30DaystoSyn (8 page)

Jono grinned in answer to the insult.

“Wipe that smirk or I’m gonna put my fist
through your face,” he muttered as he turned away.

Jono came over to slap a comradely arm
around his shoulders. “You don’t want her dating?” He leaned in. “Tell her,
bro,” he whispered.

“I intend to.”

“Good on you, mate,” Jono said then
tightened his hold. “I don’t know what you’ve been doing to her but I really
don’t want to see her come out of that building again with tears in her eyes.
Do you feel me?”

He shrugged away the hold. “I wouldn’t feel
you if you were the only living being left on the planet but yeah, I get what
you mean.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not doing anything to hurt
her,” he said. “At least not physically.”

Jono frowned. “And mentally? What are you
doing to her in that way?”

“Nothing that will leave lasting problems,”
he assured his old friend.

“Better not,” Jono said. “I like that
little girl.”

“Yeah, well, like her from a distance, my
man.” He scowled at Jono to emphasize his point. “A fucking
long
distance.” He narrowed his eyes. “And don’t forget what I told you about
calling her Lina! I won’t have it, Jono!”

Jono rolled his eyes. “I’m out of here,
bro. You’ve gone way round the bend with this shit.”

He poured himself another scotch when Jono
left. He swilled it down as if it were water and poured another.

And another.

And another until the bottle was almost
empty.

He was well on his way to a brutal hangover
when an idea struck him. By then he was so inebriated he didn’t question what
he was doing although it took him quite some time to find his spare cell phone.
When at last he had, he repeatedly fumbled with it until he managed to thumb in
her number.

She answered on the first ring and he had a
slight twinge of guilt when he heard the fear in her voice. No doubt she
thought the nursing home was calling about her brother at that time of night.

“It’s me,” he said and was annoyed that he
was slurring his words. What he said came out as
ish me
. “Did you hear
me?” He walked into his den so he could watch her on one of the screens. It
annoyed him even more that he was staggering.

“Yes Sir,” she said and there was wariness
in her tone.

“Don’t you fucking do it again,” he said as
he plopped down on his sofa and stared intently at her. “Is that clear?”

There was a pause. “Do what?” She was
sitting up in her bed with the receiver away from her ear because he realized
he was shouting at her.

“Fucking go out with another man, Melina!”
he stated. “Don’t you fucking do it again! Are you understanding me?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

“Stop talking!” he ordered.

“You asked me a question,” she told him.

“You’re not listening to me!” he yelled. “I
said stop talking!”

“I’m not in the room with you,” she said.
“We’re not having a session.”

“Doesn’t matter!” he yelled. “You’re not
supposed to talk, bitch!”

“Then I won’t,” she said and hung up on
him.

“Don’t you fucking hang up on me, woman!”
he screamed at the phone. “Do you hear me, Melina? Answer me!”

When she didn’t, that cell phone went the
same route as its predecessor then he slid from the sofa to the floor and
buried his head in his hands. He had the headache from hell building in his
skull and nausea was galloping up his esophagus.

“I hate you! You’re a fucking son of a
bitch asshole dickwad prick with a God complex!”

He lifted his head as her angry voice came
from one of the screens on the wall. She was pacing like a caged tigress and
there was fury on her beautiful face.

Night Six

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she
entered the room the next evening. The spotlight was not on the mark where she
normally stood but on a large wingback chair sitting in front of a sweep of
draperies. He was sitting in the chair with his legs spread wide, his palms
resting on his thighs. Instead of the usual jeans and t-shirt, he wore a pair
of dark-gray slacks and a black shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

She turned, locked the deadbolt then walked
to where she thought the large red X was.

“No. Come here,” he ordered.

Drawing in a calming breath, she walked
across the thick carpet to stand directly in front of him.

“Closer.”

She moved as close to the chair as she
could get.

“On your knees.”

For just a second or two she thought about
refusing. She might never have had sexual relations with a man but she knew
what a woman did on her knees before one. From the look on his face—shadowed
beneath the glare of the overhead light shining down on his head—his intent
wasn’t as innocuous as it had been in the days before.

“On. Your. Knees,” he repeated. “And don’t
you dare say a fucking word.”

Pursing her lips, she did as he told her,
her palms resting on her thighs as she knelt.

“Put your hand on me.”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the
thick bulge at the juncture of his thighs. Her eyes slid slowly back to his.

“Slide your palm under my cock and cup me,”
he said in a voice that held a warning.

