His Revenge In My Bed

8. Alex

I walked around to her side and opened the door, and the moment she stepped out, the streetlights hit her again.

I watched her step out, noticing the way the fabric moved over her curves and how high the slit went on her leg. She was a distraction, a beautiful one, but I didn't let my face show it.

I put my hand on her lower back. Her skin was hot under my touch. I walked her to the door of her building, feeling her move beside me. She was far smaller than me, softer, and she was shaking just a little bit.

When we got to the door, she turned around. She wouldn't look me in the eye at first. She was fidgeting, her fingers pulling at the strap of her bag.

"So, yeah," she started, "I really liked tonight. I know I probably said too much. I usually do that more when I’m nervous, and I’m definitely nervous right now. You’re just so quiet, and I feel like I have to keep talking so it’s not weird.

You probably think I’m annoying. Like, way too much.

My mom always tells me I need to learn when to stop, and I bet you're thinking the same thing. "

She looked up at me then, her eyes wide and clouded with doubt. I watched them drop to my mouth, before they snapped back up to mine, searching.

"You probably won't call me, right? That’s okay. I get it. A guy like you doesn't need someone like me constantly talking in his ear. I just... I felt good with you... safe. Which is weird because you're actually kind of scary."

Most people would find it exhausting. To me, it was just her. I didn't mind the noise, in fact, I liked the way her voice filled up the empty spaces in my head. But right now, I wanted her to be quiet for a different reason.

I stepped closer, shutting her up just by being in her space. I could smell her perfume, sweet and warm and I could see the way her chest was huffing up and down, her heart racing under that low neckline. My eyes dropped to her mouth, watching her lips move as she kept trying to explain herself.

I didn't use words. I reached out and caught her chin between my fingers. Her skin felt like silk and cotton. I tilted her head back, forcing her to stop talking and look at me. Her breath hitched, a tiny gasp leaving her lips as she froze.

I leaned in, my shadow covering her completely. I pressed my lips against hers.

I felt her hands fly up to my chest, her fingers digging into my suit jacket as she tried to find her balance. I didn't let go of her chin. I kept her right there, tasting the sweetness of the wine and the heat of her mouth. The more she melted into me, the tighter I held her.

I let the kiss drag out, making sure she knew exactly how much I wasn't bothered by her.

I shifted my grip on her chin, my thumb pushing her mouth open just a little more. I felt her teeth graze my lip, a sudden spark of heat that made my blood run hot. It was something I didn't expect.

She made a low sound in her throat, a small moan that she lost inside my mouth. Then I felt her tongue. It was shy at first, just a light touch against mine, but then she grew bold.

Every time our tongues touched, a jolt went through me, straight to my gut.

She started to breathe harder, her small gasps hitting my face, her body leaning into me until I could feel the softness of her chest crushed against my ribs.

I moved my hand from her chin to the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair to pull her even closer.

I bit her bottom lip, just hard enough to make her gasp, and then I sucked it into my mouth. She shook in my arms, her hands sliding from my chest up to my neck, her skin hot and damp.

I pulled back just a fraction, our lips still brushing, the spit between us glistening in the dark. She looked dazed, her mouth swollen and red, her eyes dark with a look that told me she wasn't thinking about talking anymore.

"You have my number, right?" I rasped.

My voice was deeper now, rough from the way she’d been moving against me.

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she stared at my mouth like she wanted to pull me back down, "Yes..." she whispered, the word barely a breath.

I let my hand slide from her neck down to her shoulder, my thumb dragging over the collarbone I’d been watching all night. I leaned in one last time, my nose brushing against hers, letting her feel the hard lines of my face.

"I’ll call you," I said. It sounded more like an order than a promise.

I let her go, stepping back. I didn't look back as I walked to the car, but I could feel her eyes on me. I got into the driver’s seat and gripped the wheel, my knuckles white.

When I looked through the windshield, she was still there, a splash of red against the cold gray stone of the building.

She looked dazed, like she’d forgotten how to move.

I grabbed my phone and dialed her number.

I watched her jump when her bag buzzed. She fumbled for it, her fingers shaking as she pulled it out. When she saw my name on the screen, she looked up, her eyes finding mine. She let out a small, soft smile and answered.

"Go inside, Josephine," I said, "I’m not leaving until you’re safe inside."

"Um, yeah... right," she whispered.

She let out a little breathless laugh, the sound of it warm and shaky in my ear.

She gave me one last look before she turned toward the lobby. I watched her slip through the doors, the glass closing quietly behind her. I waited until her shadow disappeared from the hallway before I finally put the car in gear.

