Chapter 18 Madison #2
I nearly glare at her. Traitor! Only last week she was ripping out my heart by telling me how much she hates it here.
But a handsome man shows up, and suddenly she’s the poster child of happy residents.
I guess it’s not her fault—she’s just excited about the prospect of a setup.
She doesn’t know that the man in front of her is a sham.
Well, Mr. Parker, you like lying so much? Let’s see whatcha got. Rapid-fire hot seat. “Where are you from originally?”
“Manchester.”
“I thought they had different accents—harsher. You sound like the Queen of England.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “I went to school in London.”
“How long did you live in the UK?”
“All my life until I moved here.”
“And how long was that?”
He smiles. “I’m 31.”
He could be—he’s got some fine lines cutting through his forehead and bracketing his mouth that aren’t deep enough for him to be much older than that. That makes him four years older than me.
“Do you like it here?” Abuela pipes in, deconstructing her breakfast and ripping off a small piece of bread.
“It’s recently become very interesting,” he answers her, staring straight at me.
“What’s your favorite thing?” she presses.
“Probably the locals,” he says, still staring.
My stomach twists, and heat rises to my face. “Siblings? Parents?”
“No family.”
“So, what’s your job here?”
“I’m on the board of advisors.”
“What do you do on the board of advisors?”
“We make some financial decisions and facilitate projects for the overall success of the business and comfort of the residents.”
So, so full of shit. “What—”
“Madison, let the man breathe,” Abuela chides, laying a delicate hand on his suit sleeve. With a small glare, she hisses at me in Spanish, “?Qué haces? Esto no es una inquisición. ?Vas a asustar al hombre guapo!”
I snort and glance at Wesley, who’s wearing that blank, slightly awkward look people always get when someone is speaking in a language they don’t understand in front of them. “Si se asusta tan fácilmente, es demasiado blando para mí.”
Her smile is coy. “A mí no me parece blando…”
“I don’t mind the questions,” Wesley cuts in, flashing that smile around like it’s free. Ugh. It’s so white and clean and bright…
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you have more teeth than normal people?”
That earns me a sharp look from Abuela. “Madison!”
“What? All I’m saying is, he smiles and all I see is teeth.”
“Don’t be rude,” Abuela chides me before sending Wesley a look that might have been coquettish, like, 40 years ago. What a little hussy! “My granddaughter is just being smart. You look like you have the right number of teeth.”
“I do,” he says proudly, showing them off yet again. “And I am happy to use all 28 of them to fight that ghastly stereotype about Brits having poor oral hygiene.”
28? That doesn’t sound right. I start running my tongue across the inside of my molars, and he winks at me. “You’re counting, aren’t you?”
I suck my tongue back to the bottom of my mouth and roll my lips inward.
At the flash of humor in his eyes, I push my chair away from the table, feeling only a little bit like a petulant child.
But I’m done with this. I really don’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Abuela, but I need to slip away from him.
“I’m going to get another cup of coffee from the cafeteria.”
I stand, creating a small commotion in the room as Abuela sees the future she has planned for me and Wesley slipping away. “Oh, well… um, Wesley, maybe you should show her where it is.”
Damn. I was banking on her wanting to keep him around to bat her eyes at him. “No, that’s okay! I know.” I start slinking towards the door.
But Wesley stands, reminding me of just how tall he is and just how close we are. Of their own volition, my eyes travel down the length of his dark gray suit that’s perfectly tailored to his stunning body.
Christ. The man could wear a potato sack and I’d drool all over him, but this suit? Devastating. He’s less wholesome superhero and more sexy villain. He looks like he’d ruin me and make me thank him for it. And I’m so turned on by the mere thought, my nipples pebble in my ugly beige bra.
What I wouldn’t give for a little lace and silk boost right about now. Should have worn my big-girl panties.
“We can’t have her getting lost, can we?” he says to Abuela, but his eyes are only for me. A shiver works its way down my spine under the intensity of his gaze. It’s just a flash of the real man hiding under the mask he wore for Abuela, and damn if it doesn’t make my pulse race. “May I escort you?”
I think I hear Abuela sigh happily in the background. She’s such a sucker for manners. And my hand is effectively forced.
That’s another point to SpyderMan. “Sure, fine. Whatever,” I grumble, defeated.
“Drop by whenever you like!” Abuela cries after us as he gestures for me to go ahead of him out of the room. She chuckles. “I’m always here.”
He nods at people as we walk down the hallways, like he actually knows them. Like he’s the King of Sunset Hills. I adjust my grip on the strap of my bag, gnashing my teeth and biding my time until we’re in the parking lot and far enough away from prying eyes and hearing aids.
I start rummaging around in my bag for my keys as we approach my car, and I can feel him looming behind me, following.
“Don’t you have rocks to kick? Maybe some sand to pound or a hike to take, Wesley?”
“It’s not a lie.”
I stop, glancing up at the softness in his voice. “What?”
“I realized after I left last night that I never actually introduced myself. My name really is Wesley.”
Of course it is. It’s sexy and playful, and it sounds amazing in his accent. Frankly… rude. I wish his name was something I could never imagine screaming out, like Gilbert or Donald. “Well, I’m fresh out of Boy Scout badges for not lying to old ladies, so I’ll have to mail it to you,” I seethe.
“Everything I told you just now was true. It’s poor form to lie to your future wife’s family.”
Future what now? I narrow my eyes at him, not sure I want to fully process the squirmy feeling in my tummy at that.
His eyes are twinkling in that impish way, and I can’t tell if he’s making fun of me so I’ll just assume he is.
