Shelter Me: A Shelter Novel (11 page)

Maybe it was nothing. But these days, whenever I had this feeling, it never was. "I have to go to a book party tonight," I blurted out.

"Didn't realize that was required."

I was too worried to joke back. "It's an ex." A frown crossed his face. "Years ago. Short relationship."

"Okay," he said slowly.

"I don't know why, but I have to go," I blurted out. His gaze narrowed, and then he nodded. Lucas lived by his gut—he would always understand a confession like the one I'd just given him.

"I'll be with you."

"So we're doing this?"

Lucas frowned. "What's this?"

"Going places together."

"Yes."

"Okay then." I took a deep breath. "Thanks. Hopefully, it'll be nothing," I tacked on quickly.

He didn't rush in to reassure me.

* * *

W
hile I slept
, Grant had dropped off clothes for Lucas. I found them draped over my couch and heard the shower running when I woke.

I entertained joining him in the shower, but before I could make a move, there was a knock on my door. I figured it must be Brayden, since no one buzzed me from downstairs. But when I opened the door, I cursed myself for not checking first. Because it was Dan Turner. "How'd you get up here?"

"The doorman knows me," he said with a shrug. "We talked about how you had a scare today."

"Do you think it was the person who stole my painting?" I asked irritably, in no mood to play nice.

"Good comeback. It doesn't change the fact that you're in trouble."

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that, when the officer who took my statement didn't even believe me?"

"Like I told you the first time we met, you're hanging out with questionable people," he retorted.

"And Brayden and Lucas are following me now to scare me?"

Dan Turner shook his head. "You just don't get it.
You're
under investigation."

"By the police?"

"By the insurance company I represent. Eventually, the case will get turned over to the police."

"I haven't done anything wrong."

"We'll see about that. And I'm not sure you can say the same about your friends. Lucas is a violent, dangerous man. He's unpredictable."

"Obviously, I'm a good match, seeing as I've been called violent and unpredictable myself in several recent articles," I told him evenly. "Now get the fuck out of my hallway."

As my voice rose on those last words, Lucas came barreling out of the bathroom, obviously fresh from the shower, still dripping, a towel barely hanging around his waist. I moved aside, since it was obvious who his target was. He stopped mere inches from Turner, who had the nerve to smile.

I wouldn't have, not the way Lucas's eyes glittered. Then again, the way Lucas was acting proved Turner's point about the danger. Granted, it was nothing I hadn't known about or accepted.

"Don't come near her again," Lucas warned Turner, his voice a dangerous growl that took my breath away.

"You're really going to put yourself in this position? Again?" Turner's laugh was nasty and sent a different kind of chill down my spine than Lucas's voice had.

I wanted to pull Lucas away, to protect him, which seemed ridiculous. But the need was so urgent I found myself tugging on his arm, trying to get between him and Turner.

"To protect Ryn? Damned right, Turner. Step off."

"Just to be clear—that's a threat, correct?"

"It's a truth." Lucas tore his gaze away from Turner's to meet mine, since I hadn't stopped pulling on his arm. Immediately, his expression softened and he let me lead him away from Turner, who slowly backed himself out of my doorway.

Lucas closed the door purposefully in his face and locked it.

"I'm losing track of all the times you've saved me at this point."

I swore I heard the smile in his voice when he said, "Is that how it's supposed to work—me saving you?"

"I don't know how it's supposed to work," I said honestly.

"No one's ever defended you?"

"Not like this."

“Get used to it,” he growled, and then he bent his head and kissed me deeply. He was going to prove his words to me, whether I liked it or not. As his tongue stroked mine, his hands slid along my hips, holding them tight, rocking me against his hardness.

His arms tightened around me, holding me. Protecting me.

Claiming me, once again, but this time it was different. It felt different. Before, sex had been all about slaking an incredible thirst. There was still a frenzied quality between us—Lucas had somehow gotten into my bloodstream and ramped me up like no one before him.

But tonight, it was all completely different. Next level, admitting that this was far more than a series of one-night stands.

Vulnerability was an emotion I didn’t wear well. Around Lucas, I seemed to let the walls down far too easily. I wasn’t sure if that said more about me or him, but he’d come for me today, without hesitation.

He’d stood up for me.

He believed me.

What more was there?

I pulled away from him and he stared at me. And then he smiled when I did a semi-dance with him, turning him so his back was against the wall.

When I sank to my knees and unwrapped his towel, he groaned. When I freed his cock and rubbed the broad head with my finger first, I looked up to see him put his head back against the wall, baring his throat, as it were.

