Chapter 9 #3
“This is the Delacroix corporate structure. Everyone who has a stake in the company, every subsidiary, every partnership."
I study the diagram, impressed despite myself. "You drew this from memory?"
"I've been… involved since I was ten. My father called it my birthright even though I have three half-brothers. He made sure I understood every aspect of the business, but he never let me see the big picture."
She points to a cluster of names near the bottom. "These are all Lucien's ventures. Officially, they're separate companies. But look at the funding sources."
I follow her finger and see she’s listed a handful of companies under two bolded, double-lined words, “Shell Companies.” And all of them tracing back to Delacroix Industries.
"Money laundering?"
"Probably. But more than that." She pulls up another document—what looks like a financial report. "Three months ago, there was a major investigation into several companies linked to organized crime in the Northeast. Nothing ever came of it, but look at this list of businesses that were subpoenaed."
She highlights several names. Four of them match companies in Lucien's cluster.
“This isn’t just laundering,” I mutter. “He’s in bed with the mob?”
"And if my dad ever knows about this, Lucien will be cut off and exiled from the family. But if this mob thing is real, it doesn't just destroy him, it will also take down the entire Delacroix empire." She drags her hands through her hair, frustration fraying every line of her body.
"My father spent his whole life building this company. If Lucien's activities come to light..."
"Your perfect memory and ability to piece things together becomes a liability," I finish.
She nods. "Even if I never said anything, even if I never intended to use the information—Lucien can't take that risk. Not with federal investigators sniffing around."
The pieces click into place with terrifying clarity. This isn't about bringing her home or teaching her a lesson. This isn’t about control anymore.
It’s about erasing her.
My blood runs cold. “You think he’s here to kill you.”
Tara nods. Her laugh is bitter. "Funny how perfect memory becomes a death sentence."
"We need to call Chief Alvarez," I say, already reaching for my phone.
"And tell her what? That my cousin’s mob laundry list happens to live in my head? That I think a man in a black suit is connected? She needs evidence, Cam. All I’ve got are ghosts and gossip.”
She’s right. But the helpless rage boiling in my chest needs an outlet. I glance at the legal pad, the organizational chart, the scattered printouts.
Not random. Not paranoia.
“All of this goes up on the stalker board. As evidence.” I say, jaw tight.
“And if Chief Alvarez needs dots connected, we’ll hand her the whole damn constellation.”
I meet her gaze. "We also need to get you somewhere safe until we can figure this out."
"Where?" she asks. "Lucien has resources I can't even imagine. Money, connections, people who owe him favors. There's nowhere he can't reach if he really wants to find me."
The vulnerability in her voice breaks something in me. This brilliant, brave woman who's been fighting to build a life for herself. And now she's trapped by the very thing that makes her special.
"Hey," I say, cupping her face in my hands. "Look at me."
She does, and I see the fear she's trying to hide.
"You're not alone in this anymore," I tell her. "Whatever comes, we face it together. You and me."
"Cam—"
"No arguments. You trusted me with your secrets. Now trust me with your safety."
She searches my eyes for a long moment, then nods.
"Okay," she whispers. "Together."
I kiss her—soft, steady, full of everything I can’t put into words. She’s breathing hard when we break apart, cheeks flushed.
The moment stretches, taut with possibility. Then I rise to my feet, extending my hand to help her up.
“Come with me,” I say, making a decision. "I want to try something else."
Curiosity wars with caution in her eyes, but she places her hand in mine, allowing me to lead her down the hall toward her bedroom. And with each step, I feel her resistance crumble.
"Cam, we shouldn't—"
"We absolutely should." I stop at the foot of her bed, glancing up at the ceiling-mounted mirror, then at the full-length ones across her walls. "So, do you like these mirrors, Rookie?"
She bites her lip, cheeks flaming. "I bought the house this way. I like the natural light for getting dressed.”
"Sure." I turn her to face the full-length mirror, standing behind her, my hands on her hips. "You kept these because you're curious. Because you want to see yourself the way someone else sees you."
In the reflection, I watch her pupils dilate.
"The way I see you," I continue, my voice dropping to a rough whisper. "Beautiful. Perfect. Mine."
She shivers, leaning back against my chest. In the mirror, we look perfect together—her soft curves against my harder angles, her fair skin contrasting with my darker coloring.
