Only Trick (32 page)

With a shaky breath I swallow past the lump in my throat, but my tears don’t get the memo that no more are needed. “We can l-leave in the m-morning…” my lower lip begins to quiver again “…go an-anywhere you w-want to go.”

“Darby! Who did this to you?” The last time I saw this look on Trick’s face, he had a gun pointed at my attacker.

I shake my head and sniffle. “I s-said something I-I shouldn’t have.”

“Who?” he seethes.

“My father.”

He releases me and starts to walk past me.

“Trick!” I grab his arm. “Don’t … let it go. Please, I need you.”

He stops, his bicep steel in my hand.

“I
need
you.”

When he turns back to me, I place my hands flat on his chest. His heart pounds against the rise and fall of each angry breath. Looking down, I slide my hands to the button of his pants.

“No.” He grabs my hands.

Closing my eyes, the tears spill over. I open them and look up. “If you say no … it will hurt worse than anything he said or did to me.”

His brow furrows. I don’t mean to cause him pain, I just need him to take mine away. I need to feel physically and emotionally loved more than I ever have before.

He releases my hands and shrugs off his shirt. His hand cups the back of my head while his lips press to my cheek. The tip of his tongue grazes my skin, dissolving my tears. He consumes my pain with his touch, one tiny drop at a time.

Scooping me up in his strong arms, he carries me to the bed and sets me on the edge. A final shaky breath ricochets through my body. He undresses me with
love.
Every touch, every look takes away a little more pain.

Then he finishes undressing himself and lets me just look at him. It’s not arrogant, or cocky—no lip twitch. He’s giving me what I need. I
need
to take all of him in—let him flow into all the cracks and crevices of my heart, replacing all the missing pieces. His love stitches me up … holds me together.

Kneeling on the floor, he wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my legs. “My BFF texted me today. She’s getting married. OMG, like … WTF can you believe that? Heart Emoji, kiss Emoji, smiley Emoji, ring Emoji, thumbs up Emoji, and applause Emoji.”

A laughing sob escapes from my chest. More tears, but now they’re tears of joy and love … my God, so much love. I run my fingers through his hair and he lifts his head giving me a breathtaking smile. My palms press to his stubbly face. “Your BFF sounds like the luckiest woman in the entire world.”

His gaze slips and he nods. “God, I hope so.”

I scoot back on the bed. “Come.”

He smirks, and we both know I can use
his
command, but the control will always be his. “You first.” He presses his hands to my inner thighs, spreading me open. When the heat of his mouth and the brush of his stubble find my sensitive flesh, I moan, letting my heavy eyelids drift shut.

“Trick …” With one hand fisting the sheet and my other clenching his hair, I let him take me to that other world—a world where light and darkness collide, emotions vanish, and all that’s left is the most incredible out of body experience.

After I melt into a pool of bliss in the middle of his bed, he still doesn’t take … he continues to give. His hands glide over every curve with such patience it feels like he’s sculpting me. Lips breathe love over my skin, eliciting a chilling shiver as I arch my back into his touch. His hands slide up, drawing mine above my head. Our fingers intertwine; I cry out as his tongue teases my sensitive nipple.

“Darby …” he whispers over my skin while sinking into me, filling every last physical and emotional void.

Our hands clench together like they’re holding on to something greater than this moment. He rocks into me; hovering over my face, we just stare until …
the world makes sense again
.

*

The eight-hundred milligrams
of Ibuprofen I took before going to bed numbed the pain and allowed me to collapse into a coma-like state. I don’t think I moved an inch the entire night. I wake feeling rested, but my face is sore again.

“Trick?” my croaky morning voice calls out.

He walks around the corner in black boxer briefs, rubbing a towel through his wet hair. “Good morning.” He smiles and leans down, pressing a feathery kiss to my swollen lip. “You were out.”

I nod. “Yeah, I must have been exhausted.”

He sits on the edge of the bed with one leg propped up. His gaze focuses across the room at my suitcase. “I scheduled us flights this morning.” He looks at me. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod, tracing the script under his arm.
Don’t look back in anger
. “I’m sure.”

Trick rests his hand on my thigh. “Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”

Sitting up, I climb out of bed, loving the way he unapologetically stares at my naked figure when the sheet falls from my body. “I’ll go anywhere with you,” I say, walking to the bathroom.

A
rriving at O’Hare
three hours before our flight, a jittery mix of nerves and excitement churn in my belly.
What are we doing? Running away? Starting over?

“I assume you have your passport?” Trick glances over at me as we get out of the cab.

“Yes.” I grin because he still hasn’t told me where we’re going, and I haven’t asked.