Heat flooded her face but she reached out
to glide her hand between his legs, under the thick prominence pushing at his
slacks. The base of her palm bumped against him to stop her from going any
farther. Slowly she closed her fingers around him as far as they would go.

He held her captive with the piercing probe
of his blue eyes. He didn’t blink. His gaze never wavered. It was locked on
her, zeroed in like a missile searching for a target. His cock flexed in her
hold.

“That is what wants you,” he said in a
husky voice. “That is what needs you more than I need air to breathe.”

For one brief, wild moment she wanted to
squeeze him hard enough to hurt him but she knew she wouldn’t. Not just because
he would end their sessions then and there if she did, but because she really
didn’t want to see any more pain in his eyes than was already there.

“Rub it,” he whispered.

She slid her palm backward and forward
under his hard shaft, the thickness of it apparent from the tent of the loose
fabric of his slacks. For some strange reason it made her feel powerful to
touch him as she was and feel him stir. His eyes were hot blue flames burning
into hers. She watched him run his tongue along his bottom lip and wondered if
he was aware he was doing it.

“You called me a fucking son of a bitch
asshole dickwad prick with a God complex,” he stated. “Quite an insult, Melina.
I think I should wash your mouth out.”

She stopped stroking as she gaped at him.
She started to speak but caught herself in time. He was obviously punishing her
tonight for defying him by talking out of turn the night before.

“You have a question?” he asked.

She couldn’t hold back her anger given
permission to speak. She threw caution to the winds.

“How did you know that?” she demanded,
snatching her hand away from his crotch. “How did you
know
that? And the
other night. How did you know…?”

“That you masturbated thinking about me?”
he asked.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she sneered and
winced because she’d spoken again without being given the opening but he didn’t
seem to notice or care for he didn’t call her on it.

“You were fantasizing about me, Melina,” he
said.

“
How
did you know?” she asked.

His smile was nasty. “There are cameras in
your house.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak and when
she did the one word was nothing more than a breath of sound. “What?”

He leaned forward in the chair. “Don’t you
think since I’ll be paying the kind of money I’ll be paying you that I should
get something other than these dry sessions every night? I told you right up
front what I expected of you. I told you that you were to do what you were
told, when you were told and how you were told. Didn’t you know I’d have spies
watching your every move to make sure you did just that?”

She shot to her feet. “You didn’t say
anything about putting cameras in my house! That is an invasion of my privacy!”

“They aren’t in the bathroom. I drew the
line at that.”

“But they are in my bedroom?” she
questioned.

“Yes.” It was a smug answer that set her
teeth on edge.

“Have you watched me undress? You’ve seen
me naked?”

He laughed. “You’re concerned about me
seeing you naked when I watched you put that silly little vibrator on your clit
and get yourself off?”

“
You evil bastard
! I should have
crushed your balls until you screamed,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You’ll get another chance, but trust me,
darling. You wouldn’t be the first woman to do that to me. Been there, endured
that. Hurt like a motherfucker.”

There was such pain in his gaze that she
knew it was the truth and that he wasn’t just saying it. Someone—some woman—had
hurt this man deeply.

“Did you invade her privacy too?” she
asked.

He waved away her question then pointed to
the floor at his feet. “Back on your knees,” he said. “We aren’t finished.”

“If you expect me to go down—”

“On your knees?” he cut her off. “Yes, I
do.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I am not going to
suck your cock.”

His smile was evil. “Oh, yes you will if
you want that million dollars, baby, but…” He cocked a shoulder. “I won’t make
you do it tonight. You’re not ready for that yet.” His eyes gleamed as he
lowered his head and looked up at her through the fringe of his lashes.
“Tonight, I just want you to rub me.”

“Until you come,” she accused.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “I’m
saving that for when I take you. Unlike you, I have discipline and can wait.
Now…” All humor left his face. “I want you on your knees with your hand on my
dick and that pretty mouth shut. No more talking unless you want me to speed up
my schedule and have you wrap those luscious lips around me while you get me
off.”

She shot him her nastiest glare.

“Drew,” was all he said.

All he needed to say to crush her spirit.

“You’ve something to say?” he probed.

“One question,” she said, raising her chin.

He nodded.

“Have you already paid for Drew’s place at
Cedar Oaks and not just reserved a spot for him there and did you get Steve
transferred because I dated him?”

