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  Until he walked in.

  Sitting on the floor in my father’s office I’d looked up to see a man that at the time looked to me as big as the Hulk, only much better dressed. His black hair was swept back from a jutting forehead. I remember every one of the deep lines drawn into it, lines of fury, rage, that felt barely contained but I felt no fear.

  His grey eyes nearly stopped my heart. They were rimmed in a black circle and shimmered like a full moon.

  Tight biceps under the black fabric of his suit looked as though they would tear through the fabric. A crimson red tie perfectly knotted under the white shirt collar finished him off. I was used to these types of men, of course, all suits and stern countenance. They would wander in and out of our home so often over the years that I barely paid any attention to their comings and goings. Business knew no office hours with my father, as money was his family and what brought him anything close to joy.

  But on that day, this suited man bore no resemblance to the others that came before. It wasn’t just his sheer size. Of course, that was a part of it. He seemed massive to me, nearly blocking out all the light that streamed from behind him as he came through the doorway. His stride was long but slightly uneven as though he carried more weight on his right side than his left.

  It was more than that, though. He was different because he noticed me. And not in the way that some of the men that came through the house noticed me, a way that made me feel uncomfortable. This enormous man flushed my skin and made me feel safe.

  Walker Evan’s face was that of a real man, and sure, for a fourteen-year-old me, the attraction was an innocent romantic one. At that moment, my body lit up with a warmth and comfort I’d long forgotten. A kind of belonging. Flashes of memories of my mother who I’d lost at just five years old were the closest thing that I could remember to the sensation Walker gave me.

  Now, standing here in my bedroom, remembering the first time we met, the day when Walker—who would become my friend and eventually the source of my night time fantasies—first walked into my life, it’s heartbreaking. All I can do is stare at the ruins of those pink roses, my heart in my throat as I remember everything, as I remember the moment he came into my room holding the vase and I’d hoped everything was about to change.

  I had been counting the seconds, perched on my bed, book in my hands as I prayed to hear the turn of my door knob, the creak of the floorboard outside my door. I knew Walker was in the house; I’d seen his car pull up an hour earlier and already knew whatever reason he’d given for coming to see my father was no more than an excuse.

  The timing was no coincidence: just hours before my father was due to leave for the airport. Walker had told me the day before that I should be ready for his visit. That had made me laugh; as if I wasn’t always ready. But this time, the tone of his voice told me it would be different.

  Time seemed to dilate as I waited, each second on the clock more like an hour until I finally heard the rumble of an engine starting up on the drive. I hopped to the window to see my father’s Lincoln pulling away, my stomach twirling in eight kinds of polka steps as the luxury car passed Walker’s black Suburban, still parked and empty.

  My head felt like it might float off my shoulders as I waited for what I knew was coming.

  My heart fluttered and skipped beats at the faint footsteps seeping into my room from the hallway. I’d hopped off my bed turning on the spot next to the window and watched the back of the dark oak door from my place by the window. I remember thinking I should change out of my school uniform but there was no time.

  I stared a hole in the door until the door latch clicked sharply, the knob turned, and I pressed my legs together as I fought to draw a breath.

  When Walker had appeared playing a few notes on his harmonica as he entered then slipping it back into his pocket. Waves of desire hit me like surf on the shore. Crashing around me, as my tunnel vision tightened on the massive vase of pink roses held in his left hand.

  “Hello, Cricket.” The depth of those two words held something more, something I’d not heard from him before. Hope. And I prayed it was the same hope that held me tight every night as I clutched my pillow and pretended it was him.

  He’d nicknamed me Cricket years before. Said crickets are good luck and the day he came into the house and saw me sitting on the floor that first time, a cricket had jumped onto the sleeve of his suit as he came in the house. He always said I was his good luck charm.

  “Hi,” I muttered back, waving awkwardly because I didn’t know how else to stop my hand clutching my heart.

