Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) (11 page)

“Have you been engaged or had a long-term relationship?”

“What have you read about me, Ariana?” He questions with an impassive expression over his face, avoiding my question. Oookay, that seems to be a touchy subject. Next.

“You’ve been voted one of the top ten wealthiest bachelors in America,” I say, waving my hand.

“Really? I had no clue,” he says sarcastically, flashing his pearly whites at me. He picks up his glass of wine and takes a long sip, savoring the flavor.

“Don’t patronize me, wise guy,” I retort, and he snickers at me. “How did you and your partner meet?” His face beams with brilliance.

“Mark Anderson, my mentor, best friend, and now partner, had an internship program and offered me the position. When Mark noticed my potential, determination, and drive, he hired me within a week.

“So, if you started off on construction, what enticed you to become an architect?” I question. I steal several glances at his hands, admiring their size and strength and how they feel when he touches me, making my heart race.

“I always had a desire to be an architect. I worked my way through college at the construction sites while studying. When it came to building, Mark taught me everything I know. After I had graduated, we partnered, creating one of the largest architectural and construction companies in the world.” That’s why I ended up staying longer in England. His main office is in London. I moved here four years ago to open an office in New York.

“Not bad for someone at thirty-three. I can’t wait to see the new condo you both created here in Manhattan.”

“It will be an honor to give you a tour.” He raises his wineglass, and I raise mine, and we clink our glasses together. “To us,” he says.

Two wonton noodle soups and another two glasses of wine arrive. We eat, laugh, and talk about the small stuff—our favorite movies, books, and places we’ve traveled to around the world. This is the first time; aside from Blake I am comfortable with a man. We leave the Lobby and head back to my place.

We chat as we walk. He insists he stay with me until Mrs. O’Conner arrives that evening. Men must have a built-in mechanism to be protective. Unfortunately, the man sucks all the energy out of me, and I’m not in the mood to argue. Besides, I enjoy spending time with Michael when he isn’t bossing me around, which, come to think of it, is pretty often.

All the excitement from yesterday finally catches up to me, my crazy fan with his numerous phone calls, the e-mails, and him getting into my apartment. Where the hell was security? And then . . . there’s Michael, an overconfident, domineering, do-as-I-say man, who swept into my life like a category five tornado, jerking the reins from me and taking over. Oh, and let’s not forget how he electrified and captured my heart, making me a prisoner of love.

We stop at an intersection, and Michael turns toward me, tugging my chin up with a gentle caress, his eyes filled with concern and all my most personal body parts come to life. “You look exhausted, Ariana.”

“Yes,” I softly say, admitting to the fatigue that weighs over me. I glance at the time; shocked it is a few minutes past seven. “Oh, goodness, I had no idea how long we’d stayed at the restaurant.” I chuckle. “I’m sure they wanted to toss us out on our butts.”

“I wouldn’t worry. I left her a generous tip. I’m sure it made up for the next three or four servings they would have had at our table.”

Chapter 8

The Desolate Doorway

The elevator doors open to my apartment, and we head towards the kitchen. We find a letter perched up on the counter. “This is from your brother,” I say.

Michael takes the note and reads it aloud.

Hey, guys,

We did a complete sweep over the place and pulled off fingerprints. We went over everything with a fine-tooth comb and found two bugs, one in the kitchen phone and the other in Ariana’s bedroom under her lamp. I checked the laptop. He covers his tracks well.

I spoke with security downstairs. During the time, Ariana was away; there was no unusual activity in or out of her apartment.

I did get a view of the person who left her the box of chocolates. He’s tall with a husky built, wearing a long coat with a hood over his head. I asked the doorman, and he swore no one entered the building fitting that description.

I set her phone to trace and record all incoming calls. That about covers it. I’ll catch you later, bro. I’m off to my apartment and after. . . you get my drift. :  )

Ariana, until we meet again.

Yours truly,

Trent

My mouth falls open stunned at what I heard. Holy shit, that bastard, he bugged my apartment. My skin grows cold as the blood drains from my face. I stare at Michael with paralyzing fear.

“Ariana . . . . Sweetheart, come on, let’s sit you down.” He takes me by the elbow and sits me on the sofa. “Everything is going to be fine. I guarantee it. I’m confident Trent is working around the clock to catch this asshole. He removed the bugs from the apartment. If the ass phones again, Trent can trace the call.”

I raise my head and stare at him with a questioning look. “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t even know me,” I whisper, and I’m at a loss. This man coerces his way into my life, all heroic, ready to save me. Why? “Is this how you are to all women, always saving a damsel in distress?”

He stares at me, eyes wide open surprised at my query. He turns from me, frowning, and then his head snaps back to face me. “Why would you ask such a question? What respectable human being would walk away from you when a demented fuck is stalking you?” He pauses, fisting his hands, brows furrowing.

