Let Me Know (14 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Marcus

I enter the Student Services Building, the freezing air still clinging to me. I survey the open area and spot Amber. I’m about to call her name, to stop her before she disappears into the Counseling Center for her weekly appointment with her therapist, when I spot a guy checking her out from several yards away. He pretends to read a brochure he picked up someplace, but his spy skills need a lot more work.

Even before her name was splashed on the news and she became a “celebrity” on campus, guys have paid attention to her. It’s hard not to. She’s beautiful, especially because she doesn’t see herself that way. And that innocence about her appeals to me—and every other guy.

But something about
this
guy unnerves me.

She strides down the hallway. The guy places the brochure on a table and walks after her.

And I follow him.

He stops when she gets close to her therapist’s office and he whips out a small camera. What the fuck? Before he can take a photo, I grab hold of his arm. Amber pulls the Counseling Center door open and steps inside, not once turning around.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask, glaring at him. He’s a good several inches shorter than me and his muscles have never been introduced to weights.

“It’s none of your business.” He yanks his arm from my hand.

“Well, since that’s my girlfriend you were planning to take a photo of without her consent, I’m making it my business.”

“I wasn’t gonna take a picture of her. I-I was gonna take a picture of the Counseling Center.”

“Bullshit. I saw you back there.” I point in the direction we came from. “I saw you check her out and I saw you stalk her. Now tell me the truth or she’ll be filing for a restraining order against you. And that’s gonna make your life real tough if you really are a student here.” I’m bluffing. I have no idea if Amber can get a restraining order unless she can prove this isn’t a onetime event. But since she complained the other day that she felt as though someone was stalking her, I suspect this isn’t the first time he’s followed her.

The guy holds his hands up. “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you. I’m a journalism major. She’s a hot topic right now and I figured a different angle on the story would be great for my portfolio. It’s not like I’m hurting her.”

“She’s a person, not a hot topic,” I growl, my face inches from his. I can smell the fear seeping from him. “And you don’t have the right to harass her.”

“You’re wrong. I have the First Amendment backing me.”

“The First Amendment doesn’t give you the right to harass her, asshole.”

“I’m not harassing her. The public has the right to know if an innocent man is being convicted for a crime he never committed.”

Something inside me detonates in a series of explosions and I shove the jerk against the wall. “The psychopath is not an innocent man. He killed two people and nearly killed her.”

“Some people don’t believe that. They believe your girlfriend is guilty, not Paul Carson.”

I slam him against the wall again. “You don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying.” I’m ready to keep smashing him against the wall until he finally realizes Amber’s the victim.

“Let him go, son,” a man says behind me.

Still holding on to the asshat, I look over my shoulder and groan. My hands drop away from the guy and I turn to face campus security.

“He assaulted me for no reason,” Asshat says.

“He’s stalking my girlfriend,” I counter. “And taking photos of her.”

The man looks from me to Asshat. “I don’t have time for this. If you’re serious about the stalking, then you can file a report with campus police.”

Asshat blanches and I weigh my choices. I file the report and he can counter with charges of assault. “I’ll need his name for the report.”

Chapter Nineteen

Marcus

Amber removes an envelope from her mailbox. “So, are you gonna tell me where we’re going tonight?”

“It’s a surprise.”

She pouts, though it’s not very convincing with the way the corners of her mouth try to curl up. “How am I supposed to figure out what to wear if you won’t tell me where we’re going?”

“You can wear whatever you want.”
Because you won’t be in it for long.
Chase’s sister is bound to have another outfit in mind.

“Okay.”

We go upstairs to her room. Brittany isn’t here. Normally I’d make the most of it, but we have plans. Plans I don’t want to delay much longer.

Amber opens the envelope and removes a letter. She reads it, then frowns.

“Something wrong?”

She refolds it, and shoves it and the envelope into her desk drawer. “It’s nothing. It’s from someone I once knew, but it’s no big deal.” Smiling, she wraps her arms around my neck. “Are you positive you can’t tell me where we’re going?”

I give her a quick kiss. “Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not one for surprises. They don’t always end up so well.” The smile fades. She lets go of my neck and begins to pull away.

I grab hold of her hips, not ready to lose the contact between us. “I promise this one will.”

The smile returns but it’s edged with uncertainty. I want to kiss her senseless so she forgets everything. Everything except for how amazing we are together. But we don’t have time.

Amber surveys her closet.

“You can wear what you have on now if you want.”