The night felt different as I drove away, the scent of her perfume was still all over me, and the taste of her, sweet, wet, and wanting stayed on my tongue.

She was probably pacing her apartment right now. I could almost see her, replaying every second of the night. She’d be dissecting every word I said and every look I gave her, especially that kiss.

Women like her, they never truly stop. Their minds are always moving, trying to read between the lines and solve the puzzle. She was probably exhausted trying to guess what was going on inside my head.

But they never guess right. They look for a soft heart or a hidden spark, something to make sense of the cold.

They don't realize that sometimes, the quiet isn't a secret. It’s just a warning.

A sharp buzz against the center console broke the silence. I didn't even have to look at the screen. Rhys always had a knack for calling the second things got interesting. I swiped the screen, the Bluetooth connecting with a click.

Rhys was the only man alive who could get away with breathing my air. We’d met in the dirt, two starving kids fighting over a stale piece of bread until we were both black and blue. Neither of us won that fight, so we sat in the dark and shared the meal. We’d been sharing the world ever since.

"Alex, you beautiful bastard," he let out a laugh, "You’ve been a busy little bee tonight."

I didn’t say anything. I just watched the road, waiting for him to drop the act and get to the point.

"Helena Van Alen had you followed," he continued, and I could practically hear him grinning on the other end.

"The old bat ran a background check on 'Tristan Kincaid,' but she hit a brick wall. She found some whispers and some ghost stories, but nothing she can actually use. She’s pissed, though. She’s gonna keep digging until she breaks a nail. "

"What else?" I asked, my voice flat.

Rhys chuckled, "Not much yet. She’s had eyes on you since her daughter first mentioned your name. She hired a few cheap PIs to tail the car, but they were amateurs. I put them in the dirt, metaphorically, mostly. They won't be coming back for a second look."

A cold, hard twist pulled at the corner of my mouth. If Helena thought she could play in my backyard, she was going to find out the hard way how deep the shadows really went.

"Good," I muttered, my grip on the wheel finally loosening, "Keep me updated."

"Will do," Rhys said. He paused for a beat, his tone turning even more playful, "Oh, and Alexander?"

"Yeah?"

"I saw the photos from the restaurant window. That girl has a seriously top-tier ass, man. Seriously. Go ahead and enjoy that. God knows you need to get laid before you actually turn into a statue."

I didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. I just hit the button, cutting his voice off mid-laugh.

The streets blurred as I drove toward my place, an hour away from the city.

The estate sat far from the New York chaos. It was a house made of cold, gray stone. Everything inside was dark, with black marble floors. There were no photos on the walls, no personal stuff. To anyone else, it looked like a tomb. To me, it was perfect.

I parked the car in the driveway, the massive iron gates clanged shut behind me, sealing off the world.

I walked inside, tossed my keys onto the marble table in the foyer, and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. I reached for a bottle of whiskey. I poured myself a generous glass.

Everything around me was still, silent, just how I liked it.

I walked over to my study and turned on the wall mounted lamps. The lighting in my study was dim but the board was there, spread out like a twisted roadmap of everything I was working on for years.

The board was a mess of red strings, old photos, and printed names.

It looked like a map of a war zone, and in a way, it was.

Most people would look at this room and think I was a monster.

I didn't care. To me, this was the only thing that made sense.

Every string was a path. Every photo was a target.

At the very center sat Helena Van Alen. Her face was perfect, frozen in a fake smile that didn't reach her cold eyes. She had no idea I’d been watching her for years, waiting for the right moment to tear her world down.

Right next to her was Josephine.

Her photo was smaller, a candid shot where she was laughing. It looked out of place among the grim faces of politicians and crooks. She looked too soft, too bright. She had no clue what kind of web she was walking into.

I leaned in, my shadow falling over her face. My eyes scanned the notes I’d written next to her picture...

Dark hair. Grey eyes. Pale skin. Red lips.

I remembered how that skin felt under my thumb tonight. I remembered the way her heart thudded against my chest when I kissed her.

I set my whiskey glass down on the desk with a thud. My hand reached for the red marker sitting on the ledge.

I pressed the tip of the marker to the board and drew a dark circle around Josephine’s face. The red ink soaked into the paper, looking like a fresh wound.

Then, I pressed harder and with one stroke, I dragged the marker across the string that connected her to Helena. I slashed right through the line, severing her from her mother.

I stepped back, my chest heaving slightly as I looked at the board. Josephine was now an island, cut off from everything she knew.

She wasn't just a daughter anymore. She was a tool. A weapon I was going to use to break Helena until there was nothing left.

I picked up my drink and finished it in one go, the whiskey burning a path down my throat.

