Cameron's Contract Page 8

  The town car drove us farther into the city.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Mia broke the silence.

  My thoughts scattered, trying to make sense of the last forty-eight hours.

  “Don’t be frightened of the future,” she said.

  “I’m cautious.”

  “Remember what you once told me? Our subconscious naturally guides us to our future.”

  “Sounds like I was trying to get into your panties.”

  She playfully thumped my arm. “You’ve taught me so much. That we must trust the path we’re on.”

  What if this is the wrong fork in the road?

  “I know what you need.”

  I arched a brow.

  She pushed herself up and straddled me. “This is the best way to be in the present moment.” She waved her hand. “The future isn’t going anywhere.”

  “Just what are you insinuating, Ms. Lauren?”

  She glanced over to the divider.

  “He can’t hear us,” I reassured her. “No one can see in. The windows are tinted.”

  “I thought that was illegal?”

  “We have friends in high places.” I reached below her skirt and slipped a finger between her hip and thong and snapped it off.

  She feigned a gasp.

  “That was your fault,” I said.

  “How?”

  “You wore FMBs.”

  “You wrote on the box ‘wear me.’”

  “Sure that note was for you?”

  She crushed her lips to my mouth and swirled her tongue against mine. Her passion alighting my nerves and sent me reeling.

  I pulled her closer, kissing with the deepest affection. My hand slid to her sex and I plunged two fingers inside her. My thumb encircled her clit.

  Mia rode my hand deliriously.

  The scent of her hair, her soft skin brushing against me, her aliveness, and the way her golden locks tussled over her shoulders and breasts—all this soothed me.

  She stilled, shuddering against my chest, mewling as she came.

  Then fell against me, nestling into my neck.

  When Mia finally recovered, she slid down onto the floor between my legs, kneeling before me, reaching for my zipper. She freed me from my pants, my hardness responding to her firm grip that worked me with an insistence I hadn’t realized I needed. At my feet, she provided the kind of affection I could never live without.

  She took me in her mouth and this ache in my cock intensified, causing my head to fall back and my mind to lose all thoughts. All I knew was her. Her mouth, her tongue, her perfectly placed hands possessing me.

  I’d been so distracted lately I’d hardly treated Mia as my submissive.

  Her training had been put on hold during these last few days of chaos. Though my domination of her would always remain a constant, as it should be, she thrived beneath my power, as though knowing I’d always be here for her, helped her find the freedom to make her own way.

  I adored her quirkiness, or her obsession with water, or the way she didn’t seem to realize how cruel this world really was. She’d experienced more than her fair share of pain, but forgiveness came easily for her. My sweet, incandescent, Mia.

  She used that trick, strumming the under head with flicks and licks, cupping my balls in her delicate hand and squeezing. I reached low and eased my hand beneath her blouse until I’d caught her nipples between my thumb and index fingers and pinched, eliciting a moan that vibrated along my length.

  God, how she knew me.

  She eased my hands off her. “Relax.”

  Who was I to argue?

  Resting back, I stared up and went with it, with her, my hips rocking, my balls begging for mercy.

  Mia’s beauty was distracting—the way her eyes caught mine, the way she sucked firmer with pouty lips controlling me, taking me all the way to the back of her throat.

  “I’m going to come, Mia,” I said huskily.

  She let out a protracted moan of pleasure, and when I came, I came hard, filling her mouth and marveling at how she swallowed without missing a drop.

  My eyes closed, my body soothed with relaxation, I felt her tuck me away. Then she placed soft kisses on my chest. Her lips pecked my chin and cheek.

  I grinned, eyelids still closed, sleep luring me.

  Finally…

  I cupped my eyes for a beat when my iPhone chimed its assault, then I reached inside my jacket. It had gone to voicemail.

  Uncertainly spiked in my veins as I read Shay’s text: Get here now. We have a situation.

  I dialed his number.

  “Cam.” His voice sounded tense, hushed.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Blackwood’s wife’s into skeet shooting.”

  A loud crack, a ricochet, and I pulled the phone away from my ear.

  “Cam, she’s in the garden—”

  “Henry?”

  “He’s locked himself in a bathroom.”

  My gut twisted in knots.

  “Some kind of flashback I think,” he said.

  Another shot—

  “Is he talking?” I said.

  “Radio silent.”

  Shit.

  “Blackwood thinks we’ve left,” said Shay. “I’m assuming you want everyone to think Henry’s fine, considering Blackwood’s vote is riding on the competency of the Cole brothers.”

  “Did Henry show any signs of stress?”

  Had I missed them?

  “No, none. Cam, Blackwood reassured us he’d think about reversing his vote. We have him. We’re sure of it. But the situation’s now fragile.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “I’ll find something to pick the lock.”

  “Keep him calm.”

  “You don’t think Henry will hurt himself, do you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve never seen him like this.”

  “How?”

  “Emotional.”

  Fuck it.

  “Break the door down,” I snapped.

  Damn the consequences.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE CLAY DISK shattered, and the sound of another bullet hitting its mark echoed.

