, and anybody would be hard-pressed to find a silver lining in it.

Still, I can’t help but struggle with the fact that all of the loss and heartache is what brought us together. Two people born an ocean apart. Two people pushed into isolation by very different events. Two people whose every decision—even the minor ones—led them to each other.

Our lives had been shattered through no fault of our own, and when we found each other, that
was the beginning of putting the pieces back together. No longer alone and shattered. Now, together and shatterproof.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings. I can’t control the world from crashing
all around us. All I can do is control how I react to it, if it does.

I touch my lips to her bare shoulder, kissing her, sm
elling her freshly bathed skin.

The French d
oors leading out to the balcony were open all night. This morning the breeze has died down a little, but still makes the curtains swell and rise and fall again. I watch as dawn breaks and lights the world for a new day.

I hold Catherine tight, knowing that together we will always find a way through the darkness.

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Acknowledgements

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to two people, in particular.

Sam
Stettner has been beta reading for me for a long time and she never fails to be an honest cheerleader. She enthusiastically tells me when I get something spot on, and she bluntly tells me when I don’t. Also, she’s the queen of promo. Thanks, Sam!

Nade
Ferrabee has also been reading my work for quite a while, and this time she ended up going above and beyond: she edited this book. She did an extraordinary job with it, and if there are mistakes in the story, that’s
all
on me because I can’t stop myself from tinkering with the writing all the damn time. So thanks, Nade, for taking on a task that to this day you swear you enjoyed. Honestly, I think you were crazy for doing it, but thanks!

To all the blogs and Facebook pages that spread the word early and often about this series, I am enormously grateful for your kindness and enthusiasm for the characters and this story.

To readers…hey, it’s
all
about you. Thanks.