Crossing my arms over my chest, I look around with minimal curiosity and mostly nervousness over seeing the man that I once loved and who now hates me.
Rachel shuts the door and walks into the open living room that has wide, glass doors that look out over a spacious veranda. It's filled with potted plants, a huge grill, and high-end furniture, but I barely take it in.
I hear a door open from above and my gaze sweeps up the massive, curved staircase that sits between the foyer and living area. There's laughter—both male and female—and then Kynan walks down the staircase with a ravishingly beautiful woman wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. He has his arm around her and is whispering something in her ear that causes her to giggle again. Kynan wearing a pair of track pants and a T-shirt. His dark blond hair is mussy, and it's clear they just spent some time in bed together.
My face flushes with embarrassment over being in Kynan's home unannounced and clearly ruining an evening with his girlfriend.
When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, his eyes come to me, but linger only briefly and without a flicker of emotion. Then they slide to Rachel. "I don't need anything else tonight, Rach. Get home to Bodie and Tony."
Rachel inclines her head and gives me a last reassuring smile that misses the mark with me. "See you later, Jocelyn."
"Bye," I whisper, my throat feeling extremely parched from nerves and still raw from last night's attack.
When the door closes behind her, Kynan's hand drops to the woman's ass and he squeezes it. "Be a love and get me a club soda from the bar."
"Not another scotch?" she purrs with her hand to his chest as she leans into him.
He shakes his head and looks at me. "Want something to drink?"
"I'm good."
Kynan's eyes drop briefly to my throat, but I don't see so much as see a facial tick from him. His expression is as bland as unbuttered grits.
The red-headed woman sashays off without an introduction to me. I watch her swaying hips briefly as she walks over to a recessed wet bar built into one wall before turning to Kynan. I swallow to wet my throat and say, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be barging in like this and interrupting time with you and your girlfriend. I can go to a hotel, and we can meet in your office tomorrow."
Both Kynan and the woman give simultaneous snorts of amusement, but she's the one who responds to me. "Oh, I'm not his girlfriend."
My eyes move back and forth between the two.
Kynan just shrugs. "We just met this afternoon."
"Oh," I say softly, the implication hitting me. I mean, I'm not shocked because there's nothing wrong with one-night stands or anything like that, but why in the world did he have Rachel bring me here if he was in the middle of one?
"We met at The Wicked Horse," the woman adds on conversationally. "I was getting flogged in the stocks, and Kynan rescued me. Whisked me off to this luxurious mansion for an evening of fun."
I blink stupidly, trying to process. "I'm sorry. The Wicked Horse?"
"It's a sex club I belong to," Kynan replies and walks over to a sumptuous-looking armchair. He drops down with elegant grace and motions with his hand toward the couch, indicating I should take a seat.
Now I'm shocked. So much so that I'm rooted to the spot. "Sex club?"
"Oh, don't sound so boorish, Jocelyn," Kynan chastises me in that sexy British accent. "You should give kink a try sometime. You would have no shortage of movie stars and rock gods lining up for you."
I can feel the heat creeping up my neck as the woman walks over to Kynan with a glass of club soda in her hand. She settles down right onto his lap, and I'm stunned when his hand goes between her legs.
Not to squeeze her thigh or give her a caress.
Goes right to her core, and while the hem of her robe covers what he does to her, I know it must feel good because her eyes roll into the back of her head, which then lolls on his shoulder. Her legs start to fall open to give him better access, and I get just a glimpse of a smirk on Kynan's face as he watches me closely for a reaction.
I spin away, mortified and equally pissed off. I start for the door, unwilling to stand for whatever it is he's trying to prove here.
"Stay," he commands, and for a heartbeat, I almost obey him. That voice of his . . . all cultured sounding but incredibly arrogant and demanding almost ensnares me. I used to obey him a lot when it came to sex, but I chalk that up to the fact I was just oh so young when we were together.
I'm not young and na?ve anymore, so I keep walking.
I make it to the foyer before he calls out again, "Walk out that door, Jocelyn, and you know your life is in danger. Your psychopath could be out there right now."
They are the right words.
I freeze in place, feeling my shoulders slump in resignation.
I'm pretty much in a no win situation, and I had known when I walked through his door that Kynan’s help would cost me more than just money. It's clear that as a means to repent for what I did to him, he's going to humiliate me first by making me stay while he gets the woman in his lap off.
But to my surprise, I hear him say, "We're going to need to call it a night, love. Go get your clothes on and call yourself a cab. I've got some money in my wallet on the dresser to pay for it."
"Sure thing," I hear her reply and then there's nothing but the sound of kissing, some moaning, and a deep groan from Kynan. I can only imagine what she's doing to him, but I refuse to turn around and look.
Only when I hear the woman's soft steps on the staircase do I give my attention to Kynan again.
Kynan
It's another punch to my gut when Jocelyn turns to face me. Surprisingly, she's even more beautiful now than she was twelve years ago at the age of twenty. She's filled out in all the right places, and despite the haunted look in her blue eyes, her face is a work of art any man would be hard pressed to ignore. Her hair is more of a platinum blonde than when we were together, and I find the pale color looks even better on her. Though, it does make the bruising on her neck stand out in stark contrast against it.
Those marks, clearly from a man's hands around her throat, were the first thing I noticed when I laid eyes on her. I was battling a rage so intense that I almost stumbled down the last two steps of the staircase.
I've seen Jocelyn a lot over the years.
Usually on entertainment shows, giving interviews and such.
Accepting awards and signing autographs.
She's come a long way from her early days as the opening act for a Vegas singing legend.
It took one savvy talent scout to catch her crooning an Alannis Morrisette song, and her life changed in an instant.
So did mine, and not for the better.
"Take a seat," I tell her with a nod at the couch.
She listens, but her walk is slow, her steps measured. There's a slight limp there, and I'm guessing more bruising lurks somewhere under those clothes from whatever happened last night.
I try to ignore the cold chill that races up my spine as I realize that Jocelyn could have died last night and I would have heard about in on the news.
I can imagine the headlines now. Reigning Queen of Pop Murdered in Her House by Stalker.
Jocelyn sits stiffly and awkwardly with her hands clenched tight on her lap and her gaze focused there.
"Tell me everything," I say.
Her eyes come to me slowly. She licks her lips, and just that little action right there causes more of an erotic sense of pleasure within me than any of the dirty things that were just done to me less than twenty minutes ago. I hate that she can get a physical reaction from me when she isn’t even trying.
"A little over two years ago, I got a letter in the mail that was definitely different from the crazy sort of fan mail one can expect . . ."