Saving Hailey: Chapter 21

The black hole at the center of my mind refuses to spit out any new memories. I keep waiting, feeding off the calmness in Carter’s eyes whenever I bring it up. We can’t stay here forever. We need my brain to unlock, but Carter doesn’t seem fazed by the lack of new information.

I thought that once I calmed down, my brain would recommence replacing my lost memories, but days pass and nothing happens.

I’m calm now. I feel safe. I’m used to Nash being Carter, seeing guns in holsters, the security measures put in place at the safe house, and the daily routine.

Koby’s taken the role of chef and he’s damn good at it. He spoils me rotten with my favorite foods, never taking “whatever you feel like” asan answer to his “what do you want me to make you for breakfast?” He also keeps me stuffed with fruit and sweets between meals.

Ryder’s mostly locked in the control room, perfectly content with all the tech equipment at his disposal, while Broadway indulges my love for board games in the evenings. I like him the most. Mainly because he’s usually the only one brave enough to mouth off to Carter.

He calls him out on bad ideas and, for some reason, gives him shit every morning about how he slept, asking if he has a sore neck, or if his pillows were comfortable. I don’t get it and whenever I ask what it’s all about, Carter cuts the topic short, pivoting to something else.

They’re all friends, but there’s no denying he’s in charge. They’re his people, obeying his orders, and despite the occasional disagreements, Carter’s word is final.

The air of authority surrounding him is thicker than when we met at Lakeside. And it draws me further in.

Whenever he sits beside me, there’s less than a foot between us and every move he makes, every flex of his fingers, tells me he’s itching to hold me but keeps stopping himself every time. He maintains a respectful distance, giving me space. Too much space.

I shouldn’t trust him. I can’t, even in those rare moments when I think I could give him my heart again, but they don’t last long. He used me.

He pretended to be someone else.

But he kept you safe. Happy.

That was Nash.

I swallow hard, my muscles winding up tight. There’s a fine line between love and hate. I’m teetering on it, tilting toward one side or other depending on how the wind blows. Regardless of what my mind thinks, my heart remains his.

Still in love and growing tired of this game as the days go by. He wants me. Every moment we spend together is a replay of those first weeks at Lakeside. I catch him staring at me with his dark, penetrating eyes, dancing with nothing short of pure want.

He worries about me, makes sure I have everything I need—like books and the brand-new clothes Layla’s stylist picked especially for me. But beneath the caring and understanding, I see Carter’s patience hanging by a thread.

It’s clear in every accidental touch of our fingers, every fleeting look at my lips, every word he speaks when he stops by my bedroom first thing every morning and last thing every night. It won’t be long before he drops the act and takes what I’m offering.

With one of Agatha Christie’s books in hand—courtesy of Carter, who ordered the entire set and sent Ryder to collect it—I sit in the wingback chair by the fireplace, more focused on flames than words.

It’s barely noon, nothing but wasting time on the agenda for today. There’s plenty to do around here, the basement brimming with amenities like a movie theater, games room, sauna, pool, and a gym. I think about exercising every time Carter heads down there with Koby or Broadway, but curling up with a book is far more appealing than sweating on a treadmill.

Though the sight of Carter exercising would probably more than make up for the burning muscles and exhaustion.

Poirothas just discovered the crucial clue to solve the mystery of who murdered Roger when two sets of footsteps batter the stairs from the basement. It’s not just Carter, Broadway’s with him. After five days of listening to their movements, I can tell every member of Carter’s team apart solely by their step.

Carter’s heavy on his feet while Broadway’s rhythmic. It’s as if he’s drumming a beat in his head when he walks.

They both enter the living room, towels draped over their necks, sweat seeping from their hair. Broadway doesn’t stop, unlike Carter who comes closer.

“How is it?” he asks, crouching beside me to tap the book, eyes on the pages.

“Better than anything I’ve read in a long time.”

“Good. I’ll want to hear about after I’ve taken a shower.”

He says shower andmy imagination runs wild, imagining warm water trickling down his swollen after-work-out muscles. My blood runs a fever whenever he’s close, my panties damp almost non-stop. But he clings to that high horse of his and nothing I’ve done thus far has gotten me any results.

Maybe it’s time for a more drastic approach.

Pushing up to his full height, he heads upstairs, his footsteps dying down once he enters his bedroom. My pulse picks up the pace as I squirm in place, aware of Broadway’s eyes burning holes in my head while he grabs a protein shake from the fridge.

My mind fills with enticing images, pushing me to do something completely out of character. I shuffle back and forth for five minutes, talking myself into following Carter upstairs, then talking myself out of it.

Need wins the battle.

Scrambling to my feet, I dog-ear the page, drop the book on the coffee table and rush upstairs.

