Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
28
Payton
The past fewweeks were nothing like I expected my life to be under Trent’s roof.
I’m so confused, I can barely think.
And now, I’m sitting in my bedroom reading about Carl Jung before I leave for class.
The worst part is, I only have one week until I perform in front of the staff, and I can barely concentrate.
None of the Trent parts of my situation is as bad as I thought it would be. It’s just confusing as hell. Especially the last time I was at Cresthill.
Trent.
He’s different than I imagined.
And then there’s the talk with his mom. Every day, I become more and more confused over who he is.
The angry son of Ronald Aldridge.
The caring friend to Henry Wian.
The benefactor—cough, torturer, cough—of yours truly.
The hot guy in the sauna I wouldn’t mind seeing naked some more.
Thinking about Trent in all of his forms, clothed and not, has become something I’m doing far too frequently.
And right now, I can’t.
I have too much to do.
I need to get through a grueling day of classwork, but more studying first. I had too much work for my actual business major before he assigned this damn presentation on top of it.
I pray he’ll let it go, not make me do this silly book report and presentation, but I know he won’t. There is no point in wishing when I am certain this man is going to take every opportunity available to make me suffer through his “homework” regardless of my coursework.
No amount of begging and pleading for him not to will work.
Placing the book down, I stand from the bed and fix my dress before heading out the door.
It’s late enough in the morning, so Trent won’t be around.
I step out into the hall, and like I expected, it’s clear. Walking toward the front of the loft, I bump into no one.
Just the way I like it.
I can finally breathe when I step out into the city air.
It’s cold today. Winter is officially in the air.
I didn’t bring a coat, but I guess it will be okay.
The subway is only a few blocks away, and then I’ll be hot.
I am halfway up the street when I hit a proverbial wall. My body lurches forward, my hands shooting up to brace for something to catch my fall.
There is nothing there.
My hands grasp air.
The next thing I know, I’m falling to my knees.
The air in my lungs is pulled out of me on impact.
What the hell did I hit?
Knowing my pattern lately, it has to be a person.
And sure enough, when I look up, it’s just in time to see not a what but a who.
A man.
I can’t see his face because his head is down, and he’s already off in the opposite direction. The man hit me and didn’t even apologize. And he turned the opposite way, back to where he came from.
He’s in a rush, on the phone, and I was the casualty.
Stupid jerk.
The least he could do after almost making me roadkill is say he’s sorry.
Two muscular arms reach out and lift me up from the ground, and I’d startle, but the familiar scent of his cologne grounds my insecurity.
“Are you okay?” Trent’s gruff voice asks.
His brows are drawn together in anger.
Is he angry with the man or with me?
“Thank you,” I say sincerely as I straighten back to my full height.
His jaw goes tight, and he stiffens at my comment. He doesn’t want my thank you, that much is clear from the way he looks down at me like I’m a pesky little mouse.
“You need to be more careful,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“Did you not see what just happened?” I think I’ve reached my threshold for bullshit because my voice is way harsher than I intended. And still, I don’t stop. “He plowed into me. Not vice versa.”
He lets out a huff. His head tilts down, breaking our eye contact. I welcome the peace from his scrutiny.
Until he sighs. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“Yes, just my leg. I’ll be fine.”
His gaze pulls back up, and our eyes meet. There is a softness to him now. One that I’m not used to.
“You should clean it,” he says, and that’s when I finally look down.
How I didn’t feel the cut is beyond me. My leg hurts more than my knee.
I can’t believe I hit the concrete that hard. Embedded in my knee is dirt and debris from the New York City sidewalks.
Gross.
I don't even want to think about it.
Trent’s eyes look dark when I return my gaze up to his. The blues of his irises are almost all gone, replaced with black pupils. As to be expected, his jaw is tight.
I’m not sure if he’s angry with me still, but he doesn’t seem to be. Not really. At least not more so than usual.
“Come on, let’s go.”
I shake my head. “I have to get to school.”
“You don’t have to be at school for two hours.”
“I forgot you know my schedule.”
My eyes roll of their own accord.
He glowers down at me. “I know everything about you, Payton.”
