I Belong to You (Inside Out #5)(45)

Part of me wants to shout at him and make him tell me everything. Another part wants to rush around the desk and kiss him, and promise him that everything will be okay.

But I do nothing. I wait.

He moves first, breaking the spell as he opens a drawer and pulls out a letter opener. Unsealing the box he’d picked up from the front desk, he pulls something out, and then rounds the desk to lean against the side near me.

He holds up a small velvet bag. “Come closer. I don’t bite.” Then his sensual, often brutally erotic mouth quirks. “Okay, I do bite. But since you’re not afraid of me that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What’s in the bag?” I ask, certain that whatever he’s holding is about how today’s events fed his need for control. This is one of those moments where he’s going to test me; one of those times I need to overcome my own past, to preserve in the present.

He sets the bag on the desk and my eyes follow, trying to conjure an idea of what might be in it. “Come here, Ms. Smith,” he commands.

His voice is deeper now, more forceful, and his “Ms. Smith” sends tingling sensations through my body, delivering the erotic heat that he’d promised it would last night.

I don’t deny his demand, but I want answers I intend to claim. Closing the distance between us, I reach for his jacket, but don’t manage to obtain my target.

Before I can blink, he’s grabbed my waist, walked me backward, and set me in one of the red visitor chairs. His hands rest on the leather arms on either side of me, his big body caging mine as he leans forward. “If you have something to ask me,” he says, his voice low, tight, “you ask me. Not someone else.”

“I was worried sick about you, after what you told me about Corey and the police. I still am. I needed to know you were okay.”

“You only had to wait ten minutes to get those answers from me. There’s nothing more to tell, and she’s bound by a confidentiality agreement anyