The Lost Tycoon (11 page)

A car stopped outside her house, and Misty’s knuckles turned white as she clutched the sides of the kitchen chair. Who would be out in this weather? She’d pulled the blinds down — storms made her even jumpier than she usually was — so when she heard footsteps outside her window, she had no idea who it might be. It couldn’t be Bryson. He was gone, out of town. And though she knew it was silly, she felt vulnerable, unprotected.

The steps stopped and there was a knock on her door.

She was frozen to her seat, barely able to move.

This could be it. Why had she been so stupid? Her cell phone was sitting there useless, completely out of juice, and the storm had knocked out the landlines. She had no way of dialing emergency services — no way of asking for help.

Calm down.
It was probably the guy down the street with the little dog. He’d come by once before to ask if she had dog food. He’d run out and wasn’t going to make it to the store till the next day. Why would he have thought she’d have dog food when she didn’t have a dog? Maybe this time, he needed some milk for his cats.

“Misty? Misty Elton?”

Her head snapped upward. It wasn’t the guy down the street. And this wasn’t an FBI agent or a U.S. marshal. They wouldn’t have used her real name. With a thundering heart, she grabbed a large kitchen knife and approached the door. There was no more running — she was through with it.

*****

“How in the hell did he get her address!” Bryson was nearly panicked as he yelled into his cellular phone. “No one has that authorization!”

“Listen, I’m just telling you what I know,” Axel said, for once somewhat subdued. They’d been blindsided. “The man has connections. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Does she know yet?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid she does. She’s been told.”

“She must be a total wreck! I want to be there for her right this minute, but I’m at least an hour away,” he shouted again,
almost
feeling bad about taking his mood out on Axel.

“Just get there,” Axel told him.

“I will!” He hung up and pushed his car up to a hundred miles an hour. If something happened to Misty, it would be all his fault, and he would never forgive himself. Never!

Going as fast as he could in the storm that was brewing from Misty’s direction, he drove frantically down the dark freeway. Every mile he came closer to her, the wind picked up.

The road stretched on endlessly, and forty-five minutes later, his heart thundering, Bryson pulled up to Misty’s house and jumped from his vehicle when it had barely come to a stop. After rushing up the walkway, he hesitated when he reached the door, listening for any sounds.

The power was out and he could see only the flicker of candlelight through the windows. Hearing no sound was more worrisome than if he’d heard something.

The curtain fluttered and he knew someone had peeked out at him. He waited, his body tense. How was she? What was her reaction?

His heart raced as he waited. It had been a week since he’d seen her last, a few days since he’d learned about her family. Then Joseph, it seemed, had decided he’d spent enough time not knowing her, and he wanted to call on her, needed to speak to her. Joseph hadn’t even asked him first; the old man just rushed ahead, interfering — his characteristic modus operandi.

The door opened and Misty stood before him, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. This was worse than he’d thought.

“May I come in?” he asked warily, not sure what Joseph had told her — not sure if he was the last person she’d want to speak to again.

She opened the door wider without saying a word, and he stepped over the threshold, careful not to touch her yet. She looked fragile enough that one single movement might shatter her.

Following behind her as she walked into the kitchen and lit the burner on her stove top, he waited to see what she would say. At least the gas stove worked even during a power failure. It seemed to give her some form of reassurance to be doing something other than staring back at him in the semidarkness.

“This is a nasty storm,” he said, needing to break the silence.

“Yes. I lost power a little over an hour ago. When you pulled up, I’d just gotten the candles all lit so I can see around the house, now that it’s dark outside. Do you want tea? I need tea,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion as she set the kettle on top of the flame.

“Sure. I’ll have a cup.” He didn’t know what to say — this was a first for him. This woman had already been put through so much trauma, and she’d been all alone today when she’d found out the biggest news of her life. Because of him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“You didn’t have to make the trip in this weather.”

The kettle began to whistle and she removed it from the burner, then poured hot water over the tea bags.

“Yes I did.” That was the truth. He’d needed to be with her all week. “I…I’m done trying to stay away.”

She reached into the cupboard and pulled out cookies, then leaned against the counter and, picking up her cup, took a sip of the hot liquid. She seemed so close to breaking apart that he couldn’t keep his distance any longer.