“Not really,” I mumble under my breath.
We’re both silent for a minute, staring at each other before Trent takes a step toward the direction of his building.
“Come on.” His fingers brush against my elbow, nudging me forward. “I need to clean your leg, and then you can go to school.”
“I don’t have time. The next train isn’t for two hours. I’ll still miss class.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Don’t do me any favors, please,” I mumble.
They always come with strings attached. The kind capable of choking.
“Want to say that louder?”
“I said don’t do me any favors.” I tip my chin up and cross my arms. “I know you’re just going to have a damn attitude about it later.”
That shuts him up.
Together, we start to head back in the direction of his place, but I’m slow on my feet. It’s not that it hurts a ton, but it stings, and because of the blood trickling down my leg, I’m limping.
I’m shocked when his hand reaches out, stopping us. The next thing I know, I’m in the air and resting tight in his arms.
Cradled to his chest.
Like the day I cried into him. Only this time, I’m able to enjoy it.
Dammit, Payton. You are not supposed to enjoy this.
“I can walk,” I say, sounding more breathless than I wish to.
“This is faster.”
He can’t hold me like this. Not when I am embraced so tight I can feel his heartbeat.
I hate him.
Fine, maybe not hate him, but I have strong feelings against him. Feelings that will certainly be confused if he’s nice to me again. The last time he was, I was torn up inside for days, not sleeping and playing over the moment on repeat in my head.
And that was merely a hug.
This . . .
This is so much more.
He has to put me down, or I’m destined to be the next star of a Groundhog Day sequel, and this is the day that I will choose to relive. That, or the one when I spotted him enjoying his sauna nude.
“You can’t just pick a girl up on the street like this,” I plead, hoping he will come to his senses before I allow myself to melt into his warmth.
Because if I close my eyes right now, his presence is enough to soothe me. To help me forget all my problems . . . except he is the problem, so I can’t allow this.
“Yet . . . I did.” He tightens his grip on me. “What are you going to do to stop me? Just be quiet. The faster we get home, the faster we’ll have you cleaned up, and the faster I can get back to my day.”
“Again . . . Don’t need your help.” I realize I’m leaning into him and shift away, sucking in a breath when he just pulls me closer. “And I didn’t ask to be knocked over by that guy.”
“You’re still going to get my help.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Rich coming from you,” he says, and I bite my lip to keep from saying an obnoxious retort.
He’s helping me.
And he is right.
At the speed I was walking, it would take all day for me to get it cleaned. I would never make the train.
This might be completely embarrassing, but it certainly does help.
In his arms, I feel strangely at peace.
I don’t want to read into these feelings.
Nor do I want to think about the way he smells.
Or the butterflies that are flying in my stomach.
Nope.
Keep your thoughts on something that doesn’t make your body warm.
Socks.
Yep.
That’s what I’ll think of. Smelly socks . . .
He takes a step, and as he does, he pulls me even closer to him. His hands that are wrapped around me dig into my exposed flesh.
Shit.
Socks.
Socks.
Socks.
It’s not helping.
Nothing is helping.
His fingers are too close to my upper thigh . . . and not close enough to where I’ve wanted him for weeks. Touching my skin under the hem of my dress, wishing they would move higher.
My eyes flutter closed.
My senses reel with sensations.
Conflicting emotions swirl inside me.
As much as I want to deny it, I can’t. The feeling of him on my skin has me hoping for more. With each step he takes, his fingers move ever-so-slightly, a gentle massage that sends currents of desire pooling in my core.
If he moved his hand a little higher, he would touch my . . .
“Socks.”
“Socks?” he says.
My cheeks burn.
I said that out loud.
“Nothing.”
He sends me a weird look, adjusting me against him to open the door to his office.
He places me on the couch, and I’m left alone with my thoughts and a pounding heart. When he’s near, I’m overwhelmed with want and desire I’ve never felt for another man before. I take a deep inhale, hoping to regulate my pulse that is still skittering erratically.
When he reenters the small office, he feels too big for the space.