He lets out a long breath and kneels down beside me. He takes hold of my hand. “Ariana, you’re not in this alone. We’ll find this prick.” He moves closer, and captures my mouth in his; he pulls away leaving me breathless and my lips tingling.

“Ariana, I know you’re holding on to some painful memories. I see it in your eyes, your soul and for the life of me don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Why don’t you open up to me, please? You can trust me.”

My stomach begins to bubble like carbonated water, and my heart screams, “Tell him; you fool.”

I’ve told myself never to trust another man. Then out of the blue, Michael comes riding up on his horse with a sword in hand ready to save me. In the little time that I’ve known him, this is what I’ve learned. He’s the strong, but silent type, self-driven, successful and knows how to dress. He’s a real charmer, and very controlling and protective, and I use that term lightly, with a big heart. To put it all in three words, a true gentleman, but so was Danny.

“I’m tired, Michael, I . . . I need to get to bed.” Way to go Ariana, nothing like dodging the ball.

“Of course, I’m relieved you haven’t experienced any symptom’s Josh asked you to be aware of.”

A guilty smile crosses over my face. I did experience a little dizziness on and off during the day, and I had a slight headache earlier, but I was fine after lunch.

“Ariana.” A frigid chill hits the air from the way he calls out my name, and the disapproval in his eyes. “Have you or have you not experienced any of the symptom’s Josh warned you about?” He questions me with a look of disappointment.

“Vision was excellent, no blurriness, just a bit dizzy now and then,” I reply honestly, and I brace myself for the loaded freight train ready to blow. He stands up, handsome and charismatic trying to restrain himself. “Ariana, my God, why didn’t you tell me?” He anxiously brushes his fingers through his hair.

“Why?” I ask, playing dumb.

He exhales a breath, blowing off steam. “You are one of the most infuriating, bullheaded women I’ve ever dealt with.” The smile is gone, replaced with a discontented expression. “You’re a damn good performer,” he exclaims, waving his hands in the air.

“I resent that, and FYI; I'm not obligated to answer to you or anyone else. You’re lucky I even invited you into my apartment.” I square my shoulders and head for my bedroom. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out,” I hiss out with a fit of anger.

There is a moment of silence, and then he rips my heart out with his words. Why am I not surprised when he decides to play dirty?

“So . . . my concern for your well-being means nothing to you?” He asks, his tone soft and bitter.

Damn him. I pivot around on my heels, facing him to see his doleful eyes that once sparkled. He sure knows how to cut into my soul. God, I can’t even stay angry with him.

I approach him, placing my fingers on his chest. “Michael, of course, your concern means a great deal to me. I’ve never had anyone be as attentive to me as you are. I’m not used to this. I’m flattered, please forgive me. Let me put you at ease. A minor discomfort is all I experienced today, nothing more.” I embrace him, and he reciprocates with an even bigger and warmer hug then releases me.

He gazes down at me, beaming from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkle back to life again.

“Thank you, Ariana, I’ll wait here for Mrs. O’Connor. Now get to bed before I throw you over my shoulder and bring you there myself,” he orders, towering over me like King Kong and waving his hand toward the bedroom.

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper. He takes several steps forward, and I rush away, laughing.

“Don’t forget our date tomorrow,” he calls out.

I turn to him with a confused expression.

“The polo game, a picnic for two,” he informs me, looking pleased that he remembered, and I didn’t.

“Yes, of course, I can’t wait. See you in the morning, and get that smirk off your face, Mr. Grayson.” I wave goodnight.

“Not as much as me, Ariana,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.

I salute him and walk to my bedroom, smiling to myself, all giddy and gooey inside, spinning in my room with glee. It’s been so long since my soul felt this alive and vibrant. There was a time I flourished with life and glowed as bright as the sun.

I gasp and stop spinning, clutching my arms to my chest as dreadful memories of Danny surface through my mind. Damn it, Will I ever live a normal and healthy life without the past haunting me?

I push myself to change into my nightwear, and crawl into bed. I reach over to turn the lamp off. I squeeze my eyes shut, and tears begin to trickle down my cheeks, saturating the pillow.

It’s been over a year since I’ve been able to suppress the memories, but now, for some unknown reason, the past is emerging. Why now? Has this deranged person triggered them from my subconscious? I try to hold back the tears, but it’s useless. The pain is too unbearable.

I reach for a tissue, and my heart leaps into my throat when someone grabs my hand. I let out a shriek that would have shattered the windows. The lamp illuminates the room, and standing over my bed is Michael.

“What are you doing?” I scream out, clutching the covers over me. “You scared the living daylights out of me,” I scold Michael, my heart pumping with rapid speed.

