Pulse

Chapter 9

Dahlia

With my eyes closed, I lean my head against the side window, relishing the warmth of the sun caressing my skin. Did I apply sunscreen this morning? I have no clue. It feels like a lifetime ago.

The day has been an absolute blur. Between arranging for Morgan to meet Theo at my apartment to gather a few of my things without telling her why but insisting everything is absolutely fine, calling Burt and letting him know I’ll be gone for a while and asking him to keep an eye on my house, having long, hard conversations with Ford and the police, and boarding a private jet, it’s been a hell of a day.

The only silver lining to the flurry of activity is that I’ve worked out some of my feelings. It turns out that when you go through things in explicit detail, a cathartic response follows. And when Ford Landry makes it his mission to find out who’s threatening you, there’s a sense of security that comes along with it.

I glance over my shoulder.

And when a gorgeous, gray-eyed bad boy in a suit demands to whisk you off to an island to keep you safe—life could be worse.

Troy catches me watching him. I wait for a smile, a grin, or a smirk. Instead, he returns to the winding road leading to Kiawah Island.

“You’ve been quiet,” I say as we cross a bridge.

There’s been nothing but swamps, water, and vegetation for a long time. I’d think he was taking me to the middle of nowhere, except there’s been a steady stream of cars in both directions.

“I didn’t figure you wanted to talk,” he says.

“Me? Not want to talk? It’s like you don’t even know me.”

This gets me a half of a smile. “You’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you today. I wanted to give you space.”

I shift in my seat, ready to get out of the car.

Troy hasn’t said a whole lot since we left Landry Security a few hours ago. He’s been on his phone off and on, and I’ve made a point not to listen. Not that I could hear or understand him anyway. But I’m sure if I did catch pieces of his conversations, my anxiety would rise again, and if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s that.

“How much farther until we get there?” I ask.

“You just asked me that.”

“I haven’t asked since the airport.”

“We’ll be there when we get there.”

I laugh. “I bet your dad said that a lot to you growing up. You had to be the kid who was a giant pain in the ass.”

A shadow falls over his face. “Something like that.”

Out of nowhere, the vegetation parts and a security guard station blocks the road in front of us. A road extends to the right, disappearing into a grove of trees as the pavement curves around a bend.

“There’s a blue piece of paper in the glove compartment,” Troy says, motioning toward the dash. “Can you grab it for me, please?”

“Sure.” I fiddle with the button until I open it and find the pale blue piece of paper tucked inside the owner’s manual. “Here you go.”

He takes it and pulls up to the guard station. A man with a long mustache holds out his hand.

“How are you folks this afternoon?” the man asks, looking at the paper. He then inspects the car’s VIN beneath the windshield wiper.

“We’re good. You?” Troy asks.

“I’m here. That’s about all I can say for today.”

I grin. “I like your mustache.”

The man leans down to see me more clearly. “Thank you, young lady.” He hands Troy the blue paper. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do,” Troy says.

“Very well. Enjoy your visit.”

“Thank you,” I say, giving him a friendly wave.

Troy shakes his head as we pull through the gate.

“What are you shaking your head about?” I ask.

“We’re here quietly, meaning the idea is to stay hidden in plain sight. That doesn’t really work when you’re chatting with the pilot on the plane, exchanging Black Friday tips with the lady at the airport, and complimenting a guy on his fucking mustache.”

“Well, that mustache was cool as hell. The pilot was nice. And I don’t gatekeep shopping tips.” I cross my arms over my chest and admire the luscious green golf course on either side of the road. “Just so you know, I was going to ask how much longer until we’re there, but I stopped myself.”

We approach another guard shack, and the blue paper process is repeated. This time, I don’t mention the guy’s neat silver-y beard.

We enter what appears to be a neighborhood full of very, very expensive homes. Trees tower over the road, casting shade on the car and instantly bringing the temperature down a few degrees.

Troy’s forearm flexes as he turns the steering wheel into the driveway of the largest home at the end of the narrow street. Foliage from the trees and shrubs blocks a direct view of the house from the road. But as we pull farther into the driveway, all breath leaves my body.