We check in and snake our way through the snail-paced security line. I’ve now discovered we’re headed to Los Cabos, but Trick assures me it’s not our final destination.

“Lunch?”

I nod as we walk to a bar and grill down from our terminal. It’s now after noon so the place is packed. We opt to eat at the bar to save time.

“Two lemonades.” Trick orders for us while we look over the menu.

As I glance from the cob salad on one page to the grilled portobello sandwich on the next page, something familiar catches my attention on the TV behind the bar. My eyes flit side to side over the words of the closed caption.

My father.

I grip Trick’s arm and he follows my gaze. My father’s being escorted from the hospital through a crowd of reporters and photographers, arm in a sling and his face banged up. It’s hard to tell to what extent because of the bandages and his sunglasses.

The words on the screen flash across too fast. I can’t make sense of it all.

“… home invasion … Senator Carmichael was assaulted in his sleep … suspicious malfunction in the security recordings … no one knows how the intruder made it past the guards …”

“Oh my God,” I whisper.

Trick looks back at his menu. “I think I’m going to get the turkey club. What are you getting?”

My breath catches in my throat as I inch my head to the side, eyes wide. His gaze eases from the menu to me. He knows the question, and the longer he stares at me, emotionless, I know the answer. My eyes slip to his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs with a deep swallow, then my eyes go back to his.

“I’m only going to say this once.” He pauses as if to make sure I hear the serious depth of his voice, or maybe to make sure I hear the unwavering tone of it.

I nod once with slow apprehension.

“
No one
will ever get away with hurting you. Understood?”

My blood turns to ice; my mind reels. I was so out of it last night. That’s how he managed to sneak away without me knowing. My God, he thinks this is tit for tat. He broke into the home of a U.S. senator and assaulted him in his sleep and—

“Darby?”

My eyes focus again. Trick gestures to the bartender waiting to take my order.

“Um … cob salad, Italian dressing.”

He smiles then turns to put our order into the computer.

“Hey,” Trick calls to the bartender. “Can you change the channel?”

The bartender grabs a remote under the counter and flips the channel to some daytime talk show.

“Thanks,” Trick says. Turning toward me, he scoots my stool closer to his and cups the back of my head, bringing my face a breath away from his. “What he did to you is
not
okay. I don’t even want to know if it was the first time he laid his fucking hands on you. But I can promise you, it was the last.” He presses his lips to my forehead.

“But you could go to jail,” I whisper with a shaky voice.

Trick releases my head and sits back, chuckling. “Did you see my picture on the TV?”

“He probably doesn’t know who did it.”

Trick takes a drink and crushes a piece of ice between his teeth. “Oh, he knows, but he also received a photo of you sleeping last night, with your face looking the way it does.” He looks at my face. “Well, before I covered it up for you this morning.”

“You’re blackmailing my father,” I whisper, looking around us.

Trick rubs the back of his fingers under his chin. “Absolutely not. I just sent him the photo. Whatever conclusions he makes are all his own.”

I pull my phone out of my handbag. The battery went dead last night and I don’t remember turning it back on after charging it. There has to be a message from my father or Nana. But when I turn it on and check, there’s nothing.

“I should call him.”

Trick shakes his head and laughs. “And say what? That you’re sorry someone
hit
him?”

“He’s my father.”

“He’s a sperm donor.”

I flinch. His comment stings … the truth can do that.

Trick leans in, squeezing my leg with his hand. “If you want to stay, just say so.”

As my tongue brushes my lip, I rest my hand on his. This isn’t a question that should have to be answered. “I want to be with you.”

“You can be with me if we stay.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to stay.”

Trick skims my cheek with his thumb, an ease to his facial expression. “Me neither.”

*

We land in
Los Cabos and Trick informs me we’re renting a car to drive to Todos Santos, our final destination. Then he informs me we’ll only use the rental until he arranges to have his motorcycle shipped down here. In this moment the reality of what we’re doing hits me. I told Nana I didn’t know how long I’d be gone, but I told my work I needed an extended leave for personal reasons—I didn’t actually quit. But … I’m still in. Wherever Trick goes, I go.

“Let’s get a cab to the nearest car dealership.”

Trick takes our luggage from the carousel. “We’re not buying a car.”

“Well maybe
we’re
not, but I am. It rains in Mexico too.”

“That’s why we either stay in or wear our rain gear for the bike. Come.” He takes off toward the doors.

“We can’t have sex on the back of your motorcycle.”

He stops, allowing me to catch up. Pursing his lips, his eyes trail down my body. “I beg to differ, but if that’s why you want a car, then…” he turns and continues through the doors “…suit yourself.”

“Typical guy.”

“What’s that?” he asks, hoisting our luggage into the back of the taxi.

I smile. “Nothing.”

*