Allowing me. King of the jungle, letting me in. Letting me take him, taste him. And I did, swallowing him first and feeling his utter control as he tried not to jut his hips. I loved this feeling of control. It had been taken from me, in the park, by the police, but never from Lucas.

I could feel the strength in his thighs, the tension in his muscles as I suckled the sensitive bundle of nerves along the underside of his cock. I loved hearing him hiss above me. I was wet, could probably come just from doing this to him. And he was close too, but he stopped me with his hands on my head, gently urging me up off my knees.

“You taste good,” I murmured against his ear and his groan rumbled against my chest, deep and powerful and utterly, completely for me.

“You fucking undo me, Ryn.”

“Trouble,” I reminded him.

“Trouble,” he agreed as we moved together into the bathroom, our bodies still together. He reached in to start the shower and he kissed me again, and as he did so, he was also stripping me.

It was a perfect metaphor, since that’s what he’d been doing to me since we’d first met at the gallery—he’d been stripping me of fearing him, of worrying about one-night stands and his reputation.

Finally, my clothes were on the ground. We swayed together, skin to skin in the now steaming room, me with Lucas.

Nothing had changed—from the second I’d met him, I’d known he was a man of actions to back up his words.

Everything had changed. Between us, there was an understanding. I’d never thought anything could happen this fast. I was too careful. To untrusting.

“You’re safe with me,” he told me, like he could read my expression. To be fair, I wasn’t trying to hide the emotion. It was too big, welling up and threatening to expose everything I’d never wanted exposed.

But I stopped just short of that and in response, he picked me up. My legs wrapped around him. I was in post-work-out sweat and grunge and it didn’t matter. His skin smelled male and perfect and I bit his shoulder as he carried me into the shower.

The warmth of the water hit my skin, and we stood under the spray, kissing until we couldn’t breathe. And then we kissed more, straining against each other, wanting to make all of this last.

W
e finally arrived
at Jared's party, Lucas with damp hair, me flushed and looking so obviously (and recently) post sex that we might as well have worn a sign. Lucas could get away with going anywhere half naked. In his jeans and black sweater and boots, he looked perfect. I, however, needed work, but thankfully, the party was dark and moody with its low lighting and crowded space. In this high-rise penthouse, people mingled, artists, writers and the wealthy socialites who funded us.

"Do you know a lot of these people?" He nodded but didn't look thrilled about it. "And they know you?" Now he stared at me like I had several heads. "I just…maybe you know them like a fan does?"

"A fan?" he asked slowly, like the word was foreign to him. "Are you going to be embarrassing in here?"

"Me? No. I mean, I don't think so."

"Christ," he muttered and held my hand as we snaked through the crowd. He snagged me a glass of champagne and I took a couple of fast sips, aware that I hadn't eaten since morning. I wanted to be relaxed, not make a drunken fool of myself. I managed to flag down a waiter with a tray of appetizers—tiny cheese quiches—and when I turned back around, having taken my hand from Lucas's, I found him talking to a tall, dark-haired woman. She had a heavy accent, French, and she touched Lucas a bit too much for my tastes.

And of course, I spotted Meghan across the room.

"This is the most incestuous bunch of people," I muttered. And heard a laugh from next to me. "Shit."

"Don't worry—I have weirdly exceptional hearing, and I feel the same way."

She was shorter than me. Very pretty, tanned, confident. And… "Wait, you're on TV."

She smiled. "I'm Gabrielle."

Gabrielle Weston. She was a TV star. She was really hot right now, according to the magazines Brayden had lying around. "I'm Ryn."

"Oh, the artist. Brayden's friend." She grabbed my hand and smiled even more warmly. "I've got your
Color Study
in my living room."

"Oh, wow. Cool." I never knew what I was supposed to say to that, but she said, "My manager dragged me here because the book's movie rights have been optioned." She shrugged. "I'm considering this an open audition since Jared has a say in the casting, which is really unusual."

It was, but it made sense to me. It definitely wasn’t the norm for the author of the book-turned-movie to have much of a say in the film—that’s what Jared had told me. But Jared’s family was wealthy, and in the film industry. Jared had always been working on screenplays as well as novels, and he’d sold a short-lived sitcom at one point. It wouldn’t surprise me if it was his family’s pull that allowed Jared to have more of a role than he probably should have.

I made some more small talk with her, until her manager came up and introduced himself, then said, "Gabby, Jared wants to meet you."

She handed me her card. "Call me for lunch so we can talk art, okay?"

Before I could promise anything, I turned to see Jared walking to meet Gabriella halfway. I turned and tried to be invisible, not ready to see him just yet. I heard Jared's voice, the slow, southern drawl, and humiliation flashed through me.