My jaw drops. “Oh, my gosh. We’re staying here?”

“Lincoln Landry does nothing small.”

“You know, I’ve always suspected that.”

Troy glares at me as he parks the car, but I’m too preoccupied with the house to care.

A two-story, villa-style home sits proudly in front of us. The light brown stucco is accented with a deep chocolatey color around the windows and trim. It somehow feels quaint and majestic at the same time.

The garage door opens, and we pull inside. It closes behind us.

“I guess if we have to leave our homes, at least we get to stay here, right?” I ask, climbing out of the car.

“It could be worse.”

Troy types in a code onto a keypad. I smile at him as we step inside.

A small foyer is bright with cream-colored stone floors and almost pink-hued plaster walls that give the room a Mediterranean feel. Straight ahead is an arched doorway that leads to a patio. We turn to the left and enter the main living area.

Troy heads straight for a small room off the kitchen while I pause to take in the grandeur.

Windows line the wall facing me, showcasing a lush backyard full of tropical green plants and a pool. A chandelier hangs from the trayed ceiling over the center of a long table with leather bench-style chairs. The room opens on the left into a living area with oversized blue sofas and a ridiculous television. Pictures and baseball memorabilia are poised on built-in cabinets on either side and below the screen.

“Look at this kitchen,” I say, running my fingertips along the island countertop. “Is Lincoln’s wife a chef?”

“No clue,” Troy says from around the corner.

“What are you doing?”

He comes back into view. “Checking the security system.”

“Are we good?”

“We’re good.”

His shoulders drop, and he exhales slowly. For the first time today, I think he relaxes.

Suddenly, I’m aware we’re alone. Troy and I are in this beautiful house, away from everyone and everything. And it’s all for me.

My chest tightens. “Hey.”

He lifts a brow.

“Thank you,” I say. “I don’t know if I’ve said that in my rambles today. You didn’t have to do this, and I really appreciate it. I’m sure it’s very inconvenient.”

He stiffens again.

“But,” I say, “you should be thanking me, too. I basically saved you from Laina Kelley. Talk about being a hero.”

He tries not to show his amusement but fails.

“Come on,” I say. “Let’s see the upstairs.”

“You don’t find being in someone else’s house awkward?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” I grip the iron railing and lead him up the stairs. “But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to stay in a home that I’ll never, ever be able to afford. So I might as well soak it up.” She pauses. “Hell, I might be dead by the end of the day.”

“There are a lot of possibilities over the next few days, but that’s not one of them.”

I blush, making sure I don’t look at him. He probably meant that literally—and that’s not how I took it.

We check out three emptied bedrooms to the right of the stairs. In one of them, a scaffold is set up as if a painting crew’s about to start work. We go to the other side of the staircase and into a cozy bedroom with a white and blue bed, light-colored wood furniture, and an en suite.

“Look at that tub,” I squeal. “I’ve dreamed of having one since I was a little girl. My mother and I watched a movie where the girl bathed in a tub like this. Mom thought it was the epitome of sophistication, and that idea has been implanted in my brain ever since.”

“Does this make you a bath lover?”

“Yes. Absolutely. What’s more luxurious than lying in a basin of hot, soapy, sweet-smelling water until it runs cold?”

His lips twitch.

“What?” I ask, curious. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me, Troy.”

“Nothing,” he says, chuckling. “You’re right. A bath is the most luxurious thing in the world.”

I stick a finger into the middle of his solid chest—regretting it as soon as I make contact.

A blast of energy shoots up my finger and frazzles every nerve in my body. Troy’s eyes flash, but he recovers more quickly than I do. Still, I try to play it off by walking around him and into the massive walk-in closet.

“I like you agreeing with me,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t betray me. “But not if you’re making fun of me.”

“I’d never do such a thing.”

“Look at this,” I say, pointing at an island in the closet that’s bigger than most kitchen islands. “This is utterly ridiculous and the coolest freaking thing at the same time.”

Troy shakes his head. “These people have more money than they know what to do with.”

I hop onto the island and swing my feet back and forth. “What would you do if you had all this money?”

He shrugs.

