The Strongest Steel (26 page)

Harper tightened the towel around her chest and looked up at the ceiling. Heart quotes.

A terrifying realization washed over her. She sat up suddenly, crossing letters off the list furiously until there were none left.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. I’ll be seeing you soon.

Shit.

Chapter Seventeen

The view over Tinseltown was as intimidating as it was inspiring. Michael’s office was on an upper floor of a glass-and-chrome goliath of a building. All-white leather sofas and electric-blue pillows, like a bad episode of
MTV Cribs
had thrown up in there. Not really his cup of tea. For a second he thought about handing Michael one of Kit’s cards.

It seemed like hours since the giant letters
L, A,
and
X
had disappeared in his rearview mirror, but in reality it had been a few days. It had been great to catch up with Shane. They’d biked the El Camino Real up to Los Padres National Forest and spent the afternoon hiking the canyons. The ink trade show they’d attended had given him some great ideas, though he couldn’t see himself getting into tattooing eyeballs anytime soon. Serious ick factor.

Today, he’d crawled along the 405 to Century City, completed a couple of interviews with some bigwigs, and prepped for the next day’s screen tests. Exhausted, he couldn’t wait to hit the hotel after the last task of the day—and the most exciting one.

Michael pushed the glass door open and walked in talking to the lead singer of Preload. It was one of Trent’s favorite bands, and he was hoping he didn’t have one of those tongue-tied fan moments.

“Trent, let me introduce you to Dred. Dred, this is Trent Andrews, the artist whose work we all liked.”

Trent stood to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you, man. I’m a big fan. Thought the last album was sick, but
Screwed
is still my favorite.”

“Glad you liked it. It was a bit different for us. Big fan of your work too. Love what I’ve seen so far. The dragon you did was insane.”

Dred was eye to eye with Trent. Dressed in dark green, ripped-up cargo pants with shit-kicker boots that were unlaced and a leather jacket, he gave off a “Don’t fuck with me” aura. Trent admired that in a man.

“I see you got a pretty deadly set of tattoos yourself.” Dred nodded his chin toward Trent’s arms, and Trent put them out in front of him, turning them to let Dred study Junior’s hard work.

“Yeah, thanks. Had it done by the person I apprenticed with. Legendary tattoo artist out of Miami.”

“I’m thinking of getting my halfs turned full, maybe down my hands.” Dred stood up again and pulled off his leather jacket. “What do you think?”

After an hour of bonding over music and tattoos, it was clear that even if they didn’t pick him for the show, he’d made a good friend in Dred. Same sense of humor and taste in music, tattoos, and cars. When Dred asked him to go drinking with his boys that night, it was a no-brainer.

“Listen, I gotta go take care of some paperwork of my own for this shit, but why don’t I swing by the hotel and pick you up around eight?”

It was nearly six when Trent pulled into the luxurious L’Ermitage hotel. He came to a stop by the tall pillars of the covered walkway. A liveried valet came dashing out of the hotel and took his keys before getting his case out of the trunk. It felt a bit weird having someone half his size retrieve his luggage, like he somehow wasn’t capable of getting it himself. He tipped the guy and went to check in, trying not to gawk at what was likely the best hotel he’d ever stayed at.

The large open-plan room was bright and airy. A low bed sitting on a wooden plinth dominated the bedroom area, piled with way more cushions than any guy would realistically use. He opened the sliding doors and took in his surroundings—gardens pruned to within an inch of their life. He turned back to the room and sank down into one of the two large sofas that flanked a glass table. A wrapped gift and envelope sat atop it.

Trent, Glad you could come out and see us. Think this is the start of a fantastic journey. Michael.

A bottle of Louis Royer brandy. Not his usual drink of choice. Beer or whiskey was more his thing, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Hanging his clothes in the closet, he wondered what Harper would make of his room, which was twice the size of her apartment.

Harper. He was beginning to regret having been dishonest with her. Even he could see the double standard in pressing her to be honest with him and then keeping this back. If he’d told her, she’d be here with him now and he could ravage her on that wicked excuse for a bed. It wasn’t like his agenda was jam-packed either. The meeting was only a day and a half of the trip. The rest was all R & R, buddies, beers, and maybe a bike ride up the coast. Too late, he realized just how much better it would all have been with her there.