Moving next to her, he lifted a hand, placing it on her shoulder. “Tell me what happened.” If she didn’t trust him any longer, she wouldn’t say a word. He held his breath.

“I…I have no one in my life…or, at least, I’ve never had anyone all my life. I don’t…” She tried to gain control over her emotions. “I think you’re the only person in the world I trust, Bryson. I…want to talk to you, but I shouldn’t burden you.” A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

He lifted his hand from her shoulder and ran his finger along the track that the tear had left, then cupped her cheek in his palm. His insides were twisted in knots as he watched her try to maintain control of herself. He wanted to take her agony away, bear the burden for her. “You can tell me anything, Misty. I want to listen. I want to be there for you.”

“You know I grew up in the foster-care system, that I was bounced around and around and around. The only clue to my identity was one little note that was left with me, the note that said I needed to find my brother. I never followed up on it. What was the point? I’m sure there are millions of Damiens in the world, and I didn’t even know a city for him, or a last name. I knew nothing.” Her voice was clear, almost as if she’d rehearsed her lines.

She most likely had in the time she’d had to think since her visit with Joseph had ended. This is where he should tell her the truth, Bryson thought, tell her of his involvement in all of this. But he couldn’t get the words past his throat. They just wouldn’t come. He was too afraid she’d hate him, make him go away.

“Go on,” he said instead.

“Tonight, when he showed up here, I was so frightened, afraid to answer the doorbell. But I made a promise to not run from anything anymore, so I didn’t just ignore it. I faced it,” she said, a gleam entering in her eyes during the last few words.

He broke in. “You are so strong and brave.”

She went on without acknowledging his praise. “We just stood there facing each other in silence for a moment. I almost asked if Santa was in town. He was the largest man I’ve ever run into, but with the white hair and beard and practically sparkling eyes, I wasn’t afraid. I was just in shock.”

Bryson was too tense to say anything as she paused to take a breath.

“He tells me his name is Joseph Anderson, that he’s my…cousin,” she said with disbelief. “He couldn’t be. He’s too old, for one, and how would he know I exist, for two? Or that’s what I thought until he explained it all to me. Apparently his uncle got involved with a much younger woman and then died, estranged from the family. They know my brother — Damien is real,” she said with wonder.

“Are you going to meet your brother?” Bryson now caressed her hair, both to offer comfort and to fulfill his need to touch her.

“I’m scared,” she admitted. “What if it all turns out to not be true? What if this is all just some sort of sick joke? What if this Damien is my brother but he hates me?”

“No one who meets you can hate you, Misty. I can guarantee that.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to hold her. Removing the cup from her hand, he set it aside and wrapped her in his arms, her head leaning against his chest, his hands stroking her back.

“That’s not true!” she sobbed. “My foster parents hated me, the other kids hated me, and Jesse really hated me.”

“Oh, Misty, they were all fools. Don’t you see that you were thrust into a life that wasn’t supposed to be yours? You were supposed to have it all, a loving family, a beautiful life, with all the advantages in the world. Even though you didn’t grow up with what you deserved, you have still managed to stay above water. So many would use a terrible childhood as an excuse to use drugs, or live a life of crime, but not you. Though times were hard, you trudged ahead.”

“But I ended up with Jesse,” she reminded him.

“Not by your choosing. He took all choice away, didn’t give you options. He forced your hand, and even then you managed to escape. Not all his victims have managed to get away from him…alive.”

She shuddered in his arms and took in deep breaths, trying to pull herself together. “I’m still afraid. Doesn’t that make me weak? I’m afraid to take the hand Joseph is holding out to me. I’m afraid of meeting my brother.” She paused before admitting what frightened her even more. “I’m afraid of letting you go right now.”

She pressed her body more tightly against his.

He was the lowest and most disgusting of scum. She trusted him, was seeking comfort and reassurance from him, and his body was firing up, his brain focused on the curves pressed against him, his caressing hands well aware of her derrière only inches below them. He would burn in hell — and he’d deserve it.

“I need you, Bryson,” she whispered, the words barely audible. “Please.”

His entire body snapped into action mode. Though he nearly shook in his attempt to do the right thing, he was hard in a second. But she was vulnerable, hurting, alone. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t make love to her right now.

