16. Eleanor
16
Eleanor
You lookin’ to get chased, darlin’?
My face starts feeling warm after that first gulp of vodka hits my stomach, so I slow down for the rest of the glass. I’m not much of a drinker, and I don’t want to completely lose my faculties. Mac might be keeping me safe (?) here, but he’s clearly not the only killer under this roof. I shiver at the memory of the scary, scarred man with the thick Russian accent. Wesley seemed nice, at least. Cool tats, too.
I take another sip and notice that my hands are a little steadier now. I’m not sure how much time passes as I stare, seeing nothing, but eventually I realize that the wall of windows next to me is letting some of the cold pass through the glass. I’m shivering; so, I toss back the rest of the vodka and stand to get the blood moving.
God, this kitchen.
It’s the size of my apartment, first of all, which probably isn’t saying that much. I doubt there’s a single room in this house that isn’t. The room has one of those no-clutter, clean lines, modern/minimalist designs. The top-of-the-line appliances gleam spotlessly from the perfect kitchen triangle they create. Two sinks—one just for prep on the island—two dishwashers, a huge, funky light fixture spanning the width of an enormous island…
Chef Robert was bragging once about remodeling his home and made a joke that the fancier the kitchen, the harder it is to find the garbage. I look around at identical cabinets without handles—I wouldn’t even know where to start looking—and decide this probably puts his to shame. No stashing the trash in a corner or under the sink, here .
I run my hand across the counter and shake my head. Marble. When will rich people stop using porous stones for kitchen surfaces? Grease doesn’t care that it costs $35K, it’ll ruin it just the same without regular preventative maintenance.
I walk around, letting my fingers trail over the tops of the stools, which appear to be some kind of polished natural-edge wood. I peek into the bathtub-sized stainless-steel sink, and find nothing but a shiny surface. No dishes.
And the stove… Oh my God.
60 inches wide, dual-fuel, six full-sized burners with built-in griddle and grill, two ovens and a touch panel that is probably the most intimidating thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
I think I just came.
Then, I gasp suddenly, seeing the espresso machine.
I hear a low, angry exclamation in a language I don’t understand behind me. When I turn, that huge, scarred, menacing looking guy is grabbing the vodka from the table where I left it and shooting me a glare.
I gulp. Apparently, Dimitri doesn’t like to share.
“S-sorry,” I manage.
It does nothing to mollify him. With steps so heavy they make the glasses in the cupboards behind me tinkle as they tremble against each other, he stalks around the island. I fall back up as he comes closer, but he stops and disappears behind one of the long cabinet doors briefly. When he shuts it, I see he’s gotten a water bottle out. The vodka is tucked under his arm.
His eyes scan me, head to toe, and he shakes his head dismissively and turns around.
A breath of relief spills from my lips, as indignation refills my lungs. I’m not sure why I care about his approval, considering he might as well have the word Murderer tattooed across his forehead from the way menace fills the air around him. Plus, now that I’ve gotten another look at him, I’m pretty sure he’s the guy from that grainy picture Officer McCloskey showed me. Which means he’s as deep in this world as any of the rest of them.
But the awareness of being judged by a stranger is deeply ingrained, and its effects are cumulative, even if the moments themselves pass quickly.
“Whatcha up to, darlin’? ”
I jump, startled, and the way my heart continues to hammer at the sound of Mac’s deep voice? I have to get that under control. But he’s not making it easy. His long-sleeved shirt is just loose enough that it still stretches against his torso, making it look broad and flat, but I lose the taper of his hips. The sleeves are pushed over his elbows, and his hands are stuck into his pockets. That’s some serious forearm-porn. And his black pants hug his thighs and he’s doing that leaning thing against the doorframe…
He seems more relaxed now than he was before he left me in here, though I can’t quite put my finger on why.
I bend down to scratch my knee idly, then look away, letting my hand rest on the marble. “Just looking around. This kitchen is… wow.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
I tap my fingers a few times, suddenly antsy in my attempt not to feel any sort of way about that. “What chef wouldn’t? It’s a dream.”
“Are you hungry? I’m not sure what we have—”
“No.” The burning feeling behind my eyes makes me want to rub them. “I’m tired. Can we go—I mean, can you show me somewhere I can sleep? I don’t know what time it is, but… wait,” I pat the pockets of my shorts and look around the kitchen, just to be sure I didn’t leave it at the table or something. “Where’s my phone? Oh, right. Coat pocket.”
“About that,” Mac begins ruefully, lifting his eyebrows. He pushes off the wall and steps towards the island. “Some rules while you’re here. Safe house rules.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly.
“You can’t leave.”
“For how long?”
I watch his jaw work a little before he replies, “Until I say it’s safe. As long as it takes.”
Translating that vague Mac speak… “So, I can’t go to work?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m going to lose my job.” I should be more upset at the prospect of losing my job. I could take a week off, probably, but only because it’s the off season now. And they wouldn’t hold my spot for me any longer than that. They need all their kitchen hands too much .
He shrugs. “But you won’t lose your life.”
Fair point. “Okay. What else?” At the questioning expression, I just sigh, “You said rules; that was just one—stay here until you say I can leave.”