God, I thought I was past that. I edged into the crowd until Lucas's hand closed around my elbow.

"Where are you going?"

"Hungry," I lied. "I also need some air. It's too much in here."

Lucas knew what I meant. He pointed to a doorway. "There's an open foyer through there. Go hang out for a few—I'll hunt down some food for you but there’s a line. Call me if you need me sooner than later."

I didn't wait—I headed toward the open space and breathed deeply once I got there. It was quiet and private. A haven in the middle of the claustrophobia of the party happening on the other side of the wall. The door that led to the hallway of the building was open for better airflow and I could see out to the back set of elevators.

I leaned against a bookshelf by the opened door and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I wasn't alone. Jared was there. "I thought I saw you earlier." He moved toward me, murmuring, "Fuck, I hate these things. I drank too much and I thought I was seeing things…"

And I thought
I
was the dramatic one. "You invited me, remember?"

"Right, yes. But I didn't know if you'd come."

"I RSVP'd," I said, but we both knew that didn't guarantee anything. It was kind of nice to see him admitting how unsure he was about me coming, how badly he seemed to want me there. "I didn't know your publisher would throw you such a big party."

He gave a small smile. "Way to massage my ego."

"I didn't think it needed to get any bigger."

"Ouch," he said, hand over his heart. "I guess I deserved that."

He did. The way I remembered it, at that time I'd massaged it way too much, until I'd realized I was part of a stable of women for him, all eager to heap praise on his latest manuscript.

He laughed. "God, Ryn, you always made me laugh. I'm such a moody fuck and you didn't let me get away with it."

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair. He was too close—literally. Too close to my truth. He was the kind of guy you ended up admitting too much to. He was like an archeologist, always digging, sifting through conversations, using what he discovered and capturing it in his books.

His book. This latest one was poised be an immediate, huge commercial success. There'd be a movie. International attention.

He'd already had some literary success but now, with this commercial success, he would become the sell-out he'd said he'd never wanted to be. But before I could remind him of this, a woman with a pinched face and severely pulled-back hair stuck her head in the doorway and said, "Jared, it's time for your speech."

She left without acknowledging my presence after he nodded at her. Then he told me, "That's my agent. She keeps me on track."

"She looks like a bitch."

"She was, until I made her money."

"Go ahead, they're waiting. It was really good to see you."

"Ryn, please." He took a step in my direction and his hand wound around my wrist gently. "Stay. I'd like you to hear me speak."

Thankfully he let go of me and moved away just as fast as he'd come in. My pulse raced, fight or flight, as though he was bringing me danger rather than asking me to listen to a speech.

Don't ignore your gut, Ryn.

I moved out of the quiet space and just enough into the crowd to hear the rustle of excitement beginning to spread about the impending announcement.

The contents and cover of Jared's newest book had been kept secret.

Gabrielle ended up in front of me. I tugged on her sleeve and she turned and smiled.

"How did the meeting go?" I asked.

"Really well. Like, really well."

"You sound like you got the part."

She shrugged modestly. "Nothing's official yet, but he did share the premise with me. And I've got a copy of the script." A woman began introducing Jared into a microphone, causing the room to quiet down considerably. "I'd share spoilers with you, but you're about to find out about as much as I know."

Jared got up in front of the crowd, looking very comfortable there. "I want to thank you all for your interest in my newest book,
Over My Shoulder
. The book is ready for release tonight at midnight, and you'll all leave here with copies. The movie script has also been finished for some time. We've begun the process of casting and I've actually given out some scripts tonight to prospective actors, so I'm really thrilled. This book—the first in what will be a trilogy—really pushed my boundaries, and will push yours as well. It's a dark, psychological thriller, and I know it's my best work to date."

I sighed mentally and wished I was anywhere but here. Once the speech was over, I was so out of here.

"The premise of this book is a woman with amnesia," Jared explained, and a strange buzz started between my ears. "Our narrator can't remember anything before the age of seventeen. She's an author—a relentless author, I'd call her. She can't help but write. She gets famous with the help of a benefactor, but her past comes back to haunt her, and our hero helps to heal her, so to speak, by discovering where she really came from."

A soft "ohhh" went rippling through the crowd at the same time a chill went down my spine. I managed to breathe.

"It sounds fascinating," Gabrielle whispered. "I can't wait to read it. I had to sign a nondisclosure about the script but I'm sure it's going to mirror the book closely." I was frozen. There was no way Gabrielle could miss it, and she frowned. "Ryn, come, you're pale as hell. You need to sit."