It was wrong on so many levels, and there wasn’t a punishment severe enough for him if he went through with this. She would hate him afterward. And she’d hate him even more when she found out he’d known about her brother and told her nothing.

He was trying to persuade himself to let her go, to lead her into the living room, where he could hold her until she felt better, when her hand slid across his backside, making him clench his teeth.

It looked as if hell was going to take him. Because there was no more turning back.

Misty’s stomach was doing handsprings, her emotions were all over the place, and her whole world had been flipped upside down, but one thing was certain: being pressed up against Bryson, with his strong hands kneading the taut muscles up and down her back, felt so right.

Her anguish faded; the questions running through her head stopped. All she could feel, all she could think about, all she could concentrate on, was Bryson. She needed him to take this away — take away the choices, the decisions, the life-changing questions.

She needed him to take…her.

“Please, Bryson. Please touch me,” she begged. She turned her head and leaned upward, her lips softly flitting across his solid jaw, satisfaction filling her when he trembled in her arms.

“You’re vulnerable right now,” Bryson argued, fighting to maintain control, but his rebellious hands moved down past the small of her back and gripped her luscious behind, pulling her tightly against his solid erection.

“That’s why I need you. Too many people have hurt me…too many times. I can’t remember sleeping one night — not a single night — where I felt safe, where I felt that, when I woke up, the world would be a little bit better. I just need this night. I need to be in your arms, and I need to feel what real pleasure is. Just once,” she begged, her mouth now at his neck. She bit down gently on the skin before sucking it, wetting it with her tongue.

He knew this was it. Either he pulled away, took her into the living room and held her until she fell asleep, or he took her lips. There was no turning back if he did this. No way of redeeming himself. When she nipped his neck again, his mind shut off.

At least hell was warm…

“I have to have you,” he groaned before one hand flew up her back and clasped the back of her head, tilting her face upward so he could bend down and taste her beautiful mouth.

Their lips crashed together like a wave hitting the shore, shattering any and all doubts that this could possibly be wrong.

He wanted her — there was no doubt about it, from the urgency of his mouth to the feel of his arousal pressing against her stomach, demanding to be freed from the tight confines of his clothes.

If she didn’t have him, she would never make it through this storm; she would just float out to sea, never to be found again. She moved her arms up his body, wound them around his neck, and pressed even closer.

His tongue explored her mouth, sending sensations through her unlike anything she’d ever known, and making her core tighten in anticipation.

She’d never felt any craving for sex, not even once. It had been something she was either forced to have or thought she had to have, but it had never been pleasurable. Yet from the way she was feeling now, she hadn’t a single doubt that this would be earth-shattering. This would be what she’d dreamt about when she read a romance or watched a sappy movie.

This would be worth the buildup of the games they’d been playing for weeks, months.

If this was the only night the two of them had together, she wanted it to last. She knew she was pushing him, and she knew he’d regret it. He was too ethical and this broke the rules. But to hell with the rules. For this brief moment, she felt nothing but pleasure, and she deserved that — deserved to feel alive and free.

He broke away and she dragged oxygen inside her lungs while his mouth moved down the curve of her jaw, and then his teeth clamped on to the skin of her neck, causing a sting that he quickly soothed with his tongue.

“What are you doing to me?” he growled, passion and confusion in his voice. But his mouth traveled back to hers, and he took her lips again, accepting nothing less than her complete submission.

She could ask the same of him, ask for his surrender — but she already had it.

One minute she was fully clothed, and the next she wasn’t. She’d been so focused on his mouth that she hadn’t even noticed when he stripped off her slacks and her panties. But she noticed now, when his long fingers gripped her backside and he lifted her, spreading her thighs apart as he set her on the counter, slipped between her legs, and, still clothed, pressed his erection against her aching core.

“Oh, my,” she groaned, her head falling back. “Too much…” It was all too much — the sensation, the feelings, the raw need.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Did she hear fear in his voice that she had changed her mind?

“Never!” she cried, and he immediately plundered her mouth again, capturing the moan rumbling through her as his hands squeezed the flesh of her bare behind.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned. He trailed his tongue down her jaw, but this time he didn’t stop. He let his hands move up her sides, then captured the top of her blouse and yanked. The material gave way easily, ripping apart and offering her panting chest to his mouth.