“That’s actually two and a half questions
but I’ll let it slide.” There was no emotion on his face when he added, “Yes, I
offered the rat prick a job in Paris and he jumped at the chance.”

“How am I supposed to get home from work
now?” she asked.

The right side of his mouth quirked with
irritation. “Yet another question.” He squinted. “To which the answer is I’m
going to loan you one of my company vehicles. You will find it at your house
tomorrow morning. As for Cedar Oaks, yes, I paid a year in advance to make sure
Drew has a place. You can move him in on December first.”

“Then you believe I’ll stay until the full
thirty days are up?”

“That’s a fourth question and you’re
pushing it, Melina,” he warned. He stared at her, took a long breath then let
it out slowly. His words were gravelly when he spoke again. “Yes, baby. I know
you will.”

She clamped her lips together and sank
gracefully to the floor. He shifted his legs farther apart and she ran her hand
under his crotch.

“Slowly,” he said, “and squeeze him now and
again. He likes that.”

“Does he have a name?” she asked.

“Woman…” he said then shook his head.
“Yeah, he’s got a name. I call him The Gigantitron.”

She was staring into his eyes and saw the
glint of humor flickering there. An arch of her brow made him grin.

“Don’t question what you ain’t seen yet,”
he said with a snort.

Night Seven

There were a lot of things he had in common
with Melina. Other than liking Celtic music, Sci-Fi movies and New Zealand TV
comedies, they both suffered from debilitating migraine headaches. She’d had
hers since turning fifteen and the Universe had cursed him with them at age
ten. Thankfully hers weren’t cluster migraines such as the ones he suffered.
Waking the next morning, feeling the telltale signs that one was on the way,
pissed him off something fierce.

Not just because he hated the ungodly pain
that crushed his skull for a day or two. He also had meetings all morning with
representatives from his Chinese division and that was a chore even when he was
in top form.

“You should cancel, bro,” Jono told him.
“You’re looking a little too much like a pasty white boy there.”

“I can’t,” he said as he fumbled with his
necktie. He hated being confined by the damn thing but the reps would be
offended if he showed up without being properly attired.

“Of course not. You are the greatest gift
to the business world—not to mention womankind—and that world cannot revolve
without you spinning it,” the Māori put forth.

“Don’t patronize me, Jono,” he snapped.

“Don’t know what that means,” Jono said
with a grin. “Ain’t that something you do to milk?”

“You know fucking well what it means,” he
growled. He put a hand over his right eye and rubbed.

“Torture yourself, then,” Jono said. “I imagine
you deserve it for torturing the little beaut.”

He didn’t need to ask who Jono meant. He
simply shot an irritated look at his old friend.

“She cries, you know. Every time she gets
in the car she cries,” Jono told him. “All the way home.”

“I’ve done nothing to hurt her if that’s
what you’re implying,” he grumbled. “If she’s crying it’s because she’s
frustrated.”

“Oh, I know you haven’t hurt her,” Jono
said. “At least I know you’d better not have.”

He was in the process of putting on his
coat but those words halted him in his tracks and he turned to glare at Jono.
“And what the fuck does that mean?”

“Hurt her and we’re going to have a
problem, bro,” Jono replied. “She’s a good woman despite what you’re forcing
her to do.”

“I’m not forcing her to do anything!”

“You dangle that kind of money in front of
woman barely keeping her head above water, a woman well into the quicksand of
ever-increasing debt to keep her brother from being abandoned in some piss-pot
nursing home, and then demand the only priceless thing she owns in return? You
don’t think that’s forcing her? What the fuck do you call it if it’s not
forcing?”

“Giving her an opportunity to better
herself?” he countered. “Giving her the means to provide for her brother? I’m
helping her, Jono.”

Jono snorted. “Bro, you know what you’re
doing is wrong this time.”

“Piss off,” he ordered. “You can bloody
well go up the boohai shooting pukekos with a long-handled shovel.” He picked
up his briefcase and headed for the door.

“No session tonight.”

She slammed the phone down. She was getting
tired of whatever game it was he was playing. She looked around the room,
searching for the hidden cameras. She suspected they were well hidden but she
intended to begin looking for them that very evening.

“If you’re watching me—and I assume you
are—you are a depraved pervert. How many more nights of this shit are you going
to make me go through before you get to the point?”

The phone rang and she snatched it up.
“What?”

“I’ve got a migraine,” he said. “You want
to come over and hold my head while I puke?”

She knew all about migraines. Some of the
anger went out of her. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He hung up.

