Perpetuate Page 7

  The occasional streetlight breaks the monotony of the hurtling night. I know I should be a little wary about being alone in a car with this man, but for some reason that I don’t want to spend time considering, I’m not. I watch him maneuver the mechanical beast with deft efficiency, his hands steady, his air confident, his focus vigilant but laidback, and I wonder for a moment if he’s forgotten I’m in the car.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we transition into the freeway, heading northbound.

  “Someplace quiet.”

  Well, that’s no help.

  We pass a sign for Dodger Stadium and keep going, snaking into another junction. I order myself not to repeat the same question and to just go with it. There’s not much I can do anyway. If I get apprehensive about our destination, I suppose I can always use my phone to call the cops. A much simpler way would be to tell him to stop. I don’t know him all that well, but instinct tells me he’s not out to hurt or frighten me. If I wanted him to pull over, all I have to do is ask.

  In a charcoal gray button shirt, his sleeves are pushed up his forearms to expose sinewy strength and burnt brown hair dusting along tanned skin. He’s in black slacks and what I think are some expensive leather shoes, though I can’t really catch sight of his feet from my angle. He might be dressed like any other off the clock professional in LA, but his potent cocktail of intensity blended with aloofness makes him standout. As I note all this, he seems to shake himself out of whatever netherworld he was in that kept him stubbornly silent and finally jumps on an exit ramp.

  “Peter looked well today,” he finally says, guiding the vehicle smoothly through the quiet night. We look to be in the populated outskirts of Hollywood and heading toward the more tasteful Los Feliz area. “I’m sure that has a lot to do with you taking care of him.”

  I glance away. “He has good days and bad days,” I admit “On some bad days, I don’t see him and don’t even know where he is. He can be gone for days.” Staring out the window, my voice drops an octave. “Which was why you fired him, wasn’t it, Mr. Hawkes? He didn’t show for a few days and now he’s unemployed.”

  Through the reflection on the window I can just make out those delicious lips tightening, though nothing comes out of them.

  Generous, multi-million-dollar homes flash by around us. We don’t slow down but head up the hillside, beaming headlights cutting higher and higher around winding curves, until large, quiet residences give way to darkness dotted by shadowed tress. There are no other vehicles ahead, and a glimpse in the side mirror reveals not one behind us either.

  I have a pretty good guess of our destination. Up the twisting peak is the Griffith Observatory, but given it’s nearly ten o’clock on a weekday, I’m pretty sure it’s either closed or about to be.

  It’s an odd place to have a conversation about my dad, I muse as the dome-topped white building comes into view. The large parking lot is empty, and from the looks of it, that’s been the case for a while.

  “The place is closed.” I observe out loud just as he squeals into a slot near the side of the grand structure. “Why are we here?”

  Again, he chooses not to comment as he slips out. Within seconds my door rears up, the chilly night creeping into the car and through my thin Conyers server wear. I shiver but climb out anyway, knowing I can’t very well sit there trying to figure out why he brought me here. It might be May, but the city is unpredictable that way. The weather experts call it May gray, and when the sun retires for the night, it can be quite nippy.

  He frowns, noticing my reluctance while rubbing at my cold, almost bare arms, and leans in to retrieve something from the rear of the car.

  A refined suit jacket matching his pants is draped over my shoulders. I stare up into contrite green eyes as he adjusts it on me, covering me as much as possible. Since he’s significantly bigger than me, the only things left to the bitter outdoor elements are my lower legs and my head.

  I’m enclosed in him. His clean male scent. His seductive warmth.

  “My apologies, Gemma. I should’ve been more prepared and brought you something to wear.”

  Maybe the still, abandoned night calls for it, but my voice is soft when I respond. “This is almost a coat on me. And it’s warm, so I’m not complaining.” Belatedly I realize I’ll smell like him, a trace I find I’m enjoying. A little too much. “But what about you? Won’t you be cold?”

  “Are you worried about me?”

