Pitch Black: A Romantic Thriller (Blackwood Security Book 1) (20 page)

Tia ate in silence, staring daggers at me from across the table. It could have been worse—at least she’d stopped shrieking. I ignored her attitude and chatted to Luke about the ridiculousness of Christmas traditions. When we started discussing who on earth came up with the idea of stuffing bread up a turkey’s backside, even Tia giggled. Then she remembered she hated me and went back to glowering instead.

I left Luke to spend some brother-sister time with Tia after dinner. Judging by the shouting, it didn’t go too well. When their mother turned up to ferry her home again, the tension level in the house dropped. Luke trudged up the stairs shortly afterwards, frowning. I reached out and smoothed the wrinkles on his forehead.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He sighed. “I don’t know what to do about her. I tried to discuss the smoking, and she went crazy again.”

“Look on the bright side, at least it was only a cigarette.”

His glare said he didn’t think I was helping.

I tried again. “I’m not sure what to suggest, other than to say she’ll probably grow out of it.”

“Did you ever smoke?”

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“How old were you when you stopped?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen when you stopped?” His eyed bugged out. “How old were you when you started?”

I shrugged. “Twelve, I think. Maybe eleven. I forget.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Told you I was a wild child.”

“What did your parents say?”

“Not a lot.” Nothing in fact.

“What made you stop?”

“I met someone who showed me I was worth looking after.” The truth slipped out. Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. “Now, why don’t I take your mind off things?”

Luke lay back on the bed, happy with the change of subject. Tia was forgotten as we continued what we didn’t get to finish earlier.

The next week passed peacefully enough. Luke had to go back into the office, of course, but he made the effort to come home on time each day

“I should’ve started this delegation lark years ago,” he told me on Tuesday evening after we’d done something on the pool table which may have involved balls but definitely wasn’t pool. “Although my staff seem a little disgruntled.”

“They’ll get used to it. Don’t back down.”

Don’t back down. I used to live by that mantra, right until the moment I’d run to England. I needed to abide by my own rules.

“Not planning to. Not if it means I have more time for this.” He ran his tongue along my lips and I surrendered.

Maybe rules were meant to be broken.

While Luke worked, I took advantage of his gym. With that and the running I’d been doing, most of my strength had returned. The potbelly I’d developed shrunk away, and the outline of my muscles was clear again. It pleased me that my body was returning to its previous state—now only my head needed work.

Having no responsibilities and nothing pressing to do all day was a novelty at first, but I soon found mid-morning television didn’t deliver.

“What’s this?” Luke asked as I plonked his dinner on the table in front of him.

“It’s supposed to be coq au vin.” Except I burned the chicken and drank most of the wine. Despite Nora’s efforts to teach me, I was a terrible cook.

“You don’t have to do this, you know? Nora can make us dinner.”

“I was bored, so I thought I’d experiment.”

“I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but it looks like a science project gone wrong.”

That was the truth. How come I could make a bomb out of store-cupboard staples, but not a meal?

“Sorry. I’ll find something else to occupy my time. I suppose another job would be the sensible thing.”

He reached over and squeezed my hand. “You don’t need to work. I’ve got plenty of money.”

That may be the case, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed spending it. I’d always been self-sufficient. Sponging off a man didn’t sit well with me.

On Thursday, Luke dropped me off in town, and I spent a day rounding up Christmas presents from the list he’d hastily scribbled. Wrapping was a bitch—I got tape stuck to everything. Knots were a specialty, though, so I went to town with the curly ribbon, and by the time I’d finished the parcels were passable.

That left me with one gift still to buy. What should I get Luke?

According to Wikipedia, The Times Rich List reckoned he was worth £60m.
Glamour
magazine had him at a more conservative £50m in their “UK’s 50 most eligible bachelors” feature last year. I could hardly get him a packet of socks and a paperback, could I?

Inspiration hit when I was standing in the den. The skis hanging on the wall reminded me of Luke’s past love of winter sports, and didn’t he say he hadn’t seen snow for ages? I found an indoor ski centre nearby and booked us a session.

 
Despite the slow progression of time, I had little cause for complaint. Luke was good company, and we spent our evenings watching TV, talking and fucking. Okay, mostly the latter if I was honest. By the end of the week, the lines on Luke’s forehead were less pronounced, and my numbness had receded a little more. The only sore point was my continued refusal to stay in Luke’s bed at night.

“Stay?” he’d asked yesterday evening.

“I can’t.”

He’d turned his back on me and pulled the duvet up to his chin. “Fine.”

I thumped the wall on my way back to the guest room. Why couldn’t my head behave? I longed to return to Luke’s side, but I’d be risking his life if I did.