  Shay had defied my order and found what he needed to pick the bathroom door. I found him sitting beside Henry. I’d watched a torn up Shay leave and knew that Mia, who waited outside, would comfort him. This was hard on Shay too, having witnessed firsthand what Henry had gone through after serving right beside him. Shay had his own scars.

  But they were nothing like Henry’s.

  He sat on the floor in the corner with his arms wrapped around his legs.

  I slid down the wall and sat beside him. “Blackwood’s wife has too much free time. She’s taking a break from shopping in Niemen Marcus to shoot clay pigeons in the garden.”

  He stared at his hands as though all answers were waiting to be realized.

  “Imagine how the koi in their pond feel?” I squeezed his arm.

  Following his gaze, I too studied the red damask wallpaper. Farther up hung a print of a watercolor. In any other circumstances, those blue and green pastels would have been comforting.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  Another shot rang out.

  Henry patted his jacket down and I wondered if he was feeling for a pistol he didn’t have.

  “Lost something?” I said.

  “Phone.” He gestured. “In my pocket.”

  His coms—a good soldier was never without communication.

  I’d sent Shay and Mia to go find Mrs. Blackwood and get her and her weekend buddies to stop. I didn’t care what it took. They could grab the gun out of her hands for all I cared.

  “I’m okay,” he whispered.

  “Yes, yes you are.”

  Beads of perspiration spotted his brow, his upper lip. His hands fisted into balls. “You were there,” he stuttered. “You saw what it was like.”

  But I’d never served in uniform. The circumstances of my week
in the Middle East were the result of being part of the team rescuing him.

  Seeing Henry like this was tearing me apart.

  He smiled weakly. “I think that was my first flashback.”

  I reasoned this was good. A clarity I could work with.

  “It’s over now,” I said.

  “I’m okay.” He threw me a reassuring smile.

  “I know you are.”

  “It’s just been a little intense lately.”

  “I’ve got this, Henry.”

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Thinking?”

  “About everything. Cole Tea, Dad’s expectations—”

  “He knows we’re giving this our best.”

  “Am I? Really?”

  “Yes, Henry, you’ve not stopped since we landed.”

  “You’ve not stopped.”

  Stretching my legs out before me, I was ready to follow where he was leading.

  “I’m meant to be the future CEO,” he whispered.

  “You are.”

  “Then why are you masterminding every move we make?”

  “You’re utilizing the skills of your team.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Cam. You know your handle on all this is better than mine.”

  “That’s up for debate. Time will tell.”

  “I still have so much personal shit to work through.”

  “We’ll work through it together. Simple. You and me chatting over a beer. Righting the world as we did as boys.”

  “It’s meant to be me.” He shifted to face me. “I’m the prodigal son, me. I was the one destined to leave the military and continue the family name. Take the business to the next level. Instead, where have I been the last few years? In a self-imposed prison weighed down with guilt…”

  “Guilt?”

  “For living such a privileged life. For these opportunities.”

  “We were born into this.”

  “Many of my boys didn’t make it,” he muttered. “I pledged to protect them, keep them safe.”

  “Think of the ones you did save?”

  “Why me? Why do I get to live and they didn’t?”

  “Henry,—”

  “The smell of diesel at a gas station,” he muttered. “Takes me right back.”

  I had my nightmare infested memories too. That flight out to join the mission.

  A desert dryness, the low hum of a C-130 cargo plane, the controlled chaos of finalizing a drop point.

  I’d leaped from a plane into the blackness with a sixty pound pack strapped to my back in the grueling heat. During those few days of training, I’d hardly slept, being fraught with worry after that debriefing, which was delivered with the kind of preciseness I’d rather not have heard. Not until we’d gotten him out.

  I’d been the one to continue Henry’s torment, hours after Shay and his men had freed him and then slaughtered his captors.

  What had followed was hours of hellish questions unleashed in a camouflaged tent. Military doctors closed his wounds while I stood by, ready to open the ones that couldn’t be seen.

  Despite his reassurance I’d done the right thing, us sitting in a bathroom together revealed otherwise.

  “Don’t,” he snapped.

  “Don’t want?”

  “I know you. Don’t blame yourself.”

  I marveled at his insight.

  “I willingly signed up,” he said.

  His saving grace had been he’d not turned to alcohol but art, painting up a storm in that cabin. I’d been the only privileged one to see his work. Renderings of the darkest times. Insight into a psyche. Those paintings were now preserved in my Beverly Hills home.

  “You were willing to give your life for your men” I said. “That’s profound, Henry.”

  “You don’t expect to come home and be pointed at by strangers, or overhear their whispers that I’m the guy back from the war who’s lost his mind.”

  “Henry, you’re doing amazing.”

  “CEO?” He gave a nod. “Stuck in an office day after day?”

  “It’ll be fun.”

  He scoffed. “Says the man who’s resisted this since birth.”

  “So far, so good.”

  “Your eyes lit up when you profiled those board members. Each time you discovered their motivations, you were positively high on adrenaline. You were made for this. You relish every second.”

  “So do you.”