  When did he get so close? All of a sudden all I can see, hear, smell is the man all around me like he’s the very crisp air, gently caressing my skin and seeping into my soul.

  I smile, letting him see how silly I think of the notion. “Somehow, when I think of you, it’s not to worry about if you have the necessities or comfort.”

  If possible, the inches between us diminish even more. His gaze turns earnest, probing. “And do you think about me, Gemma Warton?”

  Every day since the day I met you. “Don’t do that.” But the demand came out as a whisper, a plea rather than an order.

  “Do what?”

  “Play with me.”

  A soothing chuckle. Mysterious yet appealing. “Play with you?” Large hands stroke up my arms over the jacket, inciting delicate shivers that have nothing to do with the night chill. “I assure you, my intentions with you are nothing if not serious. The more we get to know each other, the more you’ll see that there are very few things I’m utterly serious about. You’re one of them.”

  Instinctively I shake my head in denial, hair that’d escaped from my serviceable ponytail tickling my neck. “But why? I just met you. How did I get added on to the list? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Doesn’t it?” he asks in return. “You’re an intelligent, compassionate, not to mention attractive woman, Gemma. Why wouldn’t a man take you seriously?”

  I blink at him for a full second before I start laughing. That’s right. Laugh. Really laugh. I crack up so hard my body shakes and my eyes tear up, and only titter some more when he begins scowling at me.

  Slapping his shoulder in my uncontrollable state, I fight to catch my breath and double over, clutching at the ache in my side.

  “I’m glad you find this amusing,” he offers dryly.

  Wiping at the lingering moisture, my gaze finally makes it back to his wry one. “I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s just the thought of someone like you trying to sell a line like that to a girl like me… I just couldn’t help but laugh. Surely that’s not something you have to resort to in order to get into a woman’s pants?”

  Perfectly sculpted face fixes in place, giving nothing of his thoughts away. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but I assure you, I’m not trying to get in your pants.”

  My laughter suffers a painful death. Discomfited blood taints me and I glance away. The cool breeze shoots a draft around my legs and I take a step away from the overwhelming presence of Brad Hawkes, the man who fired my dad, dropped a couple of grand on me without hesitation, intercepted me after work, and who just told me in a roundabout way that he didn’t find me one bit desirable.

  Shoving away the humiliation, I swivel away, gingerly clutching at the lapels of the expensive jacket draped over my shoulders and stare at the quiet, empty structure that houses the observatory. “Why did you bring me here, Hawkes?” If not to get in my pants? “I know this isn’t a rehab. Wait, don’t tell me… there’s a planet you’re thinking of terminating while it’s in retrograde.”

  There’s shifting behind me. His heat penetrates my back through the layers of clothing, but I don’t turn around.

  “For a young woman, you certainly have a smart mouth.”

  My smart mouth twists drolly. “That’s my superpower.”

  There’s silence. Not the awkward, desperately trying to come up with something to fill it kind, but the lingering, lost in our own hell type.

  He’s the first to break it. “Have you ever been here?”

  “Are we down to useless plea
santries now?” I toss out, getting quite impatient with his ambiguity. “Small talk to kill time?”

  I’m aware he hasn’t answered my question of why we’re at the observatory after closing, and that just irks me even more. He said he wanted to talk to me, yet he hasn’t come up with anything pertaining to our only association – my father. Since he refuses to take responsibility for the outrageous gratuities, I doubt there’s anything meaningful left for us to discuss.

  And he’s already assured me, quite ruthlessly, he’s not interested in me sexually. The mortifying and unwanted reminder has me jamming my fists in the suit pockets.

  God, I’m so confused. Why did I agree to come with him? This stranger who can do anything to me and hide it without lifting a finger. I’d like to say it’s because I abhor him and am waiting for the spot-on opportunity to conveniently shove him down the hillside, but that’d be lying to myself. As much as I think what he did to my dad was despicable and selfish, I can’t say I hate him.