The last man I spent the night with ended up hospitalised, and he was tougher than Luke. It happened a decade ago, but when I closed my eyes I still saw his bruised and bloodied face as if it was yesterday. He’d tried to comfort me as I writhed in the throes of a nightmare, but when he touched me, I attacked him. It took two people to pull me off, but not before I’d broken his nose and three of his ribs. One of the people who’d dragged me away was my husband.

Embarrassing much? I’d never slept in the same bed as a man since.

Other, more disturbing, episodes followed. It was more by luck than judgement that I hadn’t damaged anyone else. My house had borne the brunt of my night-time rampages, and I didn’t want Luke to be next.

Breakfast on Saturday started off frosty, but Luke thawed out over coffee.

“Are you taking Tia to the stables today?” I asked.

“I’m due to pick her up in half an hour, but I can make an excuse if you want?”

“She hates me quite enough already, without me monopolising your time.”

“I could drop her off and come back. It’s not as if she talks to me while we’re there.”

“She won’t see it like that, trust me.” Trust me? I almost choked on those words. I barely trusted myself any more.

Luke called me mid-morning from his hiding place in the feed room. “George’s hired a replacement girl already.”

“At least he hasn’t shafted Susie and Hayley. What’s she called?”

“No idea. I said hello and she flipped out. Just kept staring at me. I thought she might be having a seizure, and I nearly called an ambulance, but Susie came past and told her to snap out of it.”

“Try looking less hot. That would solve the problem.”

“You think I’m hot?”

“I wouldn’t have sucked your cock last night if I didn’t.”

It was his turn to lose his train of thought. When he located his vocabulary again, he asked if I fancied going to the cinema when he got back.

“Why not? We can make out in the back row like teenagers.” Not that I’d ever done that—I’d be making up for lost time.

“It’s a date.”

Except that plan was scuppered when the first fat flakes of snow fell after lunch. When it snows in the US people haul their big ol’ trucks out the garage, stick snow chains on and keep driving. In the UK, panic sets in and the whole country grinds to a halt.

Not wanting to break that great British tradition, we stayed home. I started to make lunch, but Luke’s appetite was for something else and he led me upstairs.

“You can finish lunch after,” he said.

“If I can still walk to the kitchen when we’ve finished, you don’t deserve lunch.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Luke aced it, and it was he who ended up fetching a late lunch. We ate cuddled in bed, watching the snow fall over his garden through the floor-to-ceiling windows. By mid-afternoon, a thick blanket of white carpeted the ground. On the hill in the distance, kids dragged their sleds up to the top before riding down, arms and legs flying.

I envied their freedom. I’d been trapped my whole life—first by circumstances, then finances and finally by work. Living with Luke, my responsibilities were shoved on the back burner, and I had no commitments, just the company of a wonderful man who cared about me. Or at least, cared about the person he thought I was. But I was still shackled to my mind.

What direction would my life have taken if I’d been born into a family with loving parents, a brother or sister and maybe a dog, instead of having a mother that treated me as the spawn of Satan and spent her days pretending I didn’t exist? I’d never have met my husband, the man who taught me life was about living rather than simply existing, but I might have avoided a world of heartache.

What would have happened if I hadn’t made the snap decision fourteen years ago to follow him to the other side of the world so he could turn me into what I was today? Would I be with a man like Luke, truly happy and content? Or lying in the gutter somewhere? I’d never know. I could only try to make the best of what I had now.

As the snowstorm eased, I had a sudden urge to live my failed childhood. I got up and tugged my clothes on.

“Where are you going?” Luke asked.

“Come on, get dressed. Wear something warm!” I yelled over my shoulder as I ran towards the stairs.

Luke caught up with me as I got outside.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to build a snowman.”

“A snowman? How old are you?”

Shit, for a minute I couldn’t remember. There was only one person in the world apart from me who knew my real birthday, so I just went off whatever passport I happened to be using.

“Um, thirty one. But I’ve never built a snowman before, so I think I’m entitled to have a go.”

“Never? What sort of childhood did you have?”

“Not a great one,” I admitted.

Luke sensed my change in mood and turned serious. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I don’t even want to think about it. If I could erase it from my memory, I would. Can we just build the damn snowman?”

Luke wrapped me up in his arms and kissed my hair. “Sure.”

Like I said, he was sweet.

By the time daylight dimmed, we had a rather lopsided snowman sitting in the middle of Luke’s lawn. He had a carrot for a nose and his eyes were made from dates. A cashmere scarf from Luke’s wardrobe completed the ensemble.

“His head’s wonky,” Luke said.

He was right. The snowman was looking down at his feet. At least he would have been if he had any.

“Maybe he’s texting?” I suggested.

We gave him a pair of twiggy arms and stuck Luke’s phone to them. Yeah, that worked. I took a few photos of the snowman then aimed the lens at Luke. This was one of those rare days I wanted to remember. I had a hatred of cameras, but I put up with it when Luke reclaimed his phone and made me pose—today I was determined to have fun.