“Søren is protective of Michael. But he’s not some kind of monster you can’t reason with. Go talk to him.”
Griffin finally turned and met her eyes full-on.
“Talk to Søren? Yes, as if that ever worked for me before. He’ll say no, and even if he didn’t, Mick’s dad…his dad would kill him if he got involved with another guy. The stuff he’s told me about his father… Nora, that bastard actually hit Mick. Hit him. God, it makes me…”
Griffin’s jaw tightened and his hand curled into a fist. Nora knew in his mind Griffin was exacting beautiful revenge on Michael’s conservative homophobic ass**le of a father. She, like Søren, didn’t condone any kind of violence except of the consensual bedroom variety. But somebody would eventually have to teach Michael’s father a lesson or two about how to treat a kid like Michael. Preferably a lesson that didn’t land Michael’s father in the hospital and Griffin in jail.
“I know. I understand, Griff. I do. But—”
“But nothing. I want him so much it hurts. Like physically hurts, Nora. And not just sex. It isn’t that. I can’t explain what it is but I just…”
“Wesley,” Nora said and stopped. Where had that come from? Griffin looked at her.
“Wesley?”
She smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes or touch her heart.
“Wesley…he has this problem. Type 1 diabetic. Scared the shit out of me, that kid did with his needles and his blood-testing. Every single night, I’d have to look in on him when he was sleeping. I can barely sleep at my own house anymore because he’s not there to keep me up at night. Which makes no sense at all.”
“No,” Griffin said. “It makes perfect sense.” He glanced up at Nora again. “Does this ever go away?”
Something wet and warm ran down her face, and she swiped it off with her forearm.
“No,” she whispered. “Never.”
* * *
Suzanne gasped and spun around. Standing in the doorway of Father Stearns’s bedroom was a man she’d never seen before. Tall and frighteningly handsome, he had shoulder-length dark brown hair, near-black eyes and a Mediterranean complexion.
“Who are you?” she demanded, stepping back but finding her way of escape barred by the bed.
“I suppose I should ask you that. After all, I am allowed to be here. I’m not certain you could say the same. Oui? Non?”
He spoke in beautiful English tinged with an unmistakable French accent. He stepped across the threshold and for the first time she noticed his clothes. He wore black trousers and a black vest embroidered with some sort of beautiful swirling silver pattern, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, and knee-high riding boots.
“I’m…” she began. “I was…”
“You are Suzanne Kanter, the reporter who has been dogging my dear friend’s steps for two months now. Twenty-eight years old. A freelance journalist who usually spends her days in war zones. I don’t see any wars anywhere.”
“Then you aren’t looking hard enough,” she countered.
“Congratulations on graduating cum laude from your journalism school. A wonderful phrase—cum laude. I’ve always thought it should refer to something else.”
“How do you know so much about me?”
The man smiled, a roguish, dangerous smile that set every nerve in her body on end.
“My name is Kingsley Edge.”
Suzanne gasped and tried to take another step back and nearly fell onto the bed in the process.
“From your reaction,” he said, coming closer, “I will assume you’ve heard of me.”
“I’m a reporter. Of course I’ve heard of you. You destroyed a friend of mine. Gwendolyn Black? Remember that name? You put a sex tape on repeat on every computer in her son’s school. She’s been in therapy for two years because of what you pulled.”
Kingsley shrugged.
“Pas moi. I was in Tahiti at the time. Although I did hear about that unfortunate incident. Pity. But still…she was attempting to make a name for herself by exposing the private life of a man who’d never hurt a fly, a human-rights lawyer who’d saved thousands of lives and put dozens of murderers behind bars. Your friend thought his interest in alternative sexual experiences meant he did not deserve his privacy. I disagree. And so did someone else apparently.”
“Someone else who worked for you.”
Kingsley Edge only grinned.
“Perhaps.”
Suzanne stared at him in silence as she tried to formulate an escape plan, or an attack plan if that failed. So much time in war zones had taught her how to defend herself. But she had no weapons on her, and Kingsley Edge, despite his relaxed posture and elegant attire, definitely had a dangerous air. She’d seen generals in their dress uniforms at cocktail parties who looked more deadly than infantrymen in their desert BDUs. Kingsley Edge had that look about him too. Something in the eyes. Something glinting and fearless. He looked like a man who’d seen so much blood he had the Grim Reaper on speed dial.
“You’re afraid of me,” he finally said as he took another step into the room. “You don’t have to be, Suzanne.”
“Everyone’s afraid of you. Everyone in my world.”
