SEIZED Part 1: New Adult Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) (15 page)

There’s something so hot about a man who can take me. I usually never let anyone take this much control, but feeling him own the speed of my pleasure makes me wild with desire.

It’s like he senses my internal surrender because just then he meets my eyes and thrusts straight to my core. I feel him hit my end, but the pain is amazing. I want him deeper. This angle has him rubbing straight at the top of my pussy, and I nearly scream with the sudden increase in sensation as he starts to speed up.

His muscled abs contract with every thrust, and I’m arching my back to bring him closer. He meets my eyes with a question, and I nod my permission so he pulls out for a second, and flips me onto my hands and knees. I can feel his thighs pressing against me and then he sinks his cock deeper than anyone has ever been. I’m moaning with pleasure, wanting to scream as I throw my body against his rod. I want him to spear me and fill me over and over.

I’m so close now, and when he reaches around to strum my pussy, I go wild, bucking and thrusting as I start to come. He slams into me, taking me higher with each thrust, and I can hear him groaning and swearing as he joins me in an ascent that nearly makes me black out.

Falling onto the bed, I pull him to me and revel in the feeling of his slick hard body against mine. It’s quiet now except for our breathing, and I’m unable to resist the torrent of fearful thoughts. Sex helps me to forget, but not for long, and there are so many things wrong. I have no control, and no idea what’s going to happen, yet here I am getting my rocks off with the head of the investigation.

Shame threatens the edges of my mind, but I force it away. I’m a powerful woman. I have a right to enjoy myself when the opportunity arises, and I deserve to get it while I’m living. Just because I don’t want a permanent man in my life, doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself every now and then.

Blake stirs behind me and I can’t help feeling a tiny pang of disappointment that it’s about to end. He swings his legs over his side of the bed and I snuggle up in the sheets as if I’m glad to be left in peace. Better he just go now than delay this any further. I hope he doesn’t try to apologize later. There’s a way to do this with grace, and there’s a clumsy way. I like to think I’m the graceful sort, so old friends or not, I’m determined to make sure there’s no residual awkwardness between us.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” he says gently.

I mumble, “Mm-hmm,” in a totally contented way. “Thanks, hon, that was nice.”

I feel him pause at my comment, but I pretend to sleep as he ties his robe and heads out into the hallway without another word. I’m left alone now, so I really do snuggle into the pillow. It’s good to have the bed to myself. I’ve always liked sleeping alone. That way I can have the space I need to process the day and keep my dreams to myself.

The pillow is freshly washed, and it smells beautiful. I sink right into it and I’m finally starting to drift off when I hear a muffled beep. I’ve no idea what time it is, and figure it must be Blake’s alarm, but after two more beeps I realize the sound is coming from somewhere in here. I start searching for a smoke alarm with a flat battery, but the sound is coming from under the bed. I’m guessing it must be an electric blanket that’s been left on, so I climb out from under the sheets to investigate further.

I can’t find a thing until, in the midst of the bundle of clothes I was wearing when the kidnapping happened, I uncover April’s purse. It’s been folded there for nearly two days, and the endless beeping turns out to be an alert that the battery on her cell is almost dead. Did I even show this to Blake the other night? I can’t remember, but my reporter’s instinct is firing on all cylinders now. If this is April’s phone, then there’s no way I’m not having a look.

I’m crouched at the foot of the bed, but I don’t care. Furtively, I navigate to her email box to clear the message icons that are flashing on the home screen. I feel a little sneaky, but she’s my best friend, and I know she won’t mind me looking. There are a bunch of emails waiting to be opened from the last two days, and the first has an image attached. I click download and then open one of the others while I wait.

The one I open is from a rental agent in New York. It thanks her for her interest in the apartment, and lists some possible viewing times for today.

“Today,” I whisper to myself, trying to recall if we had planned that. “Today was supposed to be our spa and pamper day.”

I wonder what she was up to?

Another of the emails is similar, offering to show her the rental sometime in the next few days. April is looking for a place in New York. I can’t believe it. Why wouldn’t she tell me something like this? There’s no way she’s making secret plans to move here unless she’s been accepted into one of the vet schools in New York.