My face isn’t the only thing hot. The skin on my neck, down to my chest, and across my collarbones starts to heat as he moves closer and closer to me. When he drops to the floor in front of me, I think I might pass out.
The man has seen me naked, and I’ve seen him naked, but nothing feels as intimate as this.
“Give me your leg.” He huffs.
I look down at him and pucker my lips. “It’s fine. I’m a grown woman. I can do it myself.”
I have no desire for a showdown right now. I am hurt and not in the mood.
“Give me your leg.” His voice is rough around the edges. Leaving no room for disagreement.
I’m afraid if I don’t, he will do something rash. Reluctantly, I move back on the couch, and my knee is now directly in line with where he is crouched in front of me. I can see his eyes are staring down at my bruised and bleeding leg.
I’m not sure what is wrong with me, but the sight makes me feel tingly all over.
Like I have pins and needles across my body.
My heart hammers in my chest as his hand reaches out. Even though I am watching him, I’m not prepared for my reaction when his palm wraps around my calf muscle to steady my leg so he can clean it.
The second his skin touches mine, I think I might faint.
It’s not that this is the first time he has touched me.
Most of the time, it’s by accident, but there is something about this position.
Him kneeling in worship before me.
His head angled toward my thigh.
His fingers on my skin.
My heart feels like a pinball. Or at least, like it will certainly combust from all the pent-up pressure building inside me.
As he wipes me with a wet rag. It feels like my skin is on fire. It ignites under his ministrations. Not even the cold compress can cool me.
His gaze is intense as he mends my wounds. It roams lazily over my leg, following the path of his hand as he works up to my knee.
With each caress, the fire grows inside me. It’s a blazing heat I can’t comprehend, and at this moment, I don’t want to.
Instead, I just watch him.
His palm is so big, he grazes my upper thigh as he cleans the wound.
He never looks into my eyes. It’s like he refuses to see me. See me for the woman I am. Not the miserable reminder of what his father did to him. Did to both of us, really.
I’m torn about how this new situation makes me feel.
Part happy. Part relieved.
But a bigger, hungrier part is desperate for him.
I feel so much right now.
Lust. Desire. Need.
I need to see the look that is reflected in his eyes. To see if he feels it, too.
Has this all been a figment in my mind?
No. This has to be a two-way street of excitement. The way he swallows when I’m close. The way his gaze follows mine, and just now his touch . . .
I’m not making this up.
There must be something he feels for me besides this hatred.
Something is there. I’m sure of it.
It lingers beneath the surface, but I sense it in every look.
It’s the same way I think I must look at him. Confused. But still with desire. Conflicting emotions. But that’s okay.
People can feel two different things.
They can be two different people, too.
Desire and hate can coexist.
Just like Trent can be an asshole, yet . . . he’s not.
His actions are never black and white. There are shades of gray in every move he makes.
The way he treats me is in complete contrast to the Trent who volunteers at Cresthill.
It’s like his father.
Good and evil.
Trent’s touches have me looking back down. His forearms flex as his large hands clean and remove the rag.
What will he do next?
I think my heart might beat out of my chest as he leans in and gently blows on my skin.
“W-what are you doing?” I finally croak out.
“Drying it,” he grits through clenched teeth as he works.
Everything inside me feels warm and tingly.
His hand creeps higher. His fingers bracket my thigh.
He waits there for a beat as though asking permission.
Time stands still. The warmth of his fingertips playing havoc on me.
Melting me.
Toying with me.
Searing me with a desire I can’t understand, nor do I want to.
When I look at him this time, I find that he is looking back at me.
His eyes are hooded, giving him away as he breathes out through a clenched jaw.
Then he pulls his gaze from me and slaps a bandage on my knee.
The pain that radiates from the sudden movement is enough to make me hiss out an “ouch.”
It breaks the spell.
I shake my head, and he stands and steps back.
“Meet me down in the garage in five minutes,” he grits through his teeth.
Then he leaves the room as fast as he can.
But it’s too late.
Something has changed between us.
Shifted.
Morphed into something more lethal.
More dangerous.
Slipping easily past the iron cage of my heart.
What the hell just happened, and where do we move on from here?