“I hope your head explodes, you conceited
bastard,” she mumbled as she replaced the receiver. She turned to the stove to
turn on the pot of water with which she would be making spaghetti when the
phone rang again.

She knew it was him.

“What now?” she barked.

“Jono will pick you up at the usual time,”
he told her. “Stop talking.”

“But you said…” she began but stopped when
she heard the click on the other end.

He heard her prolonged, angry,
Ooooh!
and chuckled despite the raging pain lancing through his head. A wave of nausea
gripped him and he barely made it to the bathroom before the sour bile erupted.
There was precious little to throw up and the dry heaving that followed made
his head hurt twice as bad as he clung to the edge of the raised toilet seat.
Hoping he was finished, he padded barefoot into the bedroom, tossed the cell
phone on the bed and opened his armoire. He dragged the first pair of jeans he
saw off the shelf and leaned against the cabinet to put them on. Gritting his
teeth to the searing pain that brought tears to his eyes, he leaned over,
opened a drawer and plucked a T-shirt from among those neatly stacked inside.
Yanking it over his head he walked to the closet, shuffled his feet into a pair
of jandals and grabbed his car keys. As much as he would have preferred to take
his Harley to the Room, he knew he was in no condition to do so.

The cool night air helped the pain and he
was tempted to sit down on the porch step and let it chill him. Instead, he
went over to the Jeep parked beside the triple garage and climbed inside. He’d
make do with letting the cold rush of the wind swirl around him as he drove.

She was going to be in a bad mood, he
thought as he backed out of his driveway. He had two hours to plan what he
would do to her when she came to the Room tonight.

“Like you’re capable of doing anything to
her tonight,” he said. “You’ll probably wind up puking in her lap.”

The thought made him grin but the grin hurt
his face and made his head ache worse. What he needed was a nice double shot of
Dr. Feelgood’s Joy Juice to chase the fucking headache back to Migraine Manor.
He was pretty sure he’d be making a call to Craig before the night was through.

His teeth were chattering and he was
shivering by the time he angled the Jeep into the parking space in front of the
building. Neither was from the chill in the air but rather the terrible pain in
which he was gripped. Every step he made to the building entrance, the swipe of
his keycard to open the lock, the short walk to the elevator hurt like hell.
But it was the bright light inside the elevator that was absolute agony. He
kept his eyes closed until the doors opened. Though the walk to Room 202 wasn’t
that long, it felt like the longest of his life.

“Migraines are twice as bad for men as
for women,”
Craig had told him
. “Don’t know why,
but they are. Light, sound—even smells—are so intensified it’s hard not to beat
your head against the wall.”

He was dry heaving by the time he got the
door opened. He pressed the remote in his pocket and hit the wrong button.
Instead of turning on the light over the desk, the one above the red X came out
and he cried out, throwing his arm up to block the brightness as the light
nearly blinded him. He fumbled with the buttons until the light over the desk
turned on. Gagging, sharp pain throbbing brutally over his right eye, he
managed to make his way to the hidden door that led into the bathroom. He hit
the rheostat and quickly twisted the knob until the light over the vanity was
low enough for him to tolerate. Turning—grabbing hold of the door frame to keep
from pitching to the floor—he staggered over to the Murphy bed built flush inside
the west wall. He reached up for the handle to lower it into the room and
nearly passed out. Once the bed’s legs touched the floor, he all but threw
himself on it—curling into a fetal position as pain speared like lightning from
one temple to the other.

Pain was spiking from temple to temple as
he lay there. So agonizing was it he began to tremble—a sure sign this round
was going to be a real shit. Clenching his teeth only made the headache worse
so he tried to relax.

Not an easy thing to do since his entire
brain felt like it was being stabbed with dull needles.

“Does he get them often?” she asked Jono.

“You know he really doesn’t want me talking
to you about him, Lina,” Jono said, “but no, he doesn’t. Maybe three, four a
year but they’re a real bitch.”

“What does he normally do for them?” When
Jono didn’t answer, she cursed under her breath and gave up. She was out of the
car before he could get out to open her door.

The door to Room 202 was standing open and
a soft light was spilling from the west side of the room. To her surprise she
saw a bed and a dark shape lying on it. She shut the door, locked it and walked
over to the bed.

He was on his back with his knees drawn up,
one arm flung over his eyes. Between the semi-darkness of the room and the
blockage of his arm she couldn’t see his face but she could see he was
shivering. From her own experience she knew it wasn’t because he was cold. The
room was slightly too warm if anything.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Stop talking,” he mumbled.

