Chapter 6
SIX
Allison
The soreness between my legs twinges slightly as I adjust in my desk chair.
Another day waking up rested but sore. I’m tender in places that haven’t been touched in quite some time.
It doesn’t make any sense. My clothes were strewn and ripped down, as if I stripped in my sleep.
Glowing red eyes flash across my mind. No, it can’t be that.
It must just be from sleeping weird or something.
Unless Brody is coming home and roughly fucking me in my sleep. But I’d wake up, right?
My phone vibrates against the worn wooden desk beneath my hands. I glance down at the screen—speak of the Devil.
HUBBY: Sorry I missed you this morning.
ME: It’s fine, you were out late, I understand.
HUBBY: What’s that mean? Are you seriously upset that I had to work late?
ME: No, of course not. I didn’t mean it that way.
HUBBY: I never complain when you have school stuff outside of normal hours.
ME: I know. It’s fine really. Sorry, just been a long week at work.
HUBBY: Sorry you’re having a rough week. At least we’ll get to relax some this weekend.
ME: We will? What’s this weekend?
HUBBY: My parent’s party. You didn’t forget did you?
Shit!
I absolutely had forgotten. Or, more likely, repressed the memory that I’m required to go to this fancy social event hosted by my in-laws this weekend.
Not that they aren’t pleasant people, they’re just mildly passive aggressive.
They think Brody settled when he married me.
And maybe they’re right, but that doesn’t mean I need to be reminded of it every opportunity that arises.
They’re from a very different world. One I thought I’d wanted to belong to.
I believed, once upon a time, that I could run away, leave my past behind me and become someone else, someone better.
But it’s becoming more and more apparent that no matter how hard I try, I may not ever be able to escape my past.
ME: No of course I remember! I’m just going to finish up the school day here and then I’ll head home okay?
HUBBY: Sounds good. Meet you at home.
Putting my phone back in the desk drawer, I stare down at my hand—my very naked hand. I’ve lost my wedding ring. It should bother me as much, but truthfully, I’m just worried about what Brody will say when he realizes it’s gone.
I let out a long sigh of annoyance as I grab the worksheets for next week and head to the copy room.
If I make copies quickly now, then I can leave with enough time to run to Haggen to pick up some groceries for dinner.
Maybe I can make something special tonight for dinner for Brody, as a peace offering.
Maybe if we can just get back on track, if I show him I can be what he needs, things will get better.
With a renewed pep in my step, I head up the staircase in the back of the school, toward the upstairs copy room.
At four-thirty on a Friday, pretty much everyone except a few custodians have left the building.
I should leave too, get out of here and enjoy life.
But sometimes, it feels like if I just put everything into my job, then my life won’t be such a mess.
I open the heavy door and cross the room to the giant industrial copiers on the far wall.
Cuing in my code and selecting my preferences, I stare blankly as the machine whirs to life.
My eyes watch as I fall back into my own mind, seeing and unseeing as the lights of the copier flash and the papers spit out of the machine into the finishing tray rapidly.
My mind is elsewhere. So lost in worries of the weekend and in-laws, I don’t even hear the door behind me.
“You know…” His deep voice shakes me from my thoughts, causing me to jump and cry out. He lets out a low chuckle before continuing, “Pretty much every other staff member runs out of the building as soon as the last bell rings. But here you are, well past the end of the school day.”
My stomach immediately tightens with nervous energy because I know exactly who’s behind me.
His masculine scent—pine and smoke wafts across the room and pricks at my nose.
I don’t turn. If I turn, I have to acknowledge him, and I really don’t want to acknowledge Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Extremely handsome.
But there’s something about him that leaves me feeling uncomfortable. It’s that same feeling as when you’ve met someone before and they recognize you, but you can’t place them, so you’re left sputtering and awkward and unsure. He leaves me feeling off-kilter.
“Only one left in the building, really,” I don’t have to turn to tell he’s taken a step closer, the shadow of his tall figure falling across me. I feel as though I might combust at any moment if he comes any closer.
But instead of turning, I just keep my eyes fixed on the copier in front of me. My hand trembles slightly with nervous energy. Even his voice is frustratingly alluring. It is deep and soft, like smoke rolling across water. Maybe that’s all he is? A facade of smoke and mirrors.