Tugging on her bra, he freed her breasts, and they spilled out, reaching for him. He didn’t keep her waiting. His mouth found one nipple and suckled it to a pointed peak before he moved over and gave the same pleasure to the other one.

“More,” she demanded.

Misty fell backward, her back held up only by the cupboards behind her while his mouth worshipped her breasts, leaving her even hungrier than before.

When he moved downward to her navel, she shook, but not in alarm at his clear intent. She needed more, and that’s what he gave her. His mouth circled her wet heat and then his tongue was doing things to her she’d never dreamed of. She screamed when the first pulses slammed into her, then moaned long and deep as he sucked on her swollen bud, drawing out her pleasure in wave after wave of sensation.

Before she could gain her breath back, he was standing again, his mouth glistening with her pleasure, his eyes wild as he gazed at her, animal-like, hungry.

“You are even more beautiful than I imagined,” he whispered, his voice raw with passion. “And I imagined being with you. I imagined it a lot.”

“Take me, Bryson; take me right now.”

It didn’t seem possible, but his eyes grew even more feral and predatory as he reached down and freed himself. She felt an instant of disappointment that she didn’t get to see him in all his glory before he was pressed against her. But he was now sliding inside her and any thought of disappointment vanished.

“Ohhh…” was all she got out before he began pumping his hips, a sublime pressure mounting within her as be began moving quickly in and out of her flesh, building an even more intense explosion inside her body.

All she could do was grip his arms and moan as she looked into his face, his eyes and their powerful heat shining back at her. He held her buttocks as he moved harder, faster, longer with each stroke.

When he leaned in and kissed her, his mouth almost frantic, his body quaking, she released again, crying out as this second round of pleasure seemed almost to tear her in half with its intensity.

With his own cry, Bryson pulled out and she felt hot liquid spill out on her thighs, the sensation heating her all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped.

“I’m not,” she said.

“No. I…I forgot to protect you. I’m sorry. I pulled out, though…I think in time,” he said, his face against her neck.

She wasn’t sure who was holding up whom.

“Oh” was her only reaction. That had been foolish, very foolish. It would be fine, though. He’d caught it, right?

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said. He moved away reluctantly, leaving her shivering on the counter and unable to move. She was too afraid her legs would fail her.

He quickly returned with a washcloth. Was this the end of their night? Would he now leave? The thought left her full of dread, but she’d done enough begging tonight.

If he wanted to go, she wouldn’t stop him.

Neither of them spoke.

Then, so gently that her eyes stung with tears, he slid his hands beneath her legs and back, cradled her close, and began carrying her through the house. When he reached her room, he laid her on the bed, reached into his back pocket and set something on the nightstand, and then removed his clothes. Sliding beneath the covers, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her with aching sweetness.

“With the power out, it will take two of us to keep warm,” he said, though a heater was the last thing she needed. Her body was on fire.

“Great thinking.”

No more thoughts intervened, because he was kissing her again, taking his time now — they had all night, after all. He drew away her ragged shirt and kissed her stomach. He let his hands glide slowly up her bare back, and that’s when he felt the light ridges there.

He froze for a moment, and then, after turning her on her stomach, he kissed along her spine. The candlelight didn’t give him much of a view, but it cast enough of a glow to reveal scars from what looked like years of torture. He knew what she’d been through with Jesse — he just didn’t know what she’d been through before that man. Her body was trying to tell him the story.

His heart ached as he kissed each scar he felt.

“Bryson?” She murmured his name as she tried to turn from his scrutiny. “Don’t look at my back. It’s grotesque,” she said, her voice choked.

“It’s beautiful, just like the rest of you, Misty,” he replied, preventing her from twisting away as his fingers gently drifted across her skin. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated over and over again until she stopped struggling against him, his lips and fingers just a whisper against her delicate skin.

If he did nothing else this night, he needed to show her how incredible she was — that the scars didn’t detract from her exquisite beauty. Not one whit.

Seeing them made him only more protective of her, filled him with a greater need to make sure she was never hurt again.

Caressing her body — this time, he was unhurried — he got lost in her once again, for the rest of the stormy night.