Just then, the image from the first email finishes downloading, and up pops a picture of April and I dancing at Caliber. It was sent to her just after three in the morning. We look elated and happy. Her long blond hair is swinging freely, and that dress looks amazing. I look a little frantic, but still not so bad. It’s the sort of picture a friend would post on Facebook, but April said she doesn’t know anyone in New York. I wonder if this is what freaked her out.

Maybe she has a stalker and hasn’t told anyone? Maybe some guy is chasing her, and just won’t give up? Maybe she saw someone take a picture, and asked for a copy? Anything could be the case. I have to be careful not to be dramatic. I know it’s my tendency to look too deeply, so before I go running to Blake with some big, blown-up theory, I need to prove I’m right.

I look at her text messages. The last one is from me, so there’s nothing new to be discovered there, but I find a notification window of some missed calls. The battery beeps again, and I know my time is limited, so I quickly scan her call log. There are four missed calls from one number, and two from another. They came at varying times during the night, before and during the time we were clubbing around Times Square. Someone was trying to get hold of her urgently, and I know she would have answered if it was someone she knew.

April was incredibly diligent with her friendships, so even if the timing of the calls was desperately unlucky, and she missed every single one, she must have ignored them later on. I know she was looking at her phone during the night. I know she was, because of the photos of me at the Empire State Building. April and I had been visiting the tourist attractions, and having a blast. She had her phone in her hand several times, so whoever was calling was not getting through because she didn’t want to talk to them.

I shake my head. I’m confused, but also pissed off. Any second, her phone is going dead, and there’s no charger for it here. Using the lipstick that’s in her bag, I scrawl the two numbers down on the back of one of our receipts. I can’t believe this shit. All this time I am thinking she’s a total innocent, and I nearly got strangled while trying to save her, and she’s been lying her butt off without a second thought. This could mean so much to the case. I look again at the photo of us dancing, but the phone’s screen flickers and goes black.
Shit!
April was purposely avoiding someone, and hiding her plans to move to New York. I didn’t think she had the guts to do something like this, and I can’t work out whether to be proud of her or even more scared for her safety.

The first thing I need to do is find out who was calling her phone. The desk in my room is anally neat and tidy. Blake is clearly a control freak. It’s kind of funny, and part of me wants to muss things up just for kicks, but I’ll get back to torturing him later. The important thing is that there’s a cordless landline sitting there waiting, and I’m going to use it to find out who the hell was trying to get hold of April.

I slide into his leather chair. It smells like him, sexy with a hint of his aftershave. God, I don’t know what that stuff is, but it’s intoxicating. I close my eyes for a second, savoring the thought that I’m sitting where he normally sits. The leather is cold on my exposed thighs. The clock on the phone says it’s six in the morning, and I know Brenda and George will be up soon, to start getting him ready for school. The time is now. Whoever was calling her may be still asleep but they need to wake up and tell me what the hell they were doing bugging my friend.

I dial one of the numbers, and there’s no answer. Of course. Blake’s phone must be an unlisted and unidentified number. In order to really get a response, the call needs to come from April’s phone. If only I had a charger. I open Blake’s desk drawer on a whim. With him being so neat and precise, there could be a universal adaptor phone charging kit here. I roll my eyes just thinking about it. I bet he’s got a pocket knife, too.

I’m rummaging through it without much luck when the door opens. Blake is standing there with a dark look on his face. His jaw is set and his eyes are skeptical.

“Decided to have a little snoop, did you?”

I’m literally caught red-handed, and my face flushes.

“No, I wasn’t snooping, I—”

“Carrie, what are you doing? This is my personal space. You’ve no right to just start exploring for the hell of it. This isn’t high school anymore.”

His remark stings, and I feel the shame of being caught throbbing in my ears.

“No. Listen to me, please, Blake.”

He’s angry, and I can see why. I hate people looking at my stuff.

“You don’t understand. I’m trying to make a call.”