“I want to be ready for next week,” I say with a shaky, small voice that immediately makes me self conscious. “I hate being unprepared.”
“You sound stressed.” I feel him take another step closer. There’s a second, empty machine right there. Why doesn’t he use it? “Maybe you need something to help you get out of your own head.”
I can feel his gaze on my back. His eyes burn my skin as they roam up and down my body. I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. I can picture his piercing blue eyes perusing me.
I wonder if he’s staring at my ass. It does look good in these jeans.
Shit. Nope. I’m married. Happily married. Well, happy enough. I’m not a cheater. I shift uncomfortably again and roll my shoulders, letting out a long breath.
I am not weak. I am in control.
78 of 120
79 of 120
80 of 120
The numbers flick across the screen as the copier continues to spit out paper.
My eyes remain glued to the screen, willing it to go quicker so I can escape.
His presence seems to be sucking all the air out of the room.
Suddenly, he moves and he’s on me, behind me, caging me in.
So close I can feel the warmth of him. My breath catches in my throat and I let out a small noise of surprise.
“When was the last time you had fun, Ms. Clarke?” he whispers in my ear, the stubble along his jaw tickling the soft skin along my lobe. I swallow down the slightly shocked sound that wants to escape my throat.
His hand lands lightly on my hip, his fingers tightening just enough to cause my core to clench. He has me cornered against the copier with nowhere to run, so when his hand pushes against me slightly, commanding me to turn, I have no choice but to relent to him.
“It’s Mrs. Clarke,” I correct him as I turn.
He is so, very tall, probably close to six-four, with broad muscular shoulders.
Everything about him is sharp edges. Even the blue of his eyes is sharp, like broken sheets of thick ice.
His black hair is long enough to be considered slightly shaggy but well-groomed enough to be considered stylish.
Every inch of him is hard and rough and entirely too tempting.
“You didn’t answer my question, Ms. Clarke.” His voice is so low, almost a whisper, and it wraps around me, causing goosebumps to pebble along my arms.
“Allison.” My voice comes out breathier, less sure and certain than I intend.
He smiles. Not a wide, warm smile of a friend but a slick smirk. Almost predatory.
“Do I make you uncomfortable, Allison?” he asks as his smirk spreads wide enough that a dimple indents his stubbled cheek.
He’s wearing a well-fitted black button down and black slacks.
The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to give him a more casual demeanor.
Dark ink swirls along his exposed skin. Something about the tattoos feels dangerously enticing.
Brody would never get a tattoo. Men like my husband would never be caught dead in a seedy tattoo parlor.
I bite my lower lip to stop myself from asking him if they hurt to get.
It’s a stupid question, I know, but I’m curious how Mr. Parsons would respond.
“Why would I be uncomfortable?”
He steps even closer, invading my space so much that his front grazes against mine, the touch sending a shock to my system. I glance back up, my eyes meeting his icy gaze as he stares down at me intently. My stomach is suddenly in knots, all the breath emptying from my lungs.
“You’re beautiful, and smart, and kind,” he tells me as his free hand reaches up to push a lock of hair behind my ear. The touch is sweet and innocent, but it makes my core clench. “Men must fall at your feet frequently. But I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not at my feet,” I counter as I fight the urge to lean into him.
He studies me for a moment, his pale blue eyes skimming my face, looking for something, before he lets out a small chuckle.
“I’d gladly get on my knees for you, Princess.
” His hand moves slowly down to cup the back of my neck with his palm.
Tilting my head backward, he forces my neck to strain almost to the point of discomfort.
“You know, if you were mine, no other man would dare get this close to you, Mrs. Clarke. Not unless they wanted to lose their hand.”
His fingers slide down the column of my neck achingly slowly. A shiver runs down my spine and I fight the urge to let a small moan slip.
The smirk spreads even wider across his face.
His eyes glimmer with excitement as he watches me.
Frozen in place, my conscience is yelling at me to shove him away, but his touch feels too good to resist. It’s as if I’m under some type of spell.
His hand leaves my arm, snaking behind me to my lower back and pulling me against him.
“Times up,” he whispers against the shell of my ear as he leans down.