I'm going to take everything from Helena Van Alen, starting with the one thing she loved the most.

Josephine was going to be the reason her mother fell, and a girl like her would never see it coming until it was too late.

The night was over, but I couldn't turn my brain off. I was tangled in my sheets, staring at the ceiling, but all I could see was him.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it again, that dark pressure of his mouth on mine. My lips actually felt swollen. I rolled onto my side, clutching a pillow against my chest, trying to catch my breath even though I was just lying there.

He was so cold, so mean almost, but the way he had gripped my chin... it made my stomach do backflips.

Suddenly, the dark room lit up. My phone buzzed hard against the nightstand, the vibration loud. I lunged for it, my heart jumping into my throat when I saw his name on the screen.

Tristan.

I swiped the screen with a thumb that wouldn't stop trembling. I sat up fast, pulling the covers to my chest like he could see me through the phone.

"Tristan?" I whispered.

"Josephine..."

Just my name. That was it. But the way he said it, that deep rumble that sounded like it came from the bottom of his chest, sent a massive shiver straight down my spine.

It made me think of his hand on my chin again, pulling me so close I couldn't move. I squeezed my eyes shut, getting a flash of the way he looked right before he leaned in.

I bit my bottom lip, hard, right where he had bitten me earlier. I didn't know what to do with the quiet. Usually, I’d be talking a mile a minute, filling the air with anything just to stop the awkwardness. But with him, the silence felt like it was pinning me down.

"You're not going to say anything?" he asked.

I let out a tiny, breathless laugh that sounded more like a gasp. "Oh... oh, so now you want me to talk?" I teased, "I thought you wanted me to be quiet. You did a pretty good job of making that happen earlier."

I could almost hear the dark smirk on the other end of the line.

"Expecting you to talk?" he murmured, and I could tell he was enjoying how much he was tilting my world, "Isn't that just what you do, Josephine?"

My face felt hot. He was mocking me, but in a way that made my skin tingle. He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to hear me struggle. He wanted to hear the way he had messed with my head.

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles hurt, but I forced my voice to stay level. I needed to get it together. I couldn't let him know that I was currently a puddle of nerves in the middle of my bed.

"Don't get used to it," I said, leaning back against my headboard and trying to sound like I wasn't breathless. "I have a life, you know? I’m not just sitting here waiting for the Ice King to check in on me."

I held my breath, praying he couldn't hear my heart thudding through the speaker. I tried to push the images out of my head, the way his eyes went dark right before he touched me, the taste of wine and chocolate, but it was like trying to stop a flood.

"Is that right?" his voice dropped, "So you've already moved on. You're not sitting there, wondering what I’m doing right now."

I let out a breath, trying to channel his own cold energy, "Exactly. I'm actually a very busy woman, Tristan. You were just a Tuesday night. A nice break from my schedule, but... just a break."

I bit my lip so hard, I was lying through my teeth, and it felt like walking on a tightrope. I wanted him to wonder. I wanted to be the puzzle for once.

"I see," he murmured, "Because if you're so busy, and if I’m just a 'break,' then you won't mind that I’m hanging up now. After all, you have a life to get back to."

My heart sank into my stomach. It was like he’d just pulled the rug out from under me. I wanted him to argue, to tell me I was wrong, to say something to keep me on the line. But I wouldn't let him win. I kept my voice flat, like I couldn't care less.

"Go ahead," I said, leaning back against the headboard, "I was about to go to sleep anyway. You're actually kind of keeping me up."

"Sleep well then," he said, his voice sounding closer, almost like he was whispering right into my ear, "I wouldn't want to waste your very busy time."

The line went dead before I could even get another word out. I stared at my phone, my heart racing. He hadn't pushed, he hadn't argued, he’d just stepped back, leaving me alone in the dark with the very thoughts I told him I didn't have.

I had tried to play his game, but it felt like I’d just lost. I threw the phone onto the mattress and groaned into my pillow, kicking my legs under the covers.

"Great job, Josie," I whispered to the empty room, "You were so cool that he actually left."

I lay there for a minute, the silence of the apartment feeling ten times louder than before. I felt like an idiot. I was about to reach for the lamp to turn it off when the phone buzzed against the sheets.

Bzz-bzz.

I scrambled for it, nearly falling off the bed in the process. My heart was thumping against my ribs so hard it hurt. I swiped the screen open.

Tristan: I might be a break for you. But you aren't one for me. Go to sleep, Josephine.

I stared at the words until they blurred. It was so simple, so short, and so him. No fluff, no emojis, just a blunt statement that told me exactly where his head was.

The "cool" act I’d been trying to pull off shattered instantly.