This stops him, and I see him take in that I have the cordless phone in my other hand.

Luckily, the receipt with the scrawl of lipstick is scrunched in my lap, and April’s bag is still partially hidden at the foot of the bed.

“Who were you calling?”

“My mom.” The lie slips out of my mouth because I know it’s the only way to calm him down. He looks at me, anger burning in his eyes as he slams the door and leaves me alone. “I’m scared Blake.” I say it to an empty room, but it’s true.

I’m scared for April, but right now, in this moment, I feel like a little girl who’s been caught in the cookie jar. I’m also scared of his anger, and what he could do if he wanted to. I’m scared of being kicked out of this house with nothing, and more than anything else, I’m scared of what this man is starting to mean to me.

Blake

T
he thing about Carrie is that even when I catch her snooping in my office drawers, she’s doing it in her underpants, looking fucking adorable. God, it’s infuriating. Not her, but my response to her. It’s like she stops me from seeing reason. I haven’t slept a wink since I left her here. There are too many thoughts keeping my eyes wide open. Not just about the case. About the old days, too, the way my parents used to be on the occasional night when they were drinking together. Affectionate and cheesy, dancing in the living room to Marvin Gaye and making Brenda and I squirm with embarrassment.

Those were the happiest times I can remember. My Mom finally relaxing and joining in, instead of constantly being the persecutor. Dad acting all charming and flirting with her. Thoughts like that haven’t come up for a long time. Seeing Carrie has shaken the branches of the old memory tree. There may be a lot of stuff I want to forget, but that memory isn’t one of them.

Fuck the memories. I need to get a grip on what’s happening now. Logically, legally, and professionally, I’ve just made a huge mistake. Giving in to my attraction has compromised the case and the investigation. Not only that, but I didn’t even use protection. It was too fucking intense to get up and leave the room. I don’t want to think about what that could mean for Carrie, and for me, but I can’t help it.

Is she on any birth control? Does she do this often? I know I’m clean. It’s been a long time since I had sex, let alone unprotected sex.
Fuck!
This is a mess. And now she’s been snooping through my drawers. God knows what’s really going on. The only thing I do know is that I owe her an apology. I took her to bed, and then raged at her for using the phone. It doesn’t matter who the fuck she is to me, that was no way to treat a witness.

I calm myself down, and knock quietly on her door. It needs to be said now before she decides to bolt. “Carrie, it’s me,” I call through the door, making sure my voice is gentle. “Can I come in?”

There’s no answer, so I inch the door open and peer inside. She’s climbed back into bed, and is facing the wall. Guilt flares behind my eyes.

“Hon, I’m sorry, of course you can call your mom.” She turns to look at me, and I see that her face is tearstained.

“You’re angry with me,” she says. “I’m sorry.” She pulls the sheet up farther.

“No, it’s fine, we’re just not getting anywhere with the case. I don’t know where to look next and the pressure is...well, it’s a lot.” I sigh, and the admission seems to appease her somewhat. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’ve just been screwed by a few reporters in the past, and I’ve learned not to trust the media.”

That’s when her face changes. In that second, I see it change. This woman is hiding something.

I decide to change the subject. “So, where does your mom live these days?”

“Uh, still in Iowa,” she answers, but lowers her head.

I’m considering the best way to get the truth out of her when she seems to take it on herself.

“There’s something you should know.”

I sit down at the edge of the bed. Somehow, coming in closer at this point seems inappropriate, despite everything that happened last night. “What is it, Carrie?” I figure she’s about to tell me she has a boyfriend, or that she’s not on the pill, but instead she wriggles down past me toward the end of the bed.

Reaching underneath, she rummages around under the end of the bed. Clothes go flying and my eyes are locked on her curvaceous thighs in those cute little panties. She pops back up and I quickly avert my gaze to the item she has in her hand. It’s a leather purse, the flat small type that girls wear under their clothes. I don’t recognize it as Brenda’s, and I’m confused until Carrie says, “It’s April’s. I forgot I was wearing it for her, because her shoe was broken.”