No, I shouldn't have come here.
"I need to sit," I echoed. "I'll be okay. You stay. Mingle," I told her, my voice surprisingly steady as I made my way back toward the empty space where I'd first talked to Jared tonight. Except I moved farther, through the room and headed toward the doorway to lead me to the hallway with the elevator.

I'd become fodder for his book.

His goddamned book was about a man who wants to help a woman find her lost past. Enough would be changed to protect me…for now. But I knew.

"Is the heroine, Kaia, based on a real-life person?" one of the reporters was asking, and it was enough to make me halt my march out of the apartment. Another reporter called out, "An ex-girlfriend, maybe?"

The audience laughed, but not loudly. They were all intent on hearing Jared's answer, which came after a momentary pause.

"Authors are always asked where we get our ideas, or whether we base our characters on real people. The answers are everywhere and yes, in that order, but that doesn't mean Kaia is based on any single person. There are parts of me in that character—in all my characters. And they always say, write what you know."

It was a good answer, but no one believed him. No one wanted to believe him.

"It's definitely based on a real-life person," I heard someone say.

"So, what do you think?" I heard Jared ask next and I turned, because he was asking me.

"You're kidding me, right?" I hissed at him. I had my arms drawn tightly against myself but I unwound them when I saw he was holding two glasses, and extending one in my direction. At least the asshole had the decency to realize this would be a blow to me, but not enough decency not to write the damned book in the first place. "What the hell, Jared?"

He sighed. "Look, I never planned this. Not when you first told me," he said, his voice quiet. "But then I saw your paintings at Brayden's gallery—a few years ago—and I started thinking about the story you'd told me. Frankly, I always thought you made it up. But it didn't matter because I was going to change it."

"But you didn't."

"Some of the details are changed—it's not a memoir. It's labeled fiction. I made up a past for you," he said helpfully.

"How awesome of you, really," I said, my voice dripping sarcasm and hatred at once. "You're so thoughtful. Makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. You asshole. And I can't believe you planned the release around my show."

"Well, just in case." At least he had the decency to look sheepish about that. It still made me want to punch him, especially when he added, "You'd get a shitload of free publicity if we did link our careers."

He didn't get that there might be a lot of danger involved. That's how wrapped up in himself he was.

I didn't know if Gabrielle, or whatever actress got the role of me, would be in danger as well. I'd think anyone playing me would be. Then again, I didn't know anything and Jared's made-up past was just that.

I flashed back to that Sunday afternoon, the day after I'd exposed what I knew about my past to Jared…and as he dropped me back at my Catskills apartment he decided that he couldn't be "tied down."

I knew it was partially the truth but I still hated him for saying it, probably because he wasn't the right man to help me leave my past behind. I'd wanted to seem more worldly, like of course I didn't want a relationship either, but I couldn't pull it off fully. It had been like a knife through the gut.

We’d been dating for six months up until that point. He’d been living in the city and commuting up to the Catskills because the quiet was necessary for his muse—his words, not mine. But on that particular weekend, he’d taken me away, farther upstate to a romantic inn, and that’s when I decided I’d spill my guts about my past.

I’d thought it would make us closer. That it would change things. I’d wanted to show that I needed him, because he’d always said, “You don’t need me the way I need you.”

Which was, of course, a lie on both ends.

And when I’d stood there, stunned at his words, he’d reassured me with, "Ryn, it's okay. You're young. We need to explore ourselves, spend time with other people. You'll thank me one day." But he’d also smirked a little as he said that, and it made him look more handsome. His face was sculptured planes. His lips were perfect. I'd fought the urge to close my eyes and trace them with my fingertips.

I realized I'd done that zone-out thing, and that he didn't seem to mind. He didn't find it cutely amusing or stupidly spacey like most. "You don't belong here. You have talent, Ryn."

"Thank you," I'd managed. "But I like it here. It's nice."

"You won't grow with nice."

I'd gotten angry then, at both myself and him. "Maybe I'm happy the way I am."

"Maybe you're lying to yourself. I can't figure out why, but it can't be as important as your art. Maybe you're not a true artist. Maybe you're just another sad girl thinking she's something she's not."

His words had hit home, echoed in my ears then and now, as though my past was standing next to me. As if I'd been transported back to a place I'd never wanted to be.

At that moment, Meghan came into the quiet room and put her arm through Jared's purposely. Possessively, even, as she smiled at my discomfort, but it quickly dropped from her face when she looked me up and down and noticed my hands fisted at my sides.

"This is Meghan," Jared said, oblivious to our tension—or pretending to be.

"This was a private conversation," I pointed out.