Chapter 11
Eleven
NORTH
Just checking you’re doing OK. Haven’t heard from you in a while.
The text from Emma, my ex-foster mum, made me feel both grateful and guilty.
She’d sent it an hour ago. Emma and her husband Nick were two of the first people to reach out to me when the tabloids got hold of the story about Gil MacDonald.
Considering they knew the truth, they were concerned about me.
I’d assured them I was fine and staying at the club for a while, but that was the last I’d spoken to them.
A look at the texts above this new one from Emma reminded me she’d texted while I was in my drunken stupor phase. And I hadn’t responded.
Shit.
I was on my way to collect mail. Usually, the underbutlers brought us our mail, but security had requested I pick it up from them and I was trying not to overanalyze why.
The inquiry from Emma was a pleasant distraction.
I tried calling her as I made my way downstairs from where I’d been playing my guitar in the castle turret.
The turret was as you’d expect—a small, cylindrical room with narrow, medieval-style windows.
It had been transformed into a snug library with built-in bookshelves and a comfortable armchair.
Carpeted, it didn’t have the best acoustics, but the walls were thick and it was built up and out from the rest of the building, so I knew I wouldn’t disturb anyone with my music.
I’d written a song about Aria.
The call to Emma would distract me from the woman who was currently tormenting my every waking thought. Unfortunately, it went to her voicemail.
“Hi, Emma, it’s North. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you.
I was … aye, admittedly I wasn’t in a very good place when you texted a few weeks ago, but that’s no excuse.
I’m doing better now, though. We’re just sitting tight, hoping the studio might change its mind about the Blake Forster movie.
I’ll keep you posted. I promise. And I hope you and Nick and the kids are all well.
Let me know. Love to you all.” Hanging up, I felt mildly less guilty.
This morning I’d locked myself in the turret to avoid several emails from different members of what I called my management team.
Charlie, the bloke in charge of the houses I’d invested my money in, wanted me to let out my London apartment.
I let out my loft in Brooklyn because maintenance costs were so high that it only made sense to rent it when I wasn’t using it.
But my London flat was a place I liked to know I could go whenever I needed it. It was my home base, if you will.
Fuck.
I didn’t want to rent it out, but with the future so uncertain, I might just have to. Even with the discount Lachlan Adair had offered me for the week in recompense for Allegra Howard’s prank, Ardnoch was costing a small fortune.
The second email I didn’t want to deal with was from Annette, my publicist. Apparently, the designer who’d dropped me as the face of their brand had alluded to the possibility of us working together if I made a public statement about the scandal and apologized.
If all went well, they’d welcome me back with open arms.
It was a lot of money. Great publicity.
But they—like Cara who texted me ten times last night telling me she loved me, missed me, and would be open to seeing me in secret—could fuck themselves with a trident.
Passing Aria’s office, I fought the urge to knock on her door. We hadn’t seen each other since the morning Wakefield let us out of the library.
Frowning, I made my way into the staff area of the castle, striding past staff who looked surprised to see me there but nodded deferentially. I’d been in the small department that housed security before when Byron Hoffman attacked Sloane. Finding the CCTV room, I knocked on the partially open door.
Walker looked up from watching the screens, saw it was me, patted the shoulder of the guy next to him, and murmured something as he stood.
He opened the door all the way and stepped out.
The security guard was one of the few men I’d ever met who made me feel physically diminutive.
Not an easy feat when I was six two. Walker technically only had three inches on me, but the bloke was built with powerful shoulders.
It was more than that, though. He gave off an intimidating don’t fuck with me or anyone I care about vibe without even saying a word.
I intended to study him and channel that part of his persona if I ever got my role back in Birdwatcher.
“So, what’s up?” I asked, stepping back to let him out of the room.
Walker lifted his chin, silently gesturing for me to follow him to another room. Inside the small office, he rounded a desk and pulled a few envelopes out of a drawer.
“These are yours.” Walker handed them to me.
I frowned, my stomach tightening as I recognized the font of the address on one of them. “Not that I mind, but why did you need me to collect them?”
“Theo Cavendish had a word with me last time he was here. He said you’ve been receiving threatening mail for months now.”
“Theo did?” The same Theo who pretended not to give a fuck about anyone?
“Aye.”
Sighing, I ripped into the first envelope and scanned the page.
Indignation flushed hotly through me. “Another letter from an angry member of the public telling me I should be ashamed of myself.” I balled it up and threw it into Walker’s wastepaper basket.
The other envelope I dreaded opening. But I did it.
Do you think if you hide you can escape? You’ll NEVER escape me. I’m coming. You’ll never SEE it. But I’m coming for you. I won’t stop until you’re DEAD. DEAD. DEAD.
Fuck my life.
I handed the letter to Walker. “When I asked you if you were open to becoming my private security, this prompted it. I started getting these after my first movie took off. They were accusatory. Offensive. But in the last year, they’ve turned into death threats.”