He grinned and the smile overtook his face and rendered him so handsome she could scarcely breathe.
Griffin finally turned and met her eyes full-on.
“Talk to Søren? Yes, as if that ever worked for me before. He’ll say no, and even if he didn’t, Mick’s dad…his dad would kill him if he got involved with another guy. The stuff he’s told me about his father… Nora, that bastard actually hit Mick. Hit him. God, it makes me…”
Griffin’s jaw tightened and his hand curled into a fist. Nora knew in his mind Griffin was exacting beautiful revenge on Michael’s conservative homophobic ass**le of a father. She, like Søren, didn’t condone any kind of violence except of the consensual bedroom variety. But somebody would eventually have to teach Michael’s father a lesson or two about how to treat a kid like Michael. Preferably a lesson that didn’t land Michael’s father in the hospital and Griffin in jail.
“I know. I understand, Griff. I do. But—”
“But nothing. I want him so much it hurts. Like physically hurts, Nora. And not just sex. It isn’t that. I can’t explain what it is but I just…”
“Wesley,” Nora said and stopped. Where had that come from? Griffin looked at her.
“Wesley?”
She smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes or touch her heart.
“Wesley…he has this problem. Type 1 diabetic. Scared the shit out of me, that kid did with his needles and his blood-testing. Every single night, I’d have to look in on him when he was sleeping. I can barely sleep at my own house anymore because he’s not there to keep me up at night. Which makes no sense at all.”
“No,” Griffin said. “It makes perfect sense.” He glanced up at Nora again. “Does this ever go away?”
Something wet and warm ran down her face, and she swiped it off with her forearm.
“No,” she whispered. “Never.”
* * *
Suzanne gasped and spun around. Standing in the doorway of Father Stearns’s bedroom was a man she’d never seen before. Tall and frighteningly handsome, he had shoulder-length dark brown hair, near-black eyes and a Mediterranean complexion.
“Who are you?” she demanded, stepping back but finding her way of escape barred by the bed.
“I suppose I should ask you that. After all, I am allowed to be here. I’m not certain you could say the same. Oui? Non?”
He spoke in beautiful English tinged with an unmistakable French accent. He stepped across the threshold and for the first time she noticed his clothes. He wore black trousers and a black vest embroidered with some sort of beautiful swirling silver pattern, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms, and knee-high riding boots.
“I’m…” she began. “I was…”
“You are Suzanne Kanter, the reporter who has been dogging my dear friend’s steps for two months now. Twenty-eight years old. A freelance journalist who usually spends her days in war zones. I don’t see any wars anywhere.”
“Then you aren’t looking hard enough,” she countered.
“Congratulations on graduating cum laude from your journalism school. A wonderful phrase—cum laude. I’ve always thought it should refer to something else.”
“How do you know so much about me?”
The man smiled, a roguish, dangerous smile that set every nerve in her body on end.
“My name is Kingsley Edge.”
Suzanne gasped and tried to take another step back and nearly fell onto the bed in the process.
“From your reaction,” he said, coming closer, “I will assume you’ve heard of me.”
“I’m a reporter. Of course I’ve heard of you. You destroyed a friend of mine. Gwendolyn Black? Remember that name? You put a sex tape on repeat on every computer in her son’s school. She’s been in therapy for two years because of what you pulled.”
Kingsley shrugged.
“Pas moi. I was in Tahiti at the time. Although I did hear about that unfortunate incident. Pity. But still…she was attempting to make a name for herself by exposing the private life of a man who’d never hurt a fly, a human-rights lawyer who’d saved thousands of lives and put dozens of murderers behind bars. Your friend thought his interest in alternative sexual experiences meant he did not deserve his privacy. I disagree. And so did someone else apparently.”
“Someone else who worked for you.”
Kingsley Edge only grinned.
“Perhaps.”
Suzanne stared at him in silence as she tried to formulate an escape plan, or an attack plan if that failed. So much time in war zones had taught her how to defend herself. But she had no weapons on her, and Kingsley Edge, despite his relaxed posture and elegant attire, definitely had a dangerous air. She’d seen generals in their dress uniforms at cocktail parties who looked more deadly than infantrymen in their desert BDUs. Kingsley Edge had that look about him too. Something in the eyes. Something glinting and fearless. He looked like a man who’d seen so much blood he had the Grim Reaper on speed dial.
“You’re afraid of me,” he finally said as he took another step into the room. “You don’t have to be, Suzanne.”
“Everyone’s afraid of you. Everyone in my world.”
He grinned and the smile overtook his face and rendered him so handsome she could scarcely breathe.