  I’d tried to swallow down all my girlish dreams, the desire that threatened to spill out of me, building my defenses against the disappointment I would feel when, inevitably, what I’d hoped would happen at that moment did not. After all, I was nothing but a girl. The next day was my eighteenth birthday, but to Walker, I was just a child.

  “We need to talk.” He’d approached, setting the crystal vase down on my dresser as I quickly counted more than two dozen of the beautiful pink blooms as he drew closer. The scent of the roses filled my senses, a soft fragrance, unlike anything I’d smelled before. “These are the first of many gifts I will bring you. Do you know why that is?”

  “No.” I shook my head as he stepped in front of me, seeming to surround me, his own scent mixing with that of the. I’d never been this close to him before. So, close I could look up and see where his pulse gently throbbed under his jawline.

  The pulsing between my legs turned into a soaking mess. My nipples tightened. And although I was too terrified to look down, I knew they were pebbling out on my school uniform blouse.

  When his hands came to the sides of my face, when his fingers brushed my cheeks, I’d fought to keep my knees locked. My fists balled then released three times at my sides as his intense gray eyes bored deep into mine. There was a flicker there I’d not seen before and it made my head start to spin.

  “I’ve waited for you for five years, Mia. Did you know that?”

  I shook my head as a hint of a smile curved the side of his lips. His eyes narrowed as he drew in a deep breath over my hair. I could barely speak. “Waited for what?”

  “For you. All of you. Do you know what your name means in Spanish? Mia; mine. And you are, Cricket, you are mine.” I’d seen his throat move as he gulped a breath. “I’ve not thought of, kissed, touched or dreamed of another woman since the day I saw you here. And now it is one day before you turn eighteen. Today is the last day of my waiting...but I need to know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” My heart slammed in my chest so hard it frightened me. I thought I might collapse with a heart attack and never hear the answer.

  “Today is the last day I won’t touch you. Because the law says I cannot. And, if you tell me you don’t feel the same things I feel for you, I will walk away today. Because I cannot hold myself back any longer and these thoughts are starting to consume me. Tomorrow, my power of restraint will be gone. But if you tell me what I feel is not what you feel, I will not come back because I can’t stand to see you and not have you. Tell me all the years I’ve dreamed of you, you’ve also been dreaming of me. And if you do, then tomorrow...” He chuckled, looking at the ceiling as if to gather his courage—though I knew that couldn’t be so—then back to me. His massive hands held my head still. “Tomorrow, I will come for you. I will take you and keep you for my own. Not for a day. Not for a week. Not for a year. Forever. Because that’s the least I will settle for, Cricket. Forever. With you.”

  Hot streams of tears leapt from my eyes as I nodded in acknowledgment that I too felt the same. Dreamed of him. Walker’s lips took mine in a furious kiss that finally left my knees buckled. His hands moved over my skin as I nearly collapsed, holding me tight against his solid body as his tongue pushed between my lips and the swell of a touchless orgasm rippled through my young body.

  And, of course, I’d kissed him back. The warmth of his mouth on mine made me feel drunk. He tasted like dark e
spresso and the hero of all my dreams.

  His breathing quickened, a rumble of something came from his chest that both frightened and excited me in a way I’d never felt before.

  When he suddenly stopped and drew back, I felt empty. His hands came up to grip the tops of my arms and settle me back on my feet a foot away from him. That was when he whispered those special words in my ear. But my own insecurity had me fighting to know why he’d stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, panicking. “Did I do something wrong? Didn’t I do it right?” The flash of embarrassment heated my face because tears filled my eyes. The tops of my ears flickered with flame as Walker stared at the floor, stone-still except for a slight tremor in his hands where he began to grip me tighter.

  With a slight shake of his head, he brought his eyes to mine. “You were perfect. That was the perfect kiss. It’s just...” He dropped his grip and stepped back. “It’s hard for me to stop, Cricket. So very hard.”