"Oh my god," I squealed, the sound muffled by my duvet. I rolled onto my back and then onto my stomach, kicking my feet in the air like a little girl. I couldn't stop the massive, goofy grin from taking over my face.

I sat up, bounced on the mattress a few times, and then flopped back down, hugging my phone to my chest.

He was thinking about me.

The big, scary, quiet man who acted like nothing moved him was sitting somewhere in the dark, thinking about me.

I wanted to text back something clever, but my hands were shaking too much. I just stared at his name on the screen, feeling like I’d just won the lottery.

I was the one who filled the air. I’d talk about my day, my thoughts, even the tiny, random things that didn't matter. I’d talk until I was breathless.

And he just listened.

He didn't interrupt. He didn't tell me I was too much. Most of the time, it was just the sound of his breathing on the other end. Every now and then, he’d drop a low "Yeah" or a short, rough sentence that vibrated through the phone and straight into my gut.

It was just enough to let me know he was there, hanging on every word I said.

“Did you know my mom tried to set me up with some politician’s son when I was fifteen and he was like, twenty?

” I said, flopping onto my stomach and twisting a lock of hair around my finger, “It was at this fancy dinner party she took me to. He was so boring, Tristan. I’m serious, I thought my brain was actually going to melt and leak out of my ears right there on the silk tablecloth.

If I have to sit through one more ‘important connection’ dinner, I’m going to scream until the windows break. ”

“Mmhmm,” Tristan’s deep voice rumbled through the phone.

“Can you imagine?” I said, kicking my feet up, “You’d probably hate it even more than me. You’d just sit there looking all scary and mean until they all ran away, wouldn't you?”

“Probably,” he murmured.

I kept going, jumping from one story to the next, laughing at my own jokes until I realized he hadn't made a sound in a long time. The only thing I could hear was his calm breathing. My face went red, and I buried my nose in my pillow.

“God, I’m doing it again, aren't I? I’m talking too much. I’m being way too much. Sorry, I’ll stop. I'll be quiet now.”

“You won’t,” he rasped

I let out a embarrassed laugh. “Okay... maybe not. But you could at least pretend to be annoyed so I don't feel so crazy.”

“I’m not annoyed, Josephine,” he said, “Keep talking.”

“You know what’s weird?” I said, sprawled out on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, “I used to hate the quiet. Growing up, my mom always had the house so loud. Huge parties, people laughing, music blasting in every room. I used to think silence was lonely. And now, here I am, talking to the quietest guy on the planet every single night. Maybe I just like torture, huh?”

I waited, my heart doing that slow, heavy thud.

“It’s not torture,” Tristan’s voice came through, “You just like having someone who actually hears what you’re saying instead of just waiting for their turn to talk.”

I felt my breath hitch. He wasn't just listening; he was reading me, “But you... you barely say anything. Don't you get tired of it? Just hearing me go on about nothing?”

“No.”

I went totally still, my face flushing hot. I wanted to say something clever, but my brain had turned to mush.

“Now,” he murmured, and I could almost feel his heat through the line. “Tell me more about that loud house of yours.”

Every night, it felt like I was chipping away at a block of ice. I was getting closer, inch by inch, even though his walls were still high enough to hide the sun but I didn't mind. I actually liked the challenge.

Most people would have given up on a man like him, but I saw something in the way he listened. There was a heat under all that cold, something buried deep that he didn't want anyone to see.

Something told me that when he finally opened up, it would be worth the wait. I just had to be patient. I had to keep talking until he had no choice but to let me in.

"A friend of mine is throwing a Midnight Masquerade Ball," he said, "Would you be my plus one?"

I didn't even think. I slammed the phone onto mute, shoved my face into my pillow, and let out a long, high-pitched scream.

I kicked my legs like a maniac, my heart thudding against the mattress.

After a few seconds, I sat up, smoothed my hair, and took a massive, shaky breath to get my voice under control.

I hit the mute button again, trying to sound like I wasn't currently vibrating out of my skin.

"Um, a ball?" I said, sounding way more innocent than I actually was, "I’ve never really been to one of those."

That was a complete lie. I’d actually been a debutante at Le Bal des Débutantes in Paris and attended more formal balls than I could count, but he didn’t need to know that. I just wanted to see where he was going with it.

"Would you like to go with me?" he asked.

"Are you asking me on a date, Tristan?" I teased.

"I am," he rasped, "Are you going to say yes, Josephine?"

I bit my lip, a huge smile breaking across my face in the dark.

I rolled onto my back, looking at the ceiling with a huge grin. "I'm going to say... I’d be honored to be your date, Mr. Kincaid."