He advances around the counter, and I take a step the opposite way, keeping it between us. “No contact with anyone. You can’t have your phone; it’ll be turned off, in a box we have that blocks any trackers or anything that might be on it.”
I press my lips together. “People will be worried about me—people at work, Harrison, my sister… maybe my parents, depending on how long I’m gone.”
There’s a glint in his eye when I bring up Harrison’s name that almost makes me want to do it again just to see how he’ll react. “I’ll have Wes send them an email from your account on an untraceable IP that you’re taking a vacation and you’ll be off grid. Anything you want to add that might help sell it?”
I consider that. It’s going to sound a bit strange no matter what they say—I don’t take vacations, everyone knows that. He takes another step and so do I. “When we were little, my parents took us camping in West Virginia. I remember it being really remote.”
He nods. His step is slower, this time, and I let his weight shift before I match it with my own. “That works. Service is bad in the mountains.”
I swallow. “Anything else? Am I confined to my room, or am I supposed to avoid windows—”
“Eleanor, why are you backing away from me? You lookin’ to get chased, darlin’?”
A thrill zings through my belly, but I spit, “Because you’re following me? I really don’t want you to chase me.”
He smiles slowly, flashing those white teeth. “I seriously doubt that.”
My heart starts pounding, heavy and fast. The urge for fight or flight is strong and it’s only the knowledge that there is a 0% chance that I’m faster than him that glues me in place. I’m not quite sure how to get out of this thing I’ve apparently started, either, except that I’ve noticed he backs off when I submit—it’s not the fear he likes, it’s the defiance I show when he’s expecting fear.
I look down when he takes another step, letting him know he’s won. “I’m really tired,” I say. It’s not the most prevalent feeling in my body right now, but it is true .
He finishes closing the distance between us, but the predatory look has been subdued. “Then, let’s get you to bed. You’re not confined to your room, and you don’t have to avoid windows. We’re tucked away in here, that’s why it’s safe.”
He places his hand at the small of my back and starts gently leading me out towards the foyer.
“Oh, before I forget, that guy who came in here before, Dimitri?”
“Did he say something to you?” Mac asks, a hard edge to his voice.
I bite my lip and shake my head. “No, I think he was the one in the photo they showed me—those pretend cops, I mean. He was wearing a hat in the picture, so I couldn’t see that scar he has, but I’m pretty sure it was him.”
I feel him tense, even through the minimal contact of his hand. “It’s good that you told me. We’ll look into if that other guy actually was a cop. You said his name was McCloskey?”
I nod.
I have to try to keep my jaw off the floor as we walk back into the grand entrance. My sneakers keep making little squeaking noises against the polished floors and I’m reminded of just how out of place I must look in my dirty gym clothes. And that I’m not wearing a bra… I glance down. Oh my God, I’m officially three for three.
All three of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life met me for the first time with my nipples visible through my shirt.
Well… not much I can do about that now.
We reach the stairs and I make a move to grab my gym bag, but Mac beats me to it.
“So, your name is James?” I ask to fill the silence as he gestures to the staircase and lets me go ahead of him. He swings my gym bag over his shoulder and follows me.
“James Mackenzie. Mac.”
“Got it. Do you like James, or—”
“I’ll answer to whatever you want to call me, darlin’. Mac is how you met me; Mac works for me.”
I find it a little strange that he doesn’t prefer one or the other, but decide not to press .
When I’d stop at the top of the staircase, Mac keeps pushing me along, up another flight that curls around the corner. At the top of the second set of stairs, he gestures to the left. All the lights come on like they’re on motion detecting sensors as we continue down a hallway so long, we must be headed for The East Wing or something equally as ridiculous. The house is dead silent, and it feels totally empty, especially all the way up here.
Eventually, he stops and opens a bedroom door. Unlike everywhere else, he has to flip the light on in here.
“This is…” I trail off, stepping into the room and taking in the massive bed that dominates one side of the room, the plush white carpet, the reading nook, the double doors that lead out to a fucking balcony, the en suite bathroom just past the massive walk-in closet, the matching glass bedside tables with… wait, personal stuff? A charging cable, a stack of books, a bottle of ibuprofen, a box of tissues… “Is this your room?”
“It is.”
“Okay, so where am I sleeping?”
“Here,” he says, like that was obvious.
“Oh, come on,” I complain. My vagina likes this idea a bit too much, spasming with need at the thought of this kind of forced proximity. “There must be a dozen bedrooms in this place—”
“Ten.”
“Surely, one of them—”
“You live in my house, you’re gonna sleep in my bed.”
My breath breaks in my throat as a shiver crawls under my skin, making my nipples tingle and ache. That tone, that don’t-argue-with-me statement, that hungry look in his eyes—it all almost makes me think he really does want me in his bed. Legitimately.
I want to scream in frustration. Why is he making this so hard on me? I cross my arms. “I thought you were some kind of southern gentleman. Chivalrous, even.”
“I am,” he protests, crossing the room to place my bag on the cozy chair in the corner. “I saved your life.”
“You endangered it!” I shout, losing my cool for a second. “I’ve lived in Ulysses my whole life and a thug has never followed me into the sauna before. ”
“That you know of,” he scoffs.