He headed out of the suite in search of dinner. Passing a boutique, he remembered that he still owed her a polka-dot bikini. Maybe he’d try and pick it up while he was here in LA. Yeah. He loved the idea of her in a tiny bikini, on a wide lounge chair where he could climb over her while she was hot and oiled.

He reached down to adjust himself. Definitely a mistake not bringing her along.

Maybe they’d have something to celebrate when he got back, though. If this screen test worked out okay, he’d be making some really good coin. Taking a trip with her would be awesome. They could go last minute to Mexico or somewhere in the Caribbean. Her next appointment was likely to be her last, and after a couple of weeks her back would be fully healed. They could afford to take an amazing trip in a level of comfort not quite within his current reach.

Hell, maybe he could even talk to her about moving in. It was getting old carrying a bag of clean clothes in the back of his car in case he got the opportunity to stay the night. Yeah, it was moving fast, but this was it for him. He’d known after the last tattoo appointment, but seeing her with his parents and sister had confirmed it.

He could only hope that Harper was heading to the same place.

*   *   *

Second Circle? The fifth is for you.

The circle of Hell for anger. Did Nathan know about the tattoo studio? Was he letting her know how furious he was? How on earth did he know? Outside of Trent’s immediate group of friends, only Lydia knew about their relationship, and she trusted her lawyer with her life.

Harper looked at the anagram she’d unscrambled—
Offences stultify horrid choice?
—and threw her phone back into her purse. Four messages total. It was
really
scaring her now. It was definitely not a coincidence. It was Nathan, but how could she convince anyone else? The first message she could convince herself had been a wrong number. The second had made her nervous. The third had taken a while longer to figure out:
Father wrongdoer cheek abasement
—
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
But four? What were her options? In the highly unlikely event it wasn’t Nathan, the investigation would still start with him and she couldn’t risk the Chicago P.D. passing her whereabouts along. If it
was
him, she was screwed. The Miami cops might help, but their first call would be to Chicago, and she could only imagine
their
response. At best, they’d make her a laughingstock, discredit her, and spin the story like they did at her trial. At worst, they’d persuade the Miami police to share her location. How did police cooperation between states work anyway? Would they be able to do that, or did the police have confidentiality rules about sharing information with other forces? Lydia would likely know.

What if Nathan went after Trent? Or the studio? Who knew what his reach was or what four years in prison had done to his moral code? Would he just come after her, or would he really hurt Trent?

As she pulled the break room door open, her phone rang. She ignored the no-phones-while-working rule. It could be Trent.

“Taylor!” Lydia exclaimed. “I’m so glad to get ahold of you.”

Harper tried not to sound too disappointed. “Hey, Lydia. I was just thinking about you. I’m not supposed to take personal calls on my shift here.”

“Ah, yes. The coffee shop. I hate to have to tell you this, Taylor, but Nathan’s parole was approved this morning.”

Blood rushed to her head, leaving her extremities chilled. Harper put her head down between her knees. This day was always going to come; she’d just hoped it wouldn’t come quite so quickly. She breathed in, slowly and deeply, a little surprised at how quickly she was able to get herself back under control. Two months ago and the news would have provoked a full-blown panic attack.

“Taylor, are you okay?”

Harper inhaled deeply. “Remarkably better than I thought I would be. So what happens now?” She looked down at her hand; her fingers were still. Progress.

“Well, they need to process the paperwork, arrange for release, and assign a probation officer. Did you get any more messages?”

“Yes, I have four now. How long?”

“He’ll be out in the next week, maybe even days. Taylor, I still think you should go to the police.”

“Because that worked out so well for me the first time around, right?” Harper couldn’t help herself as feelings of anger and frustration started to bubble over. “To think, if they’d done their job, I’d be with my family, still teaching. I would have felt safe with Nathan in prison.” Harper paused for a minute as the reality hit her. “I’d feel more scared if the police actually
knew
about this. What would happen if Miami police called Chicago to find out about Nathan, would they tell Chicago where I am?”