“Come on,” I say, taunting him. “What would you do? Would you buy a house like this? Would you buy a fancy car? Would you just travel the world and not have a care in the world?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d probably make sure Travis is set up for life and then take it day by day.”

My heart squeezes at the look in his eyes when he mentions his brother.

Troy’s said things about Travis here and there. I know his brother exists. I know they have dinner together sometimes. But I don’t know anything deeper.

“Are you close with Travis?” I ask.

He nods.

“He’s your only sibling, right?”

He nods again.

I smile. “We might be here a while. If you don’t start talking, you’ll have to listen to me, which usually irritates you.”

“Excellent point.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Trav is my only brother. We’re pretty close. I don’t see him every day or anything like that, but you know …”

I hop off the counter. “He’s really lucky to have you.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you stay so positive? Just a few hours ago, someone threatened to kill you. And instead of crying on the sofa or freaking the fuck out, you’re …” He shrugs. “You.”

He holds my gaze as I stare at him, internalizing his statement. The warmth of his words, the care in his tone—something I’ve only heard in this way a few times over the years—caresses my heart.

This is the side of Troy that I wish I knew better.

There’s a weak spot, a soft underbelly, and he fights against it. He goes out of his way to prevent anyone from seeing him as anything but a hard-ass. Why?

“What else can I do?” I ask. “I could sit here and obsess over it and convince myself that my life is over. But what good would that do? And what if it’s not even true? What if it’s just Freddy being a prick? Do I let him win?” I grin. “I’m going to turn a lemon into lemonade and enjoy my time here. Even if it is with you.”

He rolls his eyes, making me laugh.

“To be honest, I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon,” I say. “And the more I mull it over, the more I think it’s Freddy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I do. This is a little sophisticated for him in a way. But, in a way, it’s not. Who sends an email like that? Someone who’s trying to scare me and upend my life, and the obvious answer is Freddy. Maybe he thinks it will drive me back to him. Who knows?”

Troy clears his throat. “That makes sense. But you do realize, and I’m not trying to scare you here, but there is the possibility that it’s not him and someone else has an agenda, right?”

“Maybe.” I walk to the small window and peer out. The view extends across the backyard to the sandy beach and beyond to the ocean. “Do you think I could go to the beach?”

“With me.”

I laugh. “Do you think you’re going everywhere I go?”

“No. I know it.”

“I’ll be getting a bath this evening,” I say, turning on my heel. The toe of my shoe catches on the rug, and I fly forward into Troy’s arms. “Oof.”

My fingers splay against his chest. His right arm loops around my waist, holding me in place. His body is as hard as a rock, and once reality settles in, my knees weaken.

I’ve never been this close to this man, but I’ve imagined it a million times. It’s better than the best daydream.

I lift my gaze to him, and the energy between us immediately shifts.

It’s not just a daydream that ends with a sweet kiss. This is a setup for much, much more.

His eyes flash. His nostrils flare. His heartbeat is as rapid as mine.

I gulp a breath as he flexes his fingers against my waist.

The air between us ripples with tension. I’m pushed toward him and pulled away—trapped in a current of uncertainty that could go one of two ways.

I know the way I want it to go.

He searches my eyes as if looking for permission. I lift my chin.

Troy lowers his face toward mine ever so slowly. I hold my breath, desire pooling between my legs as he licks his lips.

Oh shit.

Troy’s going to do this. He’s really going to do this.

His hot breath dusts my lips, the heat of his mouth melting me from the inside out. I reach up, slipping my hand around the back of his neck, and feel his warm skin. Bolts of heat shoot through my fingertips at the connection. I’ve wanted to touch him so many times. And now I get to …

I quiver, panting as he smirks—knowing he has me—and tugs me even tighter against him.

I smile, popping up on my toes to make contact … when his phone rings.

My lungs release my breath in one long, heavy draw. Troy releases me and backs away. I sag against the wall, frazzled and mind blown. Uncertainty impregnates the air between us.

He brings his phone to his ear, never breaking eye contact. “Castelli.”

His jaw sets as he listens to someone on the other end of the line. Finally, after what feels like forever, he rips his gaze away from mine and walks out of the room.

I almost yelp.

I almost yell, too.