She glances at her jeans and light pink long-sleeved T-shirt. She’s not trying to look sexy, but there’s something about the way her clothes skim her body that makes my dick twitch.

She shrugs. “If you say so.”

The drive through Chicago’s wintery streets to Shannon’s apartment stretches to forty-five minutes. I can tell Amber’s itching to ask for the fifth time where we’re going, but knows I won’t tell her.

I park in an empty visitor’s spot and lead Amber to the building.

“Are we going to a party?” she asks.

“Nope.”

“Are we having our fortunes told?” She smiles in a way that tells me she’s trying to amuse me now. Then her expression turns wishful. She doesn’t believe in that stuff, but some idea of what we’re both facing when it comes to the men who tried to destroy us would be great.

“Nope,” I say.

“Am I getting warmer?”

I grab her hand. “I don’t know about that, but if you want to get warmer, I can take you back to the car and see if we can steam up the windows.”

She laughs. “Sounds good to me.”

We haven’t had too many chances to make love since she started staying in her dorm again. Even though she gave me a lame ass reason, it has more to do with the old bitch who insinuated Amber and I get off on pain than because Amber finds it easier to study in her room.

I open the main doors and let her in, then buzz Shannon’s apartment.

“Hello?” a crackled female voice says through the intercom a minute later.

“It’s Marcus.”

The door buzzes and I pull it open. The elevator is empty when we enter. We don’t have much time since Shannon’s apartment is on the fifth floor.

My mouth is on Amber’s as soon as the doors close, my fingers in her silky golden hair. She parts her lips, ever eager for me to explore her with my tongue. I try to maintain some level of control, but it’s next to impossible. I’m starving from being unable to touch her like I’ve wanted to in the last few days.

All too soon the doors open. I reach for Amber’s hand and lead her to apartment 510. I open the door and we step inside. Shannon wheels down the short hallway, grinning.

“So this is Amber,” Chase’s sister says, checking Kitten over.

I lean down and hug her. “Don’t get any ideas,” I whisper in her ear.

Chapter Twenty

Amber

I knew Chase’s sister had been paralyzed in an accident when she was twelve years old, but I had no idea what to expect. The girl is nothing like her older brother, who is tall and blond. She’s delicate in size yet there’s a subtle fierceness about her. I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly, beyond the ripped muscles in her arms and shoulders revealed by her tank top.

Marcus whispers in her ear and she laughs. “Don’t worry. As cute as she is, she’s not my type.” She winks at me and puts me instantly at ease, like Chase has a habit of doing. “Is he always this overbearingly projective of you?”

I laugh. “Always. He forgets I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, Amber. You’ve already proven that. But where’s the fun if I can’t chase off the competition? In case you’ve forgotten, you once hired me to do exactly that.”

Shannon’s eyes light up. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear about this.” Looking at Marcus, she points toward a brown couch in the tidy but sparsely furnished living room. On one wall is a collection of framed black-and-white photos of historic buildings. “Go watch a game or something while I work my magic.”

“Magic?” I ask, glancing between them.

“You haven’t told her?”

“I thought I’d surprise her,” Marcus explains, his eyes lighting up the same way Shannon’s did. “Where’s Debbie?”

“She’s on shift at the hospital.” To me she says, “My girlfriend’s a nurse.”

She ushers me into a bedroom and points at a stool by the bed, which is covered in an array of clothes. “Marcus wants me to alter your appearance so you guys can go out without being harassed.”

“Alter?”

“I’m going to be a theater major next year. Mostly behind-the-scenes stuff, like makeup and costumes.”

“You’re not gonna give me a moustache, are you?”

She laughs. “No. Marcus would kill me if I did that.” She studies me for a minute, her gaze sweeping over me. “You really have him wrapped around your finger.”

“What do you mean?”

“First—” she holds up a finger “—he’s never introduced me to any of the girls in his past, and it has nothing to do with me being a lesbian. Those girls didn’t matter.”

Her words don’t come as a surprise. This is something Marcus has already told me, when he said I was the only girl who’s ever made him feel alive—even before we made love the first time. “What’s the second?”

“Second, I don’t think he’s ever gotten jealous when a guy pays attention to a girl he’s with. He’d more than likely pass her on with his compliments. But I bet he’d kill to keep guys from getting within ten feet of you. Never thought I’d see this day.” Her mouth moves into a wide grin, then her smile fades away. “Just promise me you won’t hurt him, okay?”

“I won’t,” I say, smiling softly, touched by how much she cares about Marcus.

