Deep Under (Tall, Dark and Deadly #4)(18)

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Myla





Time seems to stand still as I pace the master suite, trying to get my head around everything that has happened in the past hour, and how it impacts my plans, if Kyle will impact them in a good or bad way, if at all. Whichever it might be, Kyle is a reminder that Michael trusts no one, not even me, completely, and I cannot ever forget that.

Dragging my hand through my hair, I ignore the bed, and walk to the window framing the living area in the far right corner of the room, staring out at the Dallas skyline without really seeing it. Instead, I think of the one year, two months, and four days I’ve been with Michael Alvarez. That’s how long it took for him to allow me any freedom and even that is a fa?ade. And now, Kyle is here, and the very fact that he’s not Juan is a huge relief, but I don’t know his motives, and he’s just…I don’t know what he is, besides really overwhelming. And intense. And appealing in ways that make him very, very dangerous, especially since he has this crazy way of making me feel safe just by existing, but he could be part of this trap Michael is setting for me.

Blinking, I try to focus on the skyline, the twinkle of city lights touching the now dark horizon, but my mind drifts. He wants to trust you, Kyle had said of Michael. He’s right. He does, and though he’s resistant to really do it, this is a big step that I’ve struggled to make with him. This is a good thing that helps me become the new me, so why does it feels so damn dirty? Why do I still feel so damn dirty? I press my hand to my face, the blood rushing in my temples. I’m going to drive myself crazy if I stand here much longer. I need to do something. I need out of this room.

Crossing to the dresser, I open a drawer, pausing a moment with the memory of the statue that had sat on top and held a camera. Were the cameras meant to stay or were they were part of a setup and a game? Because if they were real, and Kyle saved me from them, that means Juan would have watched me dress and undress. Was Michael really going to let that happen?

It’s a horrible thought, considering Juan is not like everyone else to Michael. I think he would have let it happen. Juan has to go and maybe, just maybe, no matter what Kyle’s role in all of this, he’s the one who can make that happen.

Encouraged by that idea, I remove a pair of black workout leggings, a black tank top and sports bra, as well as socks, before walking to the giant closet by the bathroom, and flipping on the light. Quickly changing, I pull a black hoodie off a hanger, slip it on, and stuff my phone in the pocket. Somehow, I end up staring at myself in the mirror behind the door, trying to remember a time when I’d bought my own clothes, reveling in every item I’d saved and craved until it was mine. I don’t even know that person anymore, and my sister, Kara, wouldn’t know this one I am now. And she can’t ever know this me, nor am I stupid enough to forget that, though the very fact that Kyle was asked to keep me away from her says that Michael isn’t sure of that fact.

Knots form in my belly, where my hand presses, then balls into a fist. I need him to know that I’m with him and loyal. About to drive myself crazy all over again, I exit the closet, and don’t give myself time to think about the crazy butterflies Kyle’s presence seems to have given me, or about his hot, probing stares, all of which could be a planned seduction. I sure as heck don’t let myself think about the way he clearly analyzes my every thought and motive. I push onward and I don’t stop walking until I’m at the bedroom door and pulling it open, exiting into the living area, where I find him absent. Deciding he must be in one of the many bedrooms, most likely by the door, where he would know if I tried to leave, I hurry down the hallway and pass open doors, where he is not. Finally, I reach the last door, and I hear what I think is fingers hitting a keyboard.

Inhaling against a sudden rush of nerves, I step to the doorway, lingering just outside the room, and knock on the wall. In a blink, Kyle is standing in front of me, big and just so darn masculine, that musky, spicy scent of him exploding in my nostrils.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his blond hair sexily messed up, his green eyes sharply alert, and guaranteed to see too much.

“Aside from no one trusting me and me not trusting them, everything is peachy. I just need to take a run. It’s stress management for me. I know you get dragged where I go, but-”

“Give me a minute to change,” he says. “And come in. I have security equipment I set up that I want to show you.” He widens the door and backs up, but I hold my footing, nervous about entering his bedroom, when Michael would be furious over such an action.

“I’m not going to bite,” he says. “At least not now.”

My gaze jerks to his, where I find mischief and laughter. “It’s not funny,” I chide.

“Perhaps not,” he says, “but the way your cheeks are heating is absolutely adorable and not at all what I expect from the woman at Michael Alvarez’s side.” He doesn’t give me time to digest that observation, let alone respond, before he’s moved on. “And yes. This room is where I plan to sleep, simply because it’s also our new security center.” He firms his voice to a command. “Come inside.” He disappears into the room, assuming my compliance. I could refuse, but somehow, I just don’t.

I step beyond the doorway, finding him waiting on me a few steps back, his room a reversed direction, smaller version of my own, only his dresser and TV are on the right wall, and his sitting area is much smaller. “Our new security system,” he says, indicating three MacBook Pros sitting on the desk directly in front of his bed. “I want to show you how to operate it.”