  His sigh warms the top of my head. “Gemma.”

  He’s too close. He always seems to be too close.

  I start moving. Not because I’m afraid of him, or irritated with his obvious exasperation with me, but because his hushed but powerful proximity suddenly makes me crave things in this dark of night best left unacknowledged.

  One foot in front of the other. I’m not running, though, and I give myself proud points for that. My stroll is unhurried, indifferent, my gaze straight ahead of me. “Someone once told me the addict’s axiom is, ‘What about me?’ For some, even when they’re sober or clean, their mentality – their attitude - doesn’t change all that much.” My voice is low as though talking to myself, barely above the whispers of the abandoned, not wanting to stir the unknown. Brad is quietly keeping pace, wordlessly letting me fill the void that’s an unchallenged constant. A solid foot lengthens our space. “People say addiction is a disease. In some ways I agree, in others… I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. I’m just surviving.”

  My steps are subdued by my sensible but worn walking shoes as we leisurely ascent the cemented stairs to the side of the shadowed white building. Brad doesn’t say anything and lets me lead for now, but I have no destination. The landing takes us to an upper level that overlooks the faraway glittering lights of the busy city. Handy telescopes are offered for a closer inspection, but I’m not interested in peering through in search of other life. Propping my forearms on the ledge, I gaze out over the dazzling spread before us.

  The heat of him, of his heavy gaze, calls to me. Instead of admiring the extraordinary view, he’s leaning back against the half wall, watching me deliberately not returning his gaze.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmur, mesmerized by the brilliant glows blinking remotely beneath us for a moment. “You’re a good listener. Did you bring me up here to let me ramble?”

  My breath catches as he brushes back the loose hair behind my ear with barely-there fingertips. “Communicating your thoughts isn’t rambling. I’m glad you shared them with me.”

  I dip my head, fighting back a pleased smile coming out of nowhere. “You’re an enigma, Brad Hawkes.”

  “How so?”

  This time I chuckle. “Well, for one thing, we’ve been here for over twenty minutes and you still haven’t let on why we’re here.” A gush of icy air has me shivering. It’s definitely colder on this level. “And we’re both freezing our asses off while I amuse you with my ramblings.”

  “It’s Southern California. We’re not likely going to freeze.”

  But he’s drawing me in, gently tugging me into his welcoming heat, protective arms cocooning me into his world. I know I should resist, to not let myself get too comfortable with this illusion of attentiveness, but I can’t seem to find the will to pull away. I’m afraid that if I give in to the odd, reckless sensation beckoning me, I’d regret it.

  I feel his chin resting on the top of my head and I let my eyes close for a weak moment, savoring his cozy warmth and soothing scent.

  He’s been so patient with me. I can’t help but wonder why. I rudely barged into his office uninvited, refused to do my job and serve him at my table, and admittedly been a pain in his ass for the most part, yet he’s here, unwearyingly listening to me blather on about nothing he cared about and holding me to keep the cold trembling away.

  There’s something about him that makes me feel… safe. Cherished. A ridiculous notion considering he callously ruined my dad’s livelihood.

  After a few steady heartbeats I hear him tell me, “I brought you here because it’s quiet. No one would disturb us, and the view is magnificent. Sometimes, depending on the time of year, you can actually see Venus.”

  That surprises me. An admirer of the celestial? “You visit the observatory a lot?”

  “No. Too crowded.”

  Easing back, I give him a puzzled look. “Then what was all that about Venus?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not actually inside the building. I might find myself here frequently, but I’ve only been a patron of the observatory a few times.”

  “You just like to hang out here? At the lookout point?” Glancing around, I note that though there are surveillance cameras mounted in strategic places, not another soul can be seen or heard. “I’m surprised there isn’t any security. I would think it would be more guarded to keep the riffraff away.” At his muted expression, I swiftly realize why that is. “You have an arrangement here, don’t you? They let you haunt this place in exchange for… a sizeable donation?”

  He shrugs. “Something like that.”