"Tell me what you see," I murmur, my hands sliding up to cup her breasts through her shirt.
"I see..." She swallows hard, watching my hands move on her body. "I see us."
I lower my mouth to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and whisper against her skin. "What else?"
"I see you touching me." Her voice is barely above a whisper. "I see how you look at me."
"How do I look at you?"
"Like you want to devour me."
I smile against her neck. "Smart girl. Because I do."
She watches our reflection, eyes wide, cheeks flushed. I meet her gaze in the mirror, letting her see exactly what I'm feeling—desire, yes, but something deeper, something that scares the hell out of me.
"You think I'll forget this?" I growl. "No chance. You're burned into me."
Her lips part, a small, helpless sound escaping. In the mirror, I watch her pulse flutter at the base of her throat, her chest rising and falling with quickening breaths. Her nipples are hard, and her body quivers under my caress.
"Cam," she whispers, half warning, half plea.
I brush her hair aside, exposing more of her neck. "Tell me to stop."
She doesn't. Instead, she sinks into me, her body softening against mine, surrender in every line of her.
My hands span her waist, slowly sliding up to just beneath the swell of her breasts. In the mirror, the contrast of my tanned fingers against the fabric of her shirt is almost hypnotic.
"You’re so beautiful, Tara." I murmur against her ear.
She makes a small, desperate noise, her head falling back against my shoulder, eyes closed, savoring my touch.
"But I want more," I continue, one hand moving to cup her breast through her shirt. "I want to watch your face while I'm inside you. I want to see what I do to you."
Her nipple hardens against my palm, and I circle it with my thumb, drawing another gasp from her.
"The mirror," she says, understanding dawning. "You want me to watch."
"I want us both to watch." I tug her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in just her cotton bra. "I want to give you a memory neither of us will forget."
In one smooth motion, I unhook her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts are gorgeous—full and heavy, with rosy nipples that tighten under my hungry gaze.
"Look at yourself," I command softly, cupping both breasts from behind. "Look at how sexy you are. How hard you make me just by existing?"
She does, and the vulnerability in her eyes nearly undoes me. I've been with women who knew their power, who wielded their beauty like a weapon. But Tara looks at herself like she's seeing something new, something unexpected.
"I've never—" she starts, then stops, swallowing hard.
"Never what, darling?"
"Never seen myself naked with a man." The admission comes out barely above a whisper. "Naked together like us right now."
Something primal and possessive surges through me. Every bit of my blood pushes toward my inflamed cock.
I turn her to face the mirror fully, my chest against her back, and slowly begin to undo her jeans. She watches, transfixed, as I slide them down her legs along with her panties, leaving her completely naked while I remain fully clothed.
The power imbalance should make her uncomfortable, but instead, she seems to draw strength from it, standing taller, her eyes darkening with arousal.
"You remember what I told you the other day?" I ask, my hands skimming up her sides. "About how I couldn't stop thinking about your breasts?"
She nods, watching in the mirror as my hands cup the weight of them. Her thighs press tightly together, trying to relieve the pressure I've built there.
"See these?" I urge, squeezing gently. "Perfection. Made for me."
Her nipples are tight peaks now, flushed darker with arousal. I roll them between my fingers, watching her reaction in the mirror—the way her lips part, the flush that spreads down her chest. She groans and rocks her butt against my cock pressing through my jeans.
"Cam," she breathes, arching into my touch.
"Watch," I remind her when her eyes start to flutter closed. "I want you to see what I see."
One hand slides down her stomach, dipping between her thighs. She's already wet, slick heat coating my fingers as I find her center.
"Love, you're soaked," I groan, circling her clit with deliberate slowness. "Is this from watching? From seeing what I do to you?"
She nods, unable to form words as I continue my torturous exploration. Her hips start to move, seeking more pressure, more friction. She shudders each time I stroke her clit, and twitches when I circle her pulsing hole.
"Patience," I murmur, withdrawing my hand just enough to make her whimper. "Take off my shirt first."
She turns in my arms, fingers fumbling with the buttons of my shirt.
I could help, but I enjoy watching her struggle, the way her breasts bounce with each frustrated tug. Finally, she pushes the fabric off my shoulders, her hands splaying across my chest like she's mapping territory.