The grin stretches back on her face. “Okay, let’s get started on mission Outsmart the Media.” She rifles through the clothes on the bed. “Marcus said you have scars on your body you’re self-conscious about. I borrowed some stuff that I think will be perfect.”

She pulls out a black dress. It’s short and sleeveless, but the back is high enough to keep my scars hidden.

She passes me the dress and a thick pair of purple tights. “I’ve got thigh-high boots that will cause guys to come in their pants at the sight of you.”

My face heats a hundred degrees as I pretend to study the outfit.

She laughs and maneuvers her wheelchair to face away from me. “Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

I quickly change and check the dress in the full-length mirror on the closet door. It’s shorter than any dress or skirt I’ve ever worn, but the tights cover the patchwork of skin grafts on my leg. The neckline is scooped and skims below my collarbone.

“Okay,” I say. “You can turn around.”

Shannon does and nods her approval. “Sit, and I’ll start on your makeup. Even Marcus will barely recognize you once I’m finished.” She brushes my hair back and pulls it into a ponytail. Next, she works on my makeup. Even without seeing what she’s doing, I can tell she’s applying more than I normally wear in an entire week.

“Do you know where Marcus is taking me?”

A secretive spark gleams in her eyes. “I do, but I’m not telling you. What I will tell you is that you’re gonna look perfect for where you’re going. You’ll blend in with the crowd.” She attaches long, thick eyelashes, something I’ve never worn before, and a layer of muted red lipstick. God, I’m going to look like a prostitute.

She wheels over to the bed and opens a wooden box. From it, she removes a Styrofoam head covered in a black chin-length wig with bangs and purple streaks that match my purple tights.

Now no one will recognize me. Tonight I get to be someone who isn’t Amber Scott. Tonight, I get to be the wild girl I’ve always dreamed of being, the one inside me who was strong enough to survive Paul’s torture and abuse.

Shannon helps me put the wig on and I check my reflection. My mouth drops open at the sight of me staring back. Or rather, the girl who looks nothing like the real me. I don’t even have to wear sunglasses to hide my true identity.

The final touch is two wide metal bands that hide the scars on my wrists. My forget-me-not tattoo, with Michael’s and Trent’s names, is visible on my forearm. But since the media has never mentioned it and only a few people have seen it, no one will associate the tattoo with me.

Smiling, I run my finger over the names and the flowers, thrilled that for once I can show them off. Thrilled that for once I can show how much I loved two of the most important men in my life.

Shannon studies me and nods. “Marcus won’t want to keep his hands off you for fear of someone swooping in.”

“I don’t think he has to worry about that. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m glad to hear it, and so will my brother. He’s never been a fan of Marcus’s past relationships. Not that you can call most of them relationships.” Her eyes widen. “Oh, God. That sounds terrible. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I know he was a man-whore before he met me. His past flings aren’t exactly subtle about it.”

She sighs. “I can’t imagine they would be.” Gesturing to the bedroom door, she says, “Okay, showtime.”

Marcus is busy watching a basketball game on TV when I enter the living room.

“Nikki’s ready,” Shannon says behind me.

He turns around and drops the remote as his intense hazel gaze trails up my body. When most guys do that, I feel dirty. When Marcus does it, I feel stronger, more desirable.

A second or two later, Shannon’s words sneak their way into my brain. “Nikki?”

“You can’t go around using your real name,” she explains. “The less connection you have to who you really are, the less likely anyone will add two and two together.”

“She’s right,” Marcus says, approaching us, his eyes never leaving me.

“How come you don’t have a disguise?” I run my finger across his day-old growth and a slight thrill trembles down my spine. My lips beg to trace along his jaw as I breathe in his subtle spicy scent. The scent that’s one-hundred percent Marcus.

“My picture hasn’t been on the news,” he says. “And anyone who knows me and sees me with you will think I’ve gone back to my old habits.”

I give him a questioning look. “You mean being a cheating man-whore?”

“I never cheated on those girls. Not even Tammara. She knew where things stood, like the rest of them. Only fucked up guys would cheat on their girlfriends and wives.” Like his stepfather. He might not have been cheating on his wife in the typical sense of the word. But he still cheated on her every time he touched a boy.

I take Marcus’s clenched hands and caress them with my thumbs. “I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone you care about.”

His hands relax and thread with mine. His gaze drops to my mouth and the tip of his tongue runs along his parted lips. Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he says, breathing slightly fast, “You ready to go? Jordan and Chase are meeting us there.”

A momentary sense of power courses through me at the way I affect him. The same way he affects me. “Are they wearing disguises?”