I stop outside his door, shaking the stiffness off my limbs before turning the handle. His bed looks messy despite being made, as if he took a nap and didn’t straighten the sheets. The windows are cracked open, letting in a breeze that drops the temperature below my comfort level.

It works a treat at peaking my nipples, though.

The water’s running in the shower, clouds of steam escaping through the open bathroom door. That’s enough to steal my focus and dissolve my gnawing unrest. The vision of his muscular, naked body behind the wall flashes before my eyes.

He used me for weeks… it’s time I use him back. It’s time I take what I desperately want. What I dream about every night and fantasize about all day.

There’s something disturbing about the pure lust simmering beneath my skin. I probably shouldn’t want intimacy with anyone after the horrors I witnessed at Noretto’s, but I know Carter’s touch will wash away the foul memories.

Swallowing the uncertainty, I shimmy out of my dress. My plain cotton panties go next, then their matching bra.

Leaving the clothes in a pile, I run my hand through my hair, draping the blonde waves over one shoulder. With a deep breath for courage, my bare feet sink in the plush carpet, then hit the cold bathroom tiles.

Carter stands with his back to me, both hands bracing against the wall, his head hanging low, warm water trickling down his back. My heart lurches and liquid heat detonates inside my chest.

He’s a sight, this man. All hard lines, dark ink, and sin.

He doesn’t turn, but his shoulders wind up tight, betraying that he heard me enter. His fingers clench, and though I can only see his profile, I can tell he’s grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do this,” he says, his tone brooking no argument.

He doesn’t turn to look at me. He remains still, tense, and adamantly staring at the mosaic tiles.

It’s a showcase shower with a tall pane of glass separating it from the bathroom. A mist of warm water engulfs me, then the sporadic droplets hit my skin. I ignore his order, my heart thudding faster with every step. My mind unwinds and its commotion mutes, leaving blissful clarity.

Carter’s what I want, need, and can’t go on without.

“Do what?” I stop behind him, lifting one hand to run my fingers down the length of his spine.

My knees almost give in at his sharp inhale. He shivers under my touch, goosebumps dotting his skin despite the heat of the water.

“Hailey,” he grits, the word dipped in annoyance and… desire.

He’s at breaking point. It won’t take much to tip him the right way, and when he snaps, he’ll haul me into his arms like he has a hundred times before. He’ll take me to bed and remind me why I crave him, why no man will ever compare. Why I’ll let him do whatever he pleases for as long as he’s interested.

“What are you doing, pretty girl?”

“Touching you,” I whisper, stepping a little closer.

Now he spins. So abruptly I stumble back a step. He grips my waist, pinning me against the wall, a wild look dancing in his eyes, dark irises almost completely swallowed by blown pupils. His gaze roves down my body and mine follows, stopping on his hard cock, inches away from my belly.

“Do you trust me?” he asks. “Are you one hundred percent certain I’m not just using you to find the evidence?”

“We can’t ever be certain of anything.”

“Yeah, we can. Come to me when you are.”

“But—”

“No buts, Hailey. You need to know I won’t hurt or leave you after we find the evidence, and you need to be fucking certain you want me, because there’ll be no going back. If you’re mine again, you’re mine forever.”

“You can’t be serious. No one can plan forever. Things change. What if you get bored with me five years down the line?”

“God, your fucking insecurities will be the death of me.” He dips his head so we’re eye level. “I can plan forever, and I’m planning mine with you. Come to me when you’re ready for that.”

My brows furrow. I desperately search his face for any hint of a trick or lie. I want to believe him, but… why would I?

He’s too perfect for forever. Too perfect for me. A morally gray fucking God. He can have any woman he wants, any prettier and smarter than me Goddess he lays his eyes on…

I’m a fleeting moment. A temporary fix, but that’s okay. I want to be his fix.

“You want me, don’t you?” I ask.

“You know I do.” His fingers sink into my skin. “But not like this.”

A frown mars my forehead, his words throwing me off track. I’m naked. Ready and willing, handing myself over on a silver platter. I was certain he’d take me. That he’d stop pretending and fuck me like he wants to.

Like we both desperately need to.

“Drop the act,” I say, my voice strained. “I’m here. I need you and you want me, so take me.”

“It’s not a fucking act,” he seethes, peeling himself away from me. “I told you I won’t touch you without your trust.”

Humiliation heats my cheeks. I’m so turned on it’s embarrassing. I can barely hold back from dropping to my knees and testing my gag reflex to its limits. Maybe that’d sway his resolve.

Before I decide, he storms away, fetching a big, fluffy towel.

“Come here.” He holds his hand out.

For the first time, I’m shy around him. I don’t take his hand. Instead, I flee, tugging the knitted dress over my head and snatching my underwear off the floor.

I’ll have to find a different way to break him.