  “Maybe what we’ve resisted all this time is really what we want.”

  “There’s a mind fuck.”

  “Of which you’re the expert.”

  We laughed and I felt the tension lessening.

  The gunshots had ceased and I sent out a silent prayer of thanks.

  Henry deserved his future, to rule as he’d always been destined to. How could we not spiral with the pressure of an empire resting on every action, every word?

  I took a long, deep breath and began what I knew Henry needed right now—not to be led out of here, but for me to dedicate this time to seeing him through these unfolding moments, explore his thoughts, his doubts, his fears even.

  I’d not been his therapist and had no idea just how much his experience had impacted his view of the world and his beliefs. War still haunted his days and nights and I refused to let its hold continue to impact him.

  We talked, and I didn’t care about the time, didn’t care we were still here.

  We reminisced about our childhood, about those days being chased by swans in the garden, stealing snacks from the kitchen and running out of there triumphantly, and when we’d been packed off to boarding school, we’d both found comfort in each other.

  We ruminated over Afghanistan and he revealed more to me. He was profoundly brave, a miracle of a man, and I vowed to do whatever he wanted to make him happy.

  “Cam, what we are doing now is affecting us irrevocably,” he said.

  “I’m resigned to my fate.”

  “Which is?”

  “To stand by your side, Henry. Support you in any way you need me.”

  “Why are we in a fucking bathroom?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Help me find Mrs. Blackwood so I can shove that rifle up her ass.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get out of here.”

  We met Mia and Shay just outside and were greeted by the serenity we both needed from them—a warm smile, a hug—then we made our way down the hallway.

  Mia grabbed my arm.

  Halfway down stood Mr. Blackwood—

  From his formidable expression, he too was wondering why we were still here.

  Shay looked at me with a good luck explaining this one, buddy.

  Blackwood’s tweed suit and shotgun hinted he’d planned on firing off a few rounds himself. A sixty-year-old businessman whose run for presidency never made it to the White House. Now his retirement was filled with board meetings and enjoying the lecture circuit a man of his status savored.

  I took a step forward. “I wanted to thank you for taking the time to hear what Henry had to say.”

  Blackwood gave a nod. “As I told your brother. I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”

  “We appreciate that,” I said.

  “Would you like to join us?” He raised his gun. “You boys probably haven’t shot off a weapon in years. I imagine you miss it.”

  Shay and Mia swapped a wary glance.

  “Actually.” I mentally ran through our options.

  “I’d love to!” Mia burst out.

  Our stunned gazes fell on her.

  Shay reached for her arm.

  “I’ll meet you boys later.” She pulled away and stood beside Blackwood, oozing enthusiasm. “Will your wife teach me?”

  “She’d be delighted,” said Blackwood with a smile.

  “We’ll send a car for you?” I said, proud of my girl.

  Mia beamed, full of confidence. “This’ll be fun.”

  Blackwood looked impressed. “Well at least one of you is game.�
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  I gave her a nod—a silent message to call me should she need rescuing at any time. But having known Blackwood all my life, she’d be in good hands.

  He led her off to join his wife in the garden.

  CHAPTER 16

  WE WERE AGAINST the clock and every vote counted and Mia knew this.

  Shay had relayed to Mia how his meeting had gone and filled her in on Blackwood’s concerns. Mia would have also known the responsibility of her intentions, the need to get this right.

  My confidence in her was unwavering.

  The driver parked our Bentley SUV outside Carnegie Deli on 55th St. and we picked up lunch, eating a selection of sandwiches and drinking Coke on the way to our next destination.

  We pulled up outside board member Elliot Rice’s home at one in the afternoon, and within the hour I’d had his guarantee he’d support us. Of course the offer of inviting his Yale educated grandson into the company and fast tracking him through to a senior position in marketing had sealed the deal.

  The rest of the day went surprisingly smooth.

  In between visits, I enjoyed watching Shay and Henry interact. Their friendship was based on trust and a past that few would ever understand.

  Their stories had them both cracking up, and Shay lessened the tension of what had happened back at Blackwood’s by having Henry talk about it.

  His calmness had returned, and his self-awareness was a sign he was coping.

  The car took us back to the Blackwood’s.

  We picked up Mia in the early evening. She appeared in a flurry of wayward hair and sun kissed cheeks, then flopped down in the seat opposite ours.

  “Well?” I said.

  “We hung out in the garden for a few hours with me trying to shoot those suckers,” she said. “Nina, his wife, is on her third therapist, and we got some alone time to discuss Freud vs. Jung.”

  We all leaned forward, fascinated.

  “And?” Henry nudged her on.

  “Mrs. Blackwood seemed to have a lot of unresolved issues,” said Mia. “So I just told her my opinion.”

  “Which was?” I said.

  “That we really have to stop blaming our parents. If they were messed up and we know that, we can use what we learned to empower us.”

  “Fuck,” snapped Henry.

  “You told her about your dad?” I said quietly.

  “And I told her how you worked out something so complex about my past from merely the evidence you’d gathered. That you saved me.”