“No. Only you needed one. Anyway, the last thing Chase needs is for his sister to make Jordan sexier.”

“Chase has a girlfriend?” Shannon says. “How come I’m the last to know?” She fakes a pout.

“They aren’t dating. Jordan has a boyfriend at the University of Texas and she’s in love with him. She and Chase are just friends.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. It’s about time he gets a girlfriend. Dad will be happy. Right now he’s worried that both his kids are gay. One he can handle, but not both of us.”

After we thank Shannon for her help, Marcus drives us to a bar where a live rock band is playing. There’s a line, but Marcus knows the bouncer and we get in without waiting. With his hands on my hips, he weaves me through the crowd to a corner table where Chase and Jordan are sitting, chatting.

“Hey, guys,” Marcus says. Chase looks at us and grins. Jordan starts to look up. The smile wipes off her face when she sees me and it turns into an uncharacteristic frown.

And then she glares at Marcus. “Hi,” she says, ignoring me.

Chase whispers in her ear, and her expression shifts through several different emotions before landing on grinning.

“Hi, I’m Nikki,” I say, as if meeting them for the first time. I make a move to sit next to Jordan, but before I can claim the seat, Marcus sits on it.

“Wow, you look amazing.” Jordan looks over at Chase. “Your sister did this?”

He nods.

Marcus pulls me onto his lap and settles his hand on my upper thigh. The heat of it burns through my skirt and tights. “I want everyone to know you’re mine,” he murmurs in my ear.

My cheek hovers next to his. “Good. ’Cause I want everyone to know I’m
yours
.” Especially if members of the I’ve-had-wild-sex-with-Marcus-and-want-an-encore club are here. Though I’m sure it won’t stop some of them from attempting to stake their claim.

The waitress shows up and we order drinks moments before the show begins. Shannon’s right. With my disguise, I fit in perfectly. Even the old me never dressed like this. I feel sexier than ever before. I wiggle my butt in Marcus’s lap. He groans. I laugh and kiss him.

What starts off a slight brushing of lips quickly becomes more heated. Our tongues glide and stroke to the music; our breaths grow rapid. Marcus moans against my mouth and the sensation vibrates through my body.

By the time we reluctantly pull apart, Jordan and Chase have joined the crowded dance floor. I want to dance, but I don’t want to risk the wig coming off. And the thought of getting sweaty in the wig doesn’t sound too appealing. Instead, I let the music flow through me. I’ve never felt freer than I do now.

Marcus tenderly kisses my bare arm. His touch sends a wave of heat rushing between my legs. As if sensing the effect this has on me, he slides his fingers along the inside of my thigh and beyond the hem of my dress. Normally I’d be uncomfortable with such blatant PDA. But I’m not Amber for this one night, and Nikki is definitely not complaining. Besides, with the table providing cover no one can see what he’s doing.

Marcus’s mouth claims mine, while his fingers continue stroking my thigh. They might not be touching the throbbing ache, but they’re coming pretty damn close. I moan against his lips.

His finger moves slightly and brushes against me. I groan, “Oh, God,” my mouth still against his. My body jerks, and I’m not the only one affected. The thickening length in his jeans presses against my hip. I smile, wishing we were at his place, but at the same time enjoying the game going on between us. Maybe there’s something to be said for pretending to be someone else...even for a short time.

“So, is it Amber or Nikki who turns you on the most?” I murmur against his ear.

His hand moves away from my thigh and his fingers trace their way up my stomach until his palm is over my heart. It pounds against my ribs, eager to show him what he does to me.

“This is what turns me on the most.” His hazel eyes burn into mine. “It’s what’s inside you that makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. That’s what turns me on.” A mischievous one-sided grin slides into place. “Though you in this outfit is hot. You’re more confident than normal, and that’s ultra sexy.”

The way he’s consuming me with his eyes, I expect him to kiss me hard, like he’ll die of hunger if he doesn’t.

That’s what I expect. Instead, he tenderly brushes his thumb against my lip, then lowers his mouth to mine and gently kisses me. There’s more heat and desire in the kiss than if he had ravished me.

We settle back and watch the show. Marcus keeps his hands on me the entire time, either them resting on me or stroking my arm. The only time he isn’t touching me is when I go to the bathroom with Jordan, and even then he escorts me.

Marcus blames himself for what happened to Ryan, the abuse and his brother’s death. I suspect it’s why he’s overly protective of me. I wish he would realize that he hasn’t failed me like he sometimes thinks he has.

I survived hell, and I did it on my own.