“I love you.” It’s a scream and a promise.
He thrusts inside of me and punctuates each stab with his return vow. “I love you. Always. Forever. Natalie. You’re all that matters to me.”
The raw and honest words dig into my heart and take root. Clenching him tight, I let go and allow him to catch me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
JAKE
If anyone asks, I will swear I saw a holy being as Natalie sucked me to the back of her throat. Later, after she brushes her teeth three times, she lets me kiss her, and after a week of deprivation, I can barely stand upright after our kiss. And that’s not even because I’m without my fake leg.
The next morning we sleep in and then order breakfast to be delivered from a local deli.
“I’m going to restart therapy with Dr. Terrance,” she tells me. I try to hide my frown behind a bite of my breakfast sandwich, but I’m not successful. “He was right last week, maybe not about leaving, but he gave me a one-week supply of sleeping pills, telling me my mind and body needed to rest. I wasn’t thinking straight with the stress of finishing the book and living in a new place.”
“And having someone intentionally fuck with your mind,” I finish for her.
She shoots me a wry look. “That too. But after a week of sleep, I was able to think more clearly, and it brought me back to you.”
I capture her hand and press a kiss against it. “I’m here to support you, not tell you what to do.”
“I know. I love that.” She rubs her head against my shoulder, the long strands tickling my skin.
Abruptly I shove aside breakfast and push her against the covers. “Breakfast is over.”
She laughs and spreads her arms wide. “I’m down with that.”
Later she tests my ability to sit back and allow her to do her own thing. A frown settles in as she sorts through her manuscript.
“Have you chosen a new editor?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Not yet. When you have an editor that you . . . love, it’s more than a business relationship. It’s a true meeting of the minds. I guess that’s how Daphne was so effective.” She gives me a wincing smile. “She knew me like no one else.”
“Have you answered any of her emails or texts?” Daphne has been trying to open a line of communication but so far, Natalie has resisted. I wish she’d block Daphne.
“No. I’m not ready. I may never be ready.”
I have no sympathy for Daphne. “You don’t get extra life points for forgiving someone who dicked you over.”
This time when she smiles, it’s without as much pain. “I know. It’s hard, and I really, really appreciate you allowing me to deal with this in my own way.”
“I’m a prince.” I wink. “Since I’m not hassling you about Daphne, will you let me go over and get your stuff?”
She wants her laptop and suitcase full of things she took with her when she left, including, she says in a ploy to get me to agree, my favorite pair of underwear. It’s pink with white lace and bows and it’s tremendously naughty, and I don’t really want to explore what about that schoolgirl look turns me on.
“No, I want to come.”
I nearly bite my tongue off to avoid reminding her of what a mess she was yesterday. “Fine, but we’re going to have a driver and you’re going to sit on me while we’re in the car.”
“Ooh, let me think about that very hard decision. Um, okay, yes.”
In the end, I just finger her while she gives me a hand job. Unfortunately I don’t come and I have an erection that makes it difficult to walk when the car stops outside her Tribeca condo. She’s in a better state than I am in. We kiss fiercely on the way up to the third floor, which does nothing to abate my hard-on. Only the phone call I get does that.
“Go ahead and answer that while I pack,” she says as my phone rings.
It’s Mike.
“I was closing up the file on Natalie when I noticed that there was a message left by the Western Union owner. I called him up and he said that all he was willing to tell me was that the person who paid was not a woman, but an older, well-dressed man. He thought he was in his late fifties, but that the man colored his hair because his eyebrows were graying.”
“So, a second person?”
“Sounds like it.”
“Do you think this guy would be willing to look at pictures?”
“You know who it is?”
“I have an idea.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
I hang up and find Natalie in the bedroom. She’s changing into my favorite panties. I lick my lips.
“What’s up?”
Me, I think. But business before pleasure, especially when that business is Natalie’s safety. “Mike was closing your case and found a weird anomaly. Apparently the Western Union clerk said the person who paid for the delivery truck was not a woman. I want to go down there and talk to them. Maybe Daphne had someone working with her. Will you be okay here? I’ll be an hour, two if traffic is bad.”
“I’ll be fine. I have my laptop and can do some work.”
“Good.” I kiss her on the forehead. “Call me if you need something, anything.”
“I will.” She makes a shooing gesture with her hands.
I don’t wait for the elevator and am grateful for the car service. I won’t waste time finding a parking space. I bark out the address and the driver pulls away. In the car, I pull up Dr. Terrance’s website and find a picture of him. Late fifties, colored hair, and gray eyebrows all fit.
After a meeting with the Western Union manager, I confirm that the person who placed the order was Dr. Terrance. Son of a bitch.
I look at my watch. I’ve only been gone for forty-five minutes. Dr. Terrance’s office is on Madison Avenue and in the midday traffic, it shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get there. I make a snap judgment to go confront him. This time, I’m not allowing him to leave the city. This man is going down. I’m going to ruin him.
When I arrive at the address, I let myself into the building. His office is on the second floor. I make a show of limping and place my left prosthetic on the lobby table. “I’m here to see Dr. Terrance.”
“Sure. Just a minute.” The guard makes a phone call. “No one is answering the phone, sir.”
“He’s there,” I protest, acting as if not seeing my therapist is an affront. “I just called.”
I grimace and rub the substitute arm as if I’m in a great deal of pain. The security man waffles and then says, “Okay, sign in, though.”
I do and then I slowly make my way to the elevator, pretending to drag my leg behind me. I step out on the second floor and continue the charade until I get to Terrance’s office. It does look like it’s locked up and closed. No matter. His locks are better than those on Natalie’s door or Daphne’s door, but all locks are vulnerable. I shove the door open and a security alarm blinks. I wave at the camera in front of the door. I could care two shits about him knowing I broke in here. I want him to feel vulnerable and afraid. I bypass his secretary’s desk and open his office door. It’s a standard psychiatrist’s office. He has a modern leather sofa and two pricey chairs in front of a massive cherry desk. Along the back wall is a row of matching cherry file cabinets.
I have limited time until the security people show up, so I go to the desk first. If my guesses are right, then he keeps this information close to him. When I discover Natalie’s file in the upper right-hand drawer, all of my guesses are confirmed. On the top, taped to the left side, is a letter from Daphne inviting Terrance to write a book, The Girl Imprisoned, for a million-dollar advance. Below the letter are audiotapes and on the other side, affixed by a metal clamp, is a stack of notes. I peruse them quickly.