“Not if you tell them you have a final injunction, a restraining order, that has no expiration date on it. Nathan, or you, would have to file to have that amended. They’d tread carefully.”

But it wasn’t a guarantee. The only way to get away from him for good would be to run and not tell anyone this time where she was going—not even Lydia. But it was no longer that simple.

*   *   *

The floor was moving. Okay, maybe it was the ceiling. Trent fell face-first onto the bed. He squinted at the clock on the bedside table; the flashing green lights starting with a three was all he needed to know.

Holy shit, those boys could drink. They’d gone to a high-end bottle service bar and spent the night in the VIP section. Vodka and tequila had flowed like water. He was more of a beer guy but had held his own. Although now was a different matter, as his head and stomach threatened a rebellion.

Hitting the bathroom for water, he took a good look in the mirror. Christ, he looked rough. Maybe a quick shower while waiting for some of that water to kick in would be a good thing.

Standing under the cool spray, he looked at the little ledge, imagining Harper with her hands on it while she bent over for him. Despite the coldness of the shower, his cock sprang to life and needed some relief. A couple of strokes from him just weren’t going to cut it.

Grabbing a towel, he tried reaching for his phone, missing it twice before closing one eye and actually getting ahold of it.

It rang several times and flipped to voice mail. Trent tried again. Second time’s the charm.

“Hello?” Harper murmured softly.

“Hey, sweetheart. Where are you?” Did he just slur that? He heard her laugh quietly.

“Miami.”

“Ha ha. You’re funny. Did I ever tell you that? No, really, where are you?”

“Bed,” she said with a sigh, and he swore he could hear her fluffing up her pillow and rearranging the comforter. He could see her, lying there naked, like she had been on their first night together. Cheeks all flushed from their lovemaking, her hair spread around her, so messed up, yet so undeniably hot.

“Fuck. Are you naked?” He closed his eyes to stop the walls from moving.

“Not quite, baby. I stole your Tool T-shirt.”

The thought of her in just his T-shirt made him groan. “Wish I was there right now to see you in it.” He started to stroke himself slowly. Long, firm strokes up and down to the sound of her voice.

“Are you drunk by any chance, Trent Andrews?” Her giggle reassured him that she wasn’t mad.

Shit. She was perfect for him. “Would you still have phone sex with me if I was?”

“Really? I’m not sure I…”

Trent was ready for the uncertainty and cut her off quickly, “Yeah, Harper. I’m sure. I’m so hard from thinking about you all day … will you please let me love you?”

“Maybe. It would depend on what you wanted me to do.”

“I want to get you off knowing you’re wearing my shirt. Lift it up to your waist, sweetheart.” He could hear her shuffling around. “Now, I want you to lick two of your fingers.”

There was a long pause, followed by the sound of her doing as he asked. “Okay … what do you want me to do now?”

“I want you to slide down and circle your clit for me, darlin’.” The soft moan had him leaking and he rubbed his thumb over his tip, needing the lubrication.

“It feels … good, uhm, Trent? Are you … are you stroking yourself too?”

He huffed out a breath as he pulled a little harder, all the way to his balls and back before tugging over the top of his crown. “Oh yeah, sweetheart. I’m fucking rock hard for you. Slide one of your fingers inside yourself and tell me how it feels.”

Jeez, it was like he’d never had sex before. He was going to shoot his load all over this eight-hundred-count Egyptian cotton in a matter of minutes.

Her gasp had him move a little faster. “God, Trent, I’m so wet. I wish you were here to…” Her breath was coming faster. “Trent, I’m…”

“Slide both fingers in for me, Harper. Imagine it’s me slamming in and out of you. I’m gonna come soon and I need you to come with me. Rub your clit just like I would if I was there, while you play with yourself and come for me.”

“Trent, I … oh my God…”

“I’m coming too, sweetheart … ah … fuck…” He came in warm spurts over his chest and the bed as he listened to her soft whimpering.

Neither of them said anything for a while. Trent used the towel to wipe himself clean and then dropped it to the floor by the side of the bed. He turned off the night light on the side table, plunging the room into darkness.