  My eyes fell to the front of his black dress pants and what I saw there explained more than his words could. The fullness bundled behind his zipper should have scared me, but instead, it drew a new rush of dampness into the white cotton between my legs.

  “Thank you. The flowers are so beautiful,” I mumbled stupidly, unsure what else to say but feeling like I playing out a scene in one of my books.

  “You’re welcome. Tomorrow...” He moved toward the door in those long uneven strides. “Tomorrow, I promise, I will be here. And you and I will start our life together. Nothing will take you from me, I promise you that. There will be no more waiting.” He turned before he took the last steps through the door. “Now, be a good girl. Dream of me tonight. Dream of us. I love you, I promise you I always will. I have to go now while I still can. The things I want to do to you....” I saw the gulp move down his throat. “Tomorrow.” He jerked the door open but before he stepped through, his hand fell to the front of his pants. He fisted the length there, stroking it back and forth as I fought not to stare and lost, then he licked his lips and growled finally disappearing down the hall.

  Now being back here today, my throat is tightening. I have to get out of this room. Away from the memories. I flee along corridors and through the living room toward father’s office. Once inside I stand, panting against the wall my arms clutched around my waist. I need to get my head straight. There are practical issues to tend to. The package from the attorney is waiting for me here in my father’s office where I tossed it on the desk earlier.

  Walker and my father both paid their debts in different ways. Little did I know the day after Walker came to my room my father would pack us into the limo and we’d be on a plane. The last thing I knew for sure about Walker from overhearing my father’s conversations, is that he’d been sentenced for his part in the insider trading and corruption scandal, the same scandal from which my father fled, taking us and whatever suitcases of cash he could carry across the border.

  I still wonder if Walker tried to find me before he served his time. Whether or not he was ever in touch with my father and I just didn’t know. Was it all just a game for him, my imaginary importance in his life just another of my fantasies?

  Giving up on those fantasies took time, but to survive I’d wiped them from my memory. Including his promise, even as it echoes in my memory now, as if Walker was whispering it into my ear once again.

  Tomorrow, my sweet Cricket. Tomorrow, you will be mine.

  C H A P T E R T H R E E

  Walker

  JESUS, REMEMBER TO breathe.

  As I step into Tensfield, this crazy memory of a TV interview with Sean Combs I think it was, P Diddy or whatever, and he was talking about getting shot at. How time slows, and you can live an entire lifetime in that moment.

  I’ve experienced that sensation twice in my life.

  The first time was when I walked into this same room, her father’s office, expecting to have some business meeting I no longer even remember. I saw her, right there in a patch of sunlight, sitting cross-legged on the floor in that blue plaid skirt. A tear on her cheek, as she stared up at me with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen and all I could think about was kissing it away.

  I knew she was too young, sitting there with skinned knees and raven black hair as perfect as if it had been painted by a master. Her father, one of my business partners, stood over her like a tyrant, berating her about a grade in school and how he was going to take her books away. And from that second, my respect for him crumbled. But I knew I would never waver in my loyalty to him because loyalty would make sure I could stay close to her.

  In fact, I did everything in my power to get closer to him. I became his best friend and confidant, all a ruse in order to keep Mia as close to me as possible, knowing only that I wanted to keep her safe.

  When she’d looked across the room all those years ago, her blue eyes so clear and bright they were the only light in the dark of that space, I froze. Just like I am now. I don’t remember how long I’d looked at her then, long enough she’d looked away and back at me enough times that her cheeks blazed red and she tugged at the fingers on one hand with her other.

  So much time has passed, but so much has remained the same. She’s here, right where I first met her, standing now as if she’s been waiting for me to return, shuffling some papers on her father’s desk, moving them off the flat wooden surface and into haphazard piles by her feet.

  I stand in the doorway, watching with a fucking hard-on.

  Blood rushes in my ears. The thunder in my chest is painful, bringing back all those years when she was gone from me.

