Her Mating Scheme

Chapter 9

They were in her room in the bright afternoon, both windows glowing with the late-summer sun.

They'd talked about wanting each other. He hadn't pushed. Diane had decided she was ready. That day her parents were gone until late and… and she loved him. And, maybe more importantly, he loved her.

But she hadn't told him her parents would be gone. She had wanted to give herself a chance to change her mind if it didn't feel right. But instead, she'd found herself buzzing with excitement, hopping around all afternoon, waiting for him to arrive. Because he didn't know, and she did, and she was ready.

When he finally arrived, walking easily into their kitchen the way he always did, the afternoon sun throwing sparks off his dark hair, his handsome face softening when he found her, she'd practically thrown herself into his chest, arms around his neck, taking the kiss deep fast.

He was surprised, but he caught up quickly, his breathing turning heavy, his arms coming around her in that gorgeous, warm, wall she adored.

"What—?" he'd rasped a minute later as she pulled him towards the hallway and the stairs up to her room.

"Just come with me," she whispered, and kissed him again.

They'd kissed and breathed and stroked their way through the house to her room, only pulling apart when they were at the door and she needed to turn to open it. She'd stared at him a minute first, and he stared back, his eyes a little wider than usual.

His hands shook. And that was what made her certain. She'd been so certain.

She took his hand then and led him inside, then came to a stop in the middle of the carpet. He walked right up behind her in that way he always did, putting himself over and around her, his fingers trailing down her sides to rest at her hips.

But she'd stopped, suddenly, Swallowing hard.

Her little, single twin bed she'd had since elementary school stood stark in the middle of the floor, beckoning—and taunting her with her innocence.

He'd felt her tense and immediately given her more space. She turned to find him, chest heaving, his broad shoulders rising and falling, but his eyes… those eyes… they were always a bright, startling ice-blue, but today in this light and with they ways they'd had their hands on each other, his eyes glowed, sparkling like ice over lights.

"It's okay, Sash," he'd croaked. "I can wait." He didn't want to—she could see the yearning in his gaze. And the lump in his jeans. But he meant what he said. He could wait. And he would. For her.

He was so f*****g perfect, he put her to shame.

She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "I know you can," she whispered. "But I can't."

He'd blinked and offered his hand, then a slow, heated smile started on his beautiful lips as she stepped back into his arms. He'd cupped her face and taken her mouth so deeply, so slowly. His trembling fingers brushing her hair back off her face, then dragging down her nape, to her spine. And she shivered.

She'd shivered a lot that day—

"Sash?" his voice was deeper now, harder. But as she blinked back to the present, his eyes were unchanged.

The same eyes as she'd seen that day—shadowed in the dark of her apartment building parking lot. Sharper and almost haunted, looking for the predators. But he'd turned in his seat and when their eyes locked, his ice-blue eyes… melted.

"You're here," she said, like an i***t.

His throat bobbed. "I never really left."

She felt her face fall, pinching with confusion and pain. "But—"

"I'll explain, I promise, Sash. But we've only got a few minutes. Because they think I'm leaving you here, and I'm not.. But as soon as we step out of this van, we're probably being recorded. So you need to listen to me for a minute, okay?"

~ Tryson ~

Diane nodded at him, her face pale, and her eyes slightly glazed. s**t. She wasn't just frightened, she was in shock.

With another muttered curse he pushed up and out of the driver's seat, crawling over the bench seat into the back of the van.

Her eyes widened and he realized he'd probably done that a little too smoothly. But hopefully she'd just put it down to her own shock.

She was still sitting in the jump seat, still clipped into the seatbelt, but her eyes followed every move he made. So he crouched on the floor of the van, putting himself lower than her, and spoke quietly and calmly as he unclipped her seatbelt and held it so it would return slowly and not make that clunking noise. She was already on the edge. He didn't need to startle her.

"So, what we're going to do, is we're going to go inside and get a bag of your things. Not much, just enough to keep you going for a few days. But the clothes, they need to be comfortable and tough. Only one pair of jeans. Leggings and Ski clothes are better if you have them—stuff that will keep you dry and warm in snow. You won't need make up or anything like that. And don't bring ID. No wallet. Nothing that can identify you to someone else, okay? Plus, you'll need to leave your phone here."

"What?! Why?"

He raked a hand through his hair as she pushed away from him in the seat. "Because the people that we're running from will be able to track it," he said honestly. "The best chance we have of getting away from them is to leave no trail. No way to trace you. No identifiers at all."

She gaped at him, her forehead furrowing into lines. "Tryson … why?"

He put a hand to her face and felt her skin prickle, smelled joy and desire thread into her scent, and his heart leapt. "Because the people I'm close to are dangerous, Sash. And they want to know why I haven't been able to leave you alone for five years. And why I showed up to follow you tonight. And why I hid you from them. I'm sorry. This is my fault. They're after you now because of me, but you have to know, I never wanted that. It's why I've avoided you all this time."

She searched his gaze and when she spoke, it was with a broken, strangled voice. "Tryson … are you… are you in the mafia or something?"

He huffed a laugh and caught himself. "No," he said, emphatically. "This is way bigger than that."

"What could be bigger—?"

"Trust me, Sash, you're safer if you don't know. But here's the thing you need to know: I never wanted to leave. I never chose it. And I never stopped watching over you. Ever." He'd never dominated her before—never wanted to break her will. Never wanted her to give him anything she didn't choose for herself. But he let himself feel the weight of those words, feel the truth of them, let them echo in his ribs and feed into his veins. Let her feel the strength and certainty in him. She needed to know.

She needed to remember she could trust him.

She blinked a few times and her hand twitched like she was going to touch him. An ache bloomed in his chest when she fought it.

He had to remind himself that she didn't know he'd been so close for so long. She didn't know why he'd left her alone, that he'd been protecting her, even then.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, finally when she didn't answer.

She nodded slowly. "I'm just not sure I should," she whispered, her eyes blazing with fear and hope and a storm of emotions he couldn't untangle in her scent.

"You know me, Sash," he breathed a truth he hadn't told another living soul. "You're the only one who ever knew the real me. Trust that."

In the opposite of what he'd hoped for, she frowned at that and pulled back, pushing herself deeper into the seat. "I can't trust anything you say," she said simply. "You lied to me."

"No, I never lied, I was—"

"You told me you were coming for me and you left and you never came back. I waited for you, Tryson . For five f*****g years I waited and now you show up and almost kill a man in front of me and you tell me to trust you?!"

She was beginning to shake. If he didn't handle this carefully, she was going to break.

"No," he said, his voice low and gruff. "I'm telling you to trust the Tryson you knew. And watch me. Because you'll see, I'm still him. I promise."

"And if you're lying?" she said in a tiny voice.

It was a risk. They needed to move and he needed to get her clear on how they were going to do this. But he reached for her, traced her hair from her temple, back behind her ear. She closed her eyes and bit her lip when he touched her.

Just that tiny moment, that tiny touch… she was like a drug in his system. His heart pounded, racing faster than he could run. His skin throbbed with it. Nothing did that to him anymore. He was as cold as a machine. He'd been forced to think like a machine. To be untouchable.

But she touched him, deeply. Every time.