I scowl at him and suddenly everything comes pouring out. “I’m an overweight line cook with no boyfriend and, like, two friends—one of whom is my sister. All I have to my name is a bunch of expensive kitchen gadgets and a pile of debt from the college I never even finished. My life is so small and I’m so unremarkable that it’s almost impressive. Don’t pretend like anyone would have noticed me if it weren’t for this mess you dragged me into, because no one ever has before.”
He bristles, shooting me a sideways glance. “I did.”
“I caught you shooting someone out my window! That’s not the same—”
“No,” he cuts in, and his tone is so firm that I stop. “Before that.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
“You came waltzing up to that door in the tiniest damn shorts I’ve ever seen, looking up at me with those big blue eyes, bitin’ that lip… I almost had you against the wall, then and there.”
My breath whooshes out, and I feel warmth spreading a few places at once—on my cheeks, my chest, and, more urgently, between my legs. Like he knows it, he takes a step towards me and I make a hasty retreat. “That’s…” I clear my throat. “That’s not the point.”
He grins at the tremor in my voice and moves towards me. “Me wanting to have you flat on your back, screaming my name as you come all over my tongue isn’t the point?”
I gasp and stumble away another step. I’m against the wall, now, and I curse myself for this little repeat performance from the kitchen. How did I let this happen? “N-no.”
“What if you’re the one on your knees, then, and I’m pushing all the way to the back of your throat—”
“We’re getting way off topic,” I breathe as he boxes me in. He places his hands on either side of my head and I’m surrounded by him—his scent, his size, his power.
“Are we? Because I think the point is, I’d never hurt you. Unless you want me to,” he adds, nipping my earlobe. I yelp, but it melts into a breathy moan as he scrapes his teeth against the delicate skin under my ear. “But if you ever call yourself unremarkable again, I’ll take you over my knee. ”
My gut spasms so hard it’s like I’ve taken a punch. Heat flares, and the rush of need flooding my system momentarily stuns me.
“I… you…”
Shit, what had I been saying? Another moan slips out as he brushes his chest against mine, stimulating the already-painfully hard tips of my breasts.
“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?”
Out of nowhere, his hand comes to rest on my ass and he squeezes. It breaks me out of whatever spell he’s casting and I flatten my hands on his chest so I can push. “Mac, please… stop.”
He moves away a little, drops his hand, and flashes his teeth. “Darlin’, I don’t care that you’re mad at me for this shit I’ve gotten you into. You should be. Just don’t try to use it as a shield. You can be mad at me, but don’t pretend you don’t want me. Because I know you do.”
Irritation prickles again and I can mentally take a step back. I’m a quivering mess, so hot I can barely speak, but he’s in total control—even breath, relaxed posture. And he’s fucking smirking.
“You… asshole!” I hiss. “Is that what all this hot and cold is about? You… touch me, make me think you want me, then you try to scare me away and keep your distance? You want to know you’re the one in control? You want me to admit how much I want you? Fine! I want you. Is that what your ego needed? You get off on that?”
He chuckles and leans forward. Suddenly, I feel the warmth of his hand wrapping around my throat. There’s no pressure, but it makes me go completely, rigidly still. Still enough that he can bring his face close enough so his lips just brush against mine when he speaks. “Oh, sweet Eleanor. I told you. I know you want me—I don’t need to hear it, though I’ll admit it’s nice. But you don’t know half of what you think you do.”
I swallow, and the weight of his palm makes me even more aware of how it feels. I can feel the heat of my own breath, bouncing back against my mouth from his nearness. “And what, exactly, don’t I know?”
“It’s not my ego you should be worried about; it’s my obsession.”
“W-what?” I croak .
His thumb starts running up and down the column of my neck and he pulls back to watch the movement with half-lidded, hypnotized eyes. “This hot and cold, as you called it, is me being a gentleman. It’s me respecting your ‘no’ while, respectfully, trying to get you to admit that ‘no’ is a ‘yes’.”
His eyes lift, catching mine. I want to drown in those brown depths.
“Give me an inch, darlin’, and I’ll have you underneath me so fast your head will spin. Just know, once you do, I’m never letting go.”
I gasp. My whole body is on fire at that declaration, dark as it is. I feel so completely consumed by this man in this moment, I don’t know which way is up or down. It’s like my brain shut off, took a back seat to letting my body just… feel the effects he has on me.
“But I’m not a man who takes what isn’t freely given.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means… I’m going to protect you. And that means you’re going to trust that I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’ve just been held at gunpoint. So, you’re going to take a hot shower, put on one of my shirts, get in that bed and go to sleep.”
The way the emotions war within me at that suggestion is almost physically too much. The desire to do what he says, the wariness of his unhinged behavior, the excitement of sharing his bed, the comfort of knowing he won’t take it further… the sharp disappointment of knowing he won’t take it further…
God, Eleanor, pick a damn side.
He releases me and I shuffle away against the wall until I’m clear of him. Then, with really nothing else to do, I head for the bathroom.
“And Eleanor?”
I turn.
“If you try to lock that door to keep me out, it won’t work.”