  The heartbreak that came with every second of not knowing where she was. If she was okay.

  If she was warm and safe. Hungry or well-fed. Happy or sad.

  Then my heart turned to stone. No one knew where her father had gone. The few friends I had left could find no trace of where they went, or at least no one was talking.

  But one glance and that cold rock where my heart used to be shatters and crumbles, the ache, the longing, returning with deadly force.

  She hasn’t noticed me yet. Her hair is the same black perfection I remember. Her ass is hugged by a pair of stretch pants, partnered with a short red sweater on top that smooths and caresses all those amazing womanly curves. I stifle a low chuckle as I glance down to see her wearing worn, simple, white Keds, the toes nearly rubbed through and with her usual mismatched socks: one with rainbow stripes, the other a serious burgundy, and black argyle. Her socks never seem to match even when they are the same color.

  She is, as she always was, the pinnacle of contrast.

  The sleek, impeccable beauty that she wears so effortlessly could walk any Paris runway. Then there’s the absent-minded, careless child that keeps her soul pure and innocent.

  My mouth waters as I remember the kiss that day. Our first and only kiss. The promise I made to her.

  A promise I’ve broken.

  She raises her head, peering out the window across from the desk. The house has the musky scent of being closed up for too long, but still her sweet fragrance cuts through the stale air and straight into my heart.

  “Mia.” Her name falls from my lips and I taste each letter as though it’s the sweetest candy.

  Her head falls back to look toward the coffered ceiling, her hands pressing down flat against the stack of paperwork. Then I hear the release of a long, low breath, and I want to be there to feel its warmth on my neck as I nestle her against me.

  With measured steps, my gaze never once leaving her, I close the space between us. Each foot falls silently on the deep red and black of the Turkish rug. It’s dusty, but almost brand new, a business-trip souvenir her father and I brought home just months before everything fell apart and my world came crashing down around me.

  “Walker.” She echoes, turning to strike me with those laser blue eyes, and for a moment I forget everything else except the fear.

  I’d never been afraid before I met her. Not for as long as I co
uld remember. I was the street kid with a head for numbers, the guy who’d laugh in the face of a thug with a gun and dare him to pull the trigger. But when I met her? I learned fear. The fear of losing her. And that had come true.

  “You just walk in without knocking?” Her voice steady, as if she’d expected me.

  “Door was open.” I tip my head behind me. “Besides, I never knocked before. This always felt like home.”

  Because of you.

  My life before her, from as far back as I can remember, was fighting for everything. Scrounging in the garbage cans behind the school for food as my so-called family drank or smoked the monthly government check away within hours of its mail delivery.

  Then as time went on, it was fighting for respect. Fighting for the deal. Fighting for the next opportunity.

  “Doesn’t feel like home to me. Not for a long time.”

  I take the last steps that put me within arm’s reach. She turns to square herself to me and my heart stops when I see the flicker of gold at her neck. The tiny “M” sits as it always did, ever since I placed it there at the base of her neck. A gift for her sweet sixteen from me, and the thought that it’s been touching her all these years when I could not, bring me some minor sense of comfort as well as a spike of jealousy.

  “Where have you been?” I ask. My fingertips twitch, daring me to reach out and smooth the loose hair that hangs on her forehead.

  “Mexico.” The tone of her voice tells more. That it wasn’t her choice. That she wasn’t happy there. “In a compound. Dad died.” Not passed away, not we lost him. She shrugs one shoulder. “Two weeks ago. I couldn’t wait to get out. All I have left is this place. And Nana. I have nothing else.”

  “What happened?” I feel no mourning for my former friend. Instead, I mourn her words and the emptiness there.

  I have nothing else. They cut through me like a white-hot blade.

  Mia lets out a sad giggle before answering. “A fifth of vodka, a bottle of Percocet, and the hot tub. Found him floating face down when I went out in the morning for my swim.”