“Ariana, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I came to check in on you when I heard you were crying. Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” He stares at me, expressing concern.

I swallow down the lump in my throat. “No, Michael,” I say and take a glance around the room. “I’m so sorry; I had no idea you were calling out my name . . . or even aware you were here.” I say with a confused expression on my face.

He sits beside the bed, reaches for a tissue, and with tender strokes, wipes the tears from my face and eyes. I want to slither against his warm chest and into his welcoming arms.

His hand brushes against my cheek, making them tingle.

“Ariana, what’s bothering you? Please talk to me, Ariana, confide in me. You can trust me.”

I burst into tears, like the walls of a dam erupting into tiny particles. He encircles me into his warm, inviting body. I embrace the comfort of his heat against my skin, inhaling and soaking in his masculine scent. I can’t seem to stop crying.

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you,” he murmurs, and his grip tightens as he rocks me in his arms. He loosens his hold to caress my back, and he stiffens. I gasp when I realize what just happened. In one quick move, I pull away and roll over to the other end of the bed.

“Good night, Michael,” I choke out, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.

The look of disbelief and surprise shadows his face. “What’s on your back, Ariana?” He’s shocked and bewildered. His eyes fill with wild rage. Why is he so angry with me?

“Is this a setup, are you wired, recording our conversations? Is this your way to get information out of me, taking my generosity for granted?” He spits his words out like a vicious cobra; his lips pulled back baring his teeth at me.

I’m horrified by his cruel words. My head is spinning in a hundred different directions with all his questions and accusations. Why would he think such a thing? “No,” I snap out.

“I don’t believe you, show me, turn your back to me.” He stands and I jump off the bed, landing on my butt. I scurry back up and face him.

I glare at him, ready to sting him with my own venom. “You take one step closer, and you’ll regret it,” I spit out, my breathing escalating, heart pounding like thunder within my chest. I’m seething with volcanic rage.

“No, Miss DiMarco, it will be you who will be sorry after I get my lawyers after you and your television show,” he says through his clenched jaw. He glares back at me seething with fury.

“What the hell has come over you? Is that what you think, that I would stoop so low to get information out of you?” I yell out, annoyed at his audacity.

“You wouldn’t be the first, Miss DiMarco.” His face is red and his eyes narrow, expressing hate and suspicion.

“Okay, you little shit.” I turn my back to him, push my long black hair to the side, lift my top up, and give him what he’s asked for. This should shock the hell out of him. I can already feel his gaze over the many scars that cover my back. Some are thick, others deep and long; these scars will follow me for the rest of my life all because of Danny, my ex, now dead, husband. Danny loved using his belt on me.

He let out an exasperated breath. I hear him move closer and then stop. “Ariana . . . Jesus. What the hell happened? Mother of God . . . who did this to you?” he hisses out. I hear the soft steps of his shoes shuffling towards me.

I pull my shirt down and spin around to face him. “Come any closer, and I’ll scream
. Now get out
,” I shout. My adrenaline’s soaring high, and now I’m trembling with rage.

“Ariana, sweetheart, let me explain . . . Please,” he pleads, letting out a frustrated breath. He’s motionless. He threads his fingers through his already disheveled hair. His eyes are shimmering with tears, and his face holds the same horrified look his brother had. He stares at me, bewildered, his eyes vacant.

“Ariana,” he whispers.

I point toward the door. “There is nothing further to discuss. I suggest you tell your brother Trent, I no longer need his services. Now leave.” My voice is cold and heartless.

“Don’t be foolish, Ariana, I’m not telling him any such thing. You can’t be left vulnerable like this. Please let me explain. I’m sorry for accusing you of such an act. Please,” he begs, looking lost, with his guilty puppy dog eyes as if that’s going to break me. I want him out.

“If you don’t leave I’ll have security escort you out.
Now get out of my home
.”

“This conversation is far from over. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says furiously, hands waving in the air as he heads out the door.

“Don’t bother; I won’t be answering any of your calls.” My voice is hard and cold.

He turns his head, his eyes filled with sadness, his lips part as if he is about to say something, but instead he walks away.

I stare at the desolate doorway; the vibrations of the elevator doors closing only made his exit final. I feel my heart constrict painfully around my chest; it hurts so much I can’t breathe.

“Oh, my God, what the hell just happened?” I choke out, swallowing over the lump enlarged in my throat. This has to be a bad dream; there is no way I would have been stupid enough to reveal my scars.

I pinch myself and flinch from the sting as my heart sinks deeper into my chest and hurt, guilt, humiliation, and anger wash over me. Tears begin to prickle in my eyes blurring my vision. I cringe as Michael’s scent lingers in the air, which only adds to the raw, deep, gaping hole in my gut.