Thirty-Seven
Bay
The dinner that Ellen had left for tonight was delicious.
I’d made it easier for Hale to eat by pulling the meat off the ribs before serving him.
He was getting around much better, but he still couldn’t use his right arm much.
When he attempted to, the pained expression on his face that he tried to mask was hard to miss.
He attempted to help me clean up after our meal, but I sent him away before he made his injury worse.
The bottle of wine he had brought up from the cellar for me was still sitting on the table, along with my glass.
That was the one thing he had said not to clean up, that I was to bring it up to his sitting room when I was finished.
The two glasses of wine I’d had during dinner eased my internal battle over my enjoying his company.
I had been able to relax and just let it be.
Not concern myself over the fact that I should be wanting to get out of here and back home.
Besides, most women would love to be in this house, in Hale Carver’s company.
Why not just live in the moment and not think too hard about the rest?
Taking my wine and glass, I headed toward the main staircase and took them up to his floor.
The double doors to his rooms were left open, and I could see a fire going in the fireplace that sat in the center of the room.
That was funny. It was summertime in the South.
A fire was not needed. But the ambiance was nice.
When I entered the room, he was sitting in the center of the cowhide leather sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand, resting on his right thigh. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, and a slight smile touched his lips.
“I turned the AC down so we wouldn’t melt. But, damn, I like a good fire.”
“I see,” I replied as I walked over to set my glass down on the table to the left of the sofa to fill it before having a seat.
“I’ve been trying to work something out in my head, and I’m struggling with it,” Hale said, drawing my attention back to him.
“And that is?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
“You’re stunning, intelligent, and a nice person. Why were you fucking around with a much older married man when you could have had your pick of men?”
Normally, this question would cause me to tense up, get defensive, because I hadn’t been intelligent at all back then. I’d been very, very stupid and naive. But the effects of the wine had me sighing as I sank down on the left side of the sofa, curling my feet up behind me.
“I was young, trusting, and he was the first person in my life to”—I paused, deciding how to explain this—“take care of me. He charmed me, and I thought he loved me.”
“But he was married.”
I nodded and picked up my glass to take a drink. “Indeed, he was. And if I had done any research on him at all, I would have figured that out. But I hadn’t. I wanted our relationship to be built on trust. I wanted everything he said to me to be true.”
He said nothing as he took a drink, watching me over the rim of his whiskey glass.
I glanced from him to the fire. Talking about Harland wasn’t one of my favorite things to do. In fact, until I’d been taken by Hale and forced to remember him, I’d refused to give the man much thought other than loathing.
“You moved in with a man without doing a background check on him?” Hale asked.
Rehashing my past wasn’t something I enjoyed doing, even tipsy. “I did. Biggest mistake of my life,” I replied.
“How did his wife find out?”
I shrugged. “No idea. I was clueless until, one day, I was standing in my boss’s office with a strange woman glaring at me with sheer hatred and disgust, telling me I was fired, that my things had been boxed up and were outside the building, and that I would never work in marketing again.
A degree I’d fought hard for. And I loved my job.
I was good at it.” I stopped before I went on a rant.
My tongue was loose because of the alcohol.
“Where did you go?”
I stared into the fire. That day, I’d been so lost and devastated.
I’d not had anywhere to go. “To a cheap hotel at first. Then, when I realized I wasn’t getting a job doing anything in that town, my roommate from college suggested I move back to Virginia.
We would get an apartment together. She was a flight attendant back then and helped me get a job.
” I glanced over at Hale, who was watching me.
“She married a wealthy man. She no longer works,” I told him.
“They moved to California a few years ago.”
“You have family,” he said. “A grandmother.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “More info from my background check?”
He nodded, not looking at all remorseful. I had to remember that. Who he was. What he’d done. He, too, had charmed me, and then instead of having an affair with me, he’d abducted me. I had to learn not to trust men.
He was asking me all these personal questions, and I was just sharing it all with him. Yet I was in his house, and he had been shot. There was illegal activity involved in whatever it was he actually did. It was time I asked the questions.
“What is it you do?” I asked point-blank, holding his gaze.
“I own a whiskey distillery,” he replied with a smirk.
I shook my head. “Not that. What is the other business you are involved in. The thing that got you shot, that had you abduct me, threaten to kill Harland and 1A. What is it that you do?” I asked.
He studied me for a moment, then shifted his attention back to the fire before taking another drink.
“I was shot, saving an employee who had made some bad financial decisions. Harland was a criminal and was trying to cleanse his past, using Vilmer’s connection to us to do it,” he replied, as if any of that explained anything.
I started to take another drink and realized my glass was once again empty. I should probably stop drinking.
“Who is us?” I asked, deciding to go at this another way.
The corner of his lips quirked, but he kept his focus on the flames. “Why don’t you tell me who you think us is.”
I decided to reach for the bottle again. One more glass.
“A drug ring,” I stated, not even flinching.
A deep chuckle had me turning around to look at him.
“And what led you to that assumption?”
I took my glass and sank back into the sofa. “Oh, I don’t know. The ridiculous wealth, the ease at abducting people, the silence of your employees, your getting shot and not going to a hospital but having a doctor on hand.” I stopped my list and cut my eyes at him to see he was still grinning.
“You watch too much television,” he told me.
“All right then, if that’s not it, then please tell me what it could be because it’s something that’s not on the up-and-up.”
“It’s a legacy, a family that one is born into. A powerful one, a respected one.”
I stayed silent, waiting for more, but he didn’t continue and only took another drink.
“It sounds an awful lot like The Godfather,” I joked, wanting him to continue explaining.
He turned his head to look at me. “But we aren’t Italian.”
Again, I waited for more, but he said nothing else. We sat there, our eyes locked on each other, and either I’d had too much to drink or there was a challenge in his gaze. One that seemed to dare me to figure it out. Say what I was thinking aloud. Maybe I had drunk too much.
“Are you trying to say that you are in the Mafia?” I asked, then giggled. Yes, I’d had too much to drink. Just saying it seemed silly.
An amused curl to his lips was the only response I got.
I covered my mouth and composed myself. “I’m sorry. I think the wine is getting to me.”
He continued to study me, as if he was waiting on me to say more. I shifted nervously, wishing he’d stop that.
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” I said.
“I did,” he replied.
I shook my head. “No, I’ve had too much to drink, but I would remember that. You have not told me anything.”
He rubbed his jawline with his thumb and forefinger, as if he were thinking deeply. I was momentarily transfixed, however, watching him. Why was it that his arm had to flex with every move? Even the way the muscles in his throat worked was mesmerizing. This man’s sex appeal was lethal.
“I think it’s best we go to bed,” he said, then began to stand up.
I watched him, not following. When he managed to get up slowly without hurting his injured shoulder, he glanced back at me.
“Are you ever going to return me home?” I asked him.
His expression darkened for a moment, and I wondered if I’d said something I shouldn’t.
“Yes,” he replied. “But not tonight. Get up. It’s time for bed.”
Why that didn’t make me feel better, I wasn’t sure. I dropped my legs to the floor and stood up. “I need to take my glass and the wine down.”
“Leave it,” he said, cutting me off as he began walking toward the door that led into the bedroom.
Following him, I decided I’d be sleeping on the sofa tonight. He was doing better, and whatever the doctor had been concerned about last night clearly was no longer an issue.