  Just like the sizeable donation he’s made to me. What’s he hoping in return? I can’t offer him Venus, and he’s already made it clear he has no interest in me.

  Somehow my hands are on his chest, when and how they ended up there I’m not sure. Firm, solid, its undeniable strength seeps fiercely into my palms and straight to my momentarily unguarded heart. I stare at my pale fingers splayed on his shirt, for some reason fascinated by the sight.

  I have my hands on Brad Hawkes’s very masculine chest. And I like it.

  Because I like it too much, wish fervently I can keep them there all night, I try to take a retreating step back. His arms automatically drop to his sides.

  Ignoring the shot of disappointment, I say, “It’s late, and I have to see to my dad first thing in the morning before going to class.”

  He doesn’t respond immediately but slips his big hands in his trouser pockets. Blowing out a puff of air, he rocks back on his heels. “I’ve made arrangements for Peter to stay at a treatment center in Sedona. Everything’s taken care of. He’ll be leaving tomorrow morning.”

  Just like that, my world changes.

  Eight

  Brad

  Her expression alone… If Carlson were here he’d spring into high alert, ready to pounce into action at the perceived threat.

  Pretty hazel eyes narrow alarmingly. “What did you say?”

  I sigh. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but I knew she wouldn’t make it easy. “It’s what he needs, Gemma. He needs professional help. To help himself get better on his own. He obviously can’t do it here.”

  “Can’t do it with me here, you mean,” she bites out scornfully, her entire stance quaking with ready confrontation as she takes another step back. “He’s my father. I decide what he needs. What right do you have? You’re nothing but his former employer who fired him. Well, we were fine before you came along, and we’ll be fine without you.”

  Her constant denial. The continuous need to make excuse after desperate excuse for him. Enough is enough. She deserves more than what she’s getting and not getting from Peter Warton.

  “Fine? What’s your concept of fine? Because as far as I can remember, Peter has been struggling with his addiction. There weren’t ever good days, Gemma. There were bad and worse. Don’t delude yourself.”

  “What would you know?” she snaps. “You know nothing about him. Nothing about us.”


  I snatch her hand when she made to whirl away. Ignoring the irritated tugging, I tighten my grip and wish to God things are different. “I know enough. I know you want your father to be better, but you’re doing more harm than good.” It has to be said, and if she hates me for it, then at least she’ll be happy when Peter is better. “Trust me on this, Gemma. Let me do what’s needed.”

  “By sending him away? Away from me. Away from everyone he knows. How can that be what’s needed?” An extra vicious jerk of her arm. “Would you let go?”

  How can I let go? Every time I close my eyes, I see her face.

  “Come home with me.”

  Straining muscles abruptly freeze as her eyes widen on me. “What?”

  Shit, that didn’t come out like I planned. I shake my head, bemused with myself. Cutthroat Brad Hawkes, CEO of a thriving construction company, can’t straighten out my tongue when I’m with this girl. “While Peter is recovering. In Sedona. I want you to stay with me.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a few heavy heartbeats. The night air strangles me as she exhales visibly, gazing at me as though I’m growing another head before her eyes.

  I can’t say I blame her. I’m fumbling this worse than I did as a teenager.

  Then finally, her throat works, the sound incredulous and not a little stunned. “You want me to… move in with you?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it.” I wave a dismissive hand as though having her under my roof is a minor detail. To me, it is. “It’s what Peter wants.”

  Stunned incredulity morphs into stupefied rile in a blink. “You already spoke to my dad about this?”

  She’s gaping at me like I should be abashed. I’m not, so I nod. “It would relief him of his worries about you. The last thing he needs while he’s trying to recover is to worry about you.” That part I made up on the spot, but she doesn’t need to know that. Taking advantage of her dumbstruck bewilderment, I grasp both of her hands and pull her closer. They’re like ice blocks against my skin. She doesn’t resist when I clasp them between my own, trying to seep warmth back into the frigid limbs.