She sighed heavily.

“Not because of the deal,” he mumbled.
“‘Cause it hurts.”

She turned away from the bed and went into
the bathroom.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

“To get a cold washrag,” she said as
quietly as she could. She came back to the bed, folded the washcloth then
gently moved his arm aside so she could place the cloth over his forehead and
eyes.

He held his hand out to her and she took
it, sitting down beside him as he gently tugged.

“I hurt,” he said.

“Did you take something?”

“Yes Mommy,” he replied then ran the back
of his free hand under his nose.

“You want Jono to take you to the ER?”

“Jono’s gone,” he told her.

She drew in a long breath, speaking on the
exhale, “Well, of course he is. You told him I’d be spending the night, didn’t
you? I have to work tomorrow or did you conveniently forget?”

“I hurt,” he said as though that should
explain everything.

“You want me to drive you to the ER?”

“No,” he said with what sounded like
petulance to her.

“What
do
you want?”

“I want to fuck you but I can’t.”

“Sucks to be you, huh?” she asked and
realized he was caressing her fingers as he held her hand.

“I hurt, Melina,” he complained.

“Then let me take you to the ER.”

“Call Craig,” he told her.

“Craig who?”

“Craig Tonika, my doctor. Cell’s on the
desk.”

She eased her hand from his—which took some
doing—and got up from the bed. She found the phone and took it into the
bathroom so she could see. There were only four numbers on the iPhone—Jono’s,
Craig’s, Office, and hers. She glanced through the bathroom door at him and shook
her head before thumbing the physician’s number.

“Dr. Tonika?” she asked when he answered.
“I’m calling for Mr. McGregor. He—”

“Has a headache and it’s bad enough he’s
sending out an S.O.S.,” the man on the other end said. “Where is he?”

“The office park on—”

“Saur,” he finished for her. “Yes, I know.
On my way.”

She brought the cell phone over to the bed
with her and sat down beside him again, tucked the phone under his pillow
should he or she need it. She removed the washrag from his head, fanned it in
the air a few times to cool it, and then laid it over his eyes again.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he said.

“Well, you can’t,” she said.

“Sucks to be me,” he grumbled.

She laughed despite the fact she was still
put out with him. “Yes it does.”

“I hurt, Melina.”

“Turn over on your side and let me rub your
neck. That always helps…”

“I’d rather you rubbed my cock,” he said.

“That won’t help your headache,” she said.

“It’ll help one of them,” he responded.

“Behave,” she said, warming to his sense of
humor.

“I’m better when I’m bad,” he said but he
turned to his side, sighing as she put her hands on his neck.

“You’re as tight as a drum,” she said,
massaging the tense muscles.

“I’ll bet you are, too.”

She giggled. “Stop it,” she ordered.
“You’re incorrigible.”

“I’m engorged,” he said with a snicker.

“Just hush. I mean it.”

He was quiet as she gently but firmly
kneaded the rigid column of his neck. A soft knock at the door turned her head
toward the sound. “That was quick.”

“He lives nearby,” he mumbled, his lips
against the pillow.

She got up, opened the door and found a man
who bore a close resemblance to Jono standing in the hall.

“If you’re here that means he’s really
hurting,” the man said and she stepped aside to allow him to enter with his
little black bag. “Did he chunder?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.

“Did he puke?” the doctor clarified.

“I don’t know,” she answered.

“Yeah,” he said from the bed. “I puked up
tons of shit.”

“Then stop eating shit,” the man said.
“I’ve warned you about that.”

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at
the exchange as she walked back to the bed. He was once again lying on his back
with his knees up, arm over his eyes. “I hurt, bro,” he said.

“On a scale of one to ten?” the doctor
asked.

“Fifty,” he replied.

“I wish you’d learn to count. They have
classes for that you know. What brought this one on?”

“Piss-assed Māori wankers who ask stupid
fucking questions.”

“Bugger off,” the man said as he put his
bag on the bed and opened it. “I ought to let you suffer, you knobhead.” He rummaged
in the bag and pulled out a syringe and a glass bottle.

“What do you give him?” she asked.

“Demerol for the pain and Vistaril for the
nausea.” He glanced at her after he filled the syringe. “Why?” He tossed the
bottle back in his bag and pulled out another, adding that liquid to what he’d
just drawn up.