I whirl on him, scowling. “What exactly were you hoping to accomplish by going after my abuela, Wesley?”
He smiles. “She likes me.”
I shake my head. “This was just between the two of us. I can’t believe you dragged her into it. Low blow, Peter Parker.”
The expression on his face is neutral as he begins working the knot in his tie loose with the hook of his index finger.
My eyes are glued to the motion, and I swallow hard.
Not because I’m affected by the ridiculously erotic show of his hands flexing underneath the tattoos, but because… another reason. A convincing one.
“It’s not my intention to involve her in our affairs—I knew you’d come here.”
How? How did he know that? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of getting yet another one over on me.
He must see the question in my eyes anyway. “I knew you’d want to see her before you left town,” he finishes, confirming that he figured out my next move.
My stomach swoops behind my belly button. Am I that predictable? “You really think you have me figured out, huh? He’s so smart,” I mutter sarcastically.
He cocks his head, and the hair he slicked back to achieve his cleaned-up businessman persona falls into his eye. I fight the urge to brush it aside for him. “I know you,” he corrects. “You’re going to run. Don’t.”
“You told me someone wants me dead—that they hired people to kill me. Why would I stay?”
“I told you I would protect you.”
“I don’t need your protection.”
I only get the driver’s door open a couple of inches before it slams closed, jerked out of my grip.
His massive hand is gripping the top corner, and I know he’d hold it closed if I tried to open it again.
I spin, outraged, and find him way closer than I expected.
I have to lean back, tilting my head so far that I nearly fall backwards.
In the blink of an eye, I’m pinned against the door of my car, pressed hopelessly between the cold, rigid metal at my back and the searing heat of the man in front of me.
He leans into me, bracing himself with a hand by my ear, letting me feel the hard press of his firm muscles and heavy weight.
I’m gasping for air, making my chest heave and brush against his at the apex of every breath.
“Is this your kink? You like boxing me in?” I quip.
When I feel his hand on my waist, I nearly jump out of my skin.
I’m not sure if he’s steadying himself, or holding me so I can’t get away.
Both, I hope. I can feel his warmth, since he snuck right into my unbuttoned sweater, and he’s practically burning a hole through my tank top.
And he’s not being overly gentle, either—he’s gripping me hard, and his palms fit perfectly just above the flare of my hips.
His hands tighten, forcing a gasp out of me, but his thumbs move gently, stroking the base of my ribcage.
“Let me go,” I whisper, hoping he doesn’t.
He shakes his head. “I can’t do that. God, Madison… the thought that someone wants to hurt you... I’m going out of my mind. Please don’t go. Stay. Let me help you.”
There’s a world of sincerity and anguish in his tone—he sounds scared and truly concerned. I swallow down the tenderness that wants to bubble to my lips and console him. “I’m a big girl, Wesley—I can take care of myself.”
“How about this, then: I need your help.”
I go still at the softness in his eyes, my stomach jolting as if a rug was literally pulled from under my feet. After how charged our exchanges have been, I never thought he’d ask nicely. And I never thought asking nicely would actually work.
“I need your help to find him.”
I inhale sharply at that. Wait… does that mean he’s not cutting me out and asking me to put my life in his hands—he’s offering to let me be part of it? “I can find him on my own,” I protest, but it sounds half-hearted, even to me.
He smiles. “I have no doubt,” he says, and my heart lifts.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear him confirm that until now.
“But surely you can see that this is a better option—you don’t know what you’re up against, and you have a very blatant soft spot for a very vulnerable person.
Someone could take advantage.” He gestures back to the building with a jerk of his chin, never taking his eyes from mine.
He’s got a point. Of course I can do it myself—just like I always do—but it would be much easier with his help.
He has answers. And what’s more, he has resources.
Plus, it might help to have someone like Wesley on my side if the worst-case scenario happens, because I’ve never killed a man but… apparently, he has.
“I can’t do this without my favorite spider. We’d make an unbeatable team.”
I tilt my head back, lips spreading into a smile. A team. Just like old times. And even better, we’ll be side by side. “Okay, Wesley.”
His brows tip up in the middle, an entreating look full of tentative hope. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
The tension blows out of him with a long breath. “Okay. Good. Go finish your visit with your grandmother. We’ll talk after.” Releasing me slowly, like he doesn’t want to, he steps back and tightens his tie around his neck. “I’ve got an appointment with the vice president of Sunset Hills.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m on the board,” he replies simply, winking. “I made a sizeable donation, and they made me a member.”
I feel my jaw drop. He… actually wasn’t lying? “Why did you do that?”
“Because the board gets special treatment, and now Rosemary Vazquez is a VIP client. I’m going to get her moved into a room with a bit more luxury and special attention. Phillip mentioned a contract with a security company; I was thinking we could get a guard for her door. How does that sound?”
I swallow down a thickness in my throat that feels suspiciously like happy, relieved tears. He’s… taking care of Abuela? Making sure she’s safe? “You… um… maybe two guards—one in with her as a companion so she doesn’t miss my visits quite as much. She likes Manny.”
“Done,” he nods.
My intake of breath is a sharp slice through my lungs. “Really?” I croak.
He cocks his head. “She’s important to you. And you’re important to me,” he replies simply.
With that, he turns to head back into the building, but stops and glances at me sideways. He offers his hand out to me, and I know it’s not just a silent offer to escort me back inside. It’s a question. A test. My stomach flops as the importance of the moment settles on my shoulders.
I take his hand, and we walk back inside together.