Walker scanned the letter and murmured, “And there’s not a lot the police can do about it.”
“Nope.”
“Do you have all the letters?”
“Not with me. I have a few.”
“I’d like to see them.”
Studying Walker’s difficult-to-read expression, I asked, “Why?”
“Because there might be something in them to go off. There might not. But you’re a club member, and we’re tasked with your security. And I owe you. For Sloane.”
“Walker, you don’t owe me for that.”
“Aye, I do.”
“How are things going there?” I knew he’d been dating Sloane for a few months now.
A softness entered his eyes. “Better than I deserve.”
I grinned, understanding completely. “Glad to hear it.”
He waved the letter. “Well?”
“Aye. I’ll get you the others.” I saw no harm in letting the man have a look. Doubtful he could do much, but all I was doing was low-level worrying about them.
“And if you get a minute, I’d like a list of names of people you might have seriously pissed off in the past. Full names, last known address, if you have them.”
Stunned, I jerked my head back. “You’re serious? You’re looking into this?”
“Somebody needs to.”
Grateful, I told him I’d get the information to him as soon as possible and left his office feeling a wee bit lighter. It would be nice to solve the mystery of the death threats and tick one more thing off my worry list.
As I rounded the corner toward the members’ area of the castle, my pulse jumped at the sight of Aria.
Her step faltered a bit when she saw me, but she straightened her shoulders and continued walking, the sway of her hips mesmerizing.
Nervous anticipation rocked my stomach and I felt the skin on the back of my neck grow hot.
When we reached each other, the smell of her perfume drifted over me.
My fingers twitched at my sides and I clenched them into fists to stop myself from reaching out to touch the bloody woman.
She stared into my eyes. A man could drown in hers. I think I might have been—drowning, that is—because it seemed to take me too long to find words. “Aria.”
Wonderful.
Scintillating stuff.
Fuck.
She looked down before reengaging. That’s when I noticed she was subtly shifting from one foot to the other. Was she nervous? “How are you?” she asked, sounding calm.
Her husky voice caused heat to pool in my dick because it made me think of what she’d sound like coming.
I scrubbed the back of my neck. “Aye, I’m doing all right. You?”
“Fine.”
Scowling at her nonanswer, I hated things were so awkward between us.
We’d told each other deep, dark secrets in that library, and now she was treating me like a stranger.
“How’s Allegra?” I pushed. When Lachlan offered complimentary rooming for the week, I’d worried that Aria or Allegra, or both, had gotten into trouble for the incident.
But Lachlan had insisted not. He’d been very professional about the whole thing and hadn’t speculated on my feelings about Aria or being locked in a library with her all night.
What could I have said, anyway?
I spent a night talking with a woman, no sex, not even a kiss, and now I couldn’t get her out of my mind. In fact, I was probably fifteen the last time I’d been this obsessed with someone. She’d turned me into a bloody teenager.
Aria smoothed her hair, something I noted she did when nervous. The delicate rings on her manicured fingers glittered in the light, and I suddenly imagined shoving her against the wall, pinning her hands above her head, and kissing the hell out of her. “Oh, Allegra’s fine.”
At her forlorn tone, I shook off my wicked thoughts and frowned. “Are you sure?”
She seemed surprised I’d pushed. Then her shoulders slumped. “Things are weird between us. I’m more than a big sister to her. I have kind of a parental role in Allegra’s life. And I don’t like it when our relationship is strained.”
Hating the idea of anything upsetting her, I took a step closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Aria’s eyes moved over my face, perhaps searching for my sincerity. Then, to my triumph, she leaned into me and opened her mouth to say—
“Ah, Ms. Howard, there you are.”
She startled, stepping away at the sound of Wakefield’s voice. The butler marched determinedly toward us, and if I could fry his arse with my mind, I would have.
“Wakefield?” Aria inquired.
He stopped and gave me a small nod of acknowledgment before turning to his boss. “The member you were expecting has arrived at the gates. Her car is on the way up.”
“Thank you, Wakefield. I’ll be right there.” She watched the butler nod again and walk away before turning back to me. Her smile was tight-lipped. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hunter.”
Mr. Hunter? I didn’t bloody think so. “Aria—”
But she was already walking away.
As much as I enjoyed being in a relationship, I’d never chased a woman before.
Yet it seemed some degree of latent caveman masculinity was coming out because I wanted to live up to my name. I wanted to chase Aria Howard, hunt her down, and drag her back to my cave to have my dirty fucking way with her.
Thankfully, I’d evolved somewhat and knew that most likely would not end well for me.
The sexual restlessness rushing through me, however, needed to be dealt with. So I returned to my room, grabbed the letters for Walker, along with a change of clothes, and after dropping the letters by Walker’s office, I hoofed it to the gym.
I worked out until sweat lashed from my body, until my muscles burned and my limbs trembled in the shower afterward.
It still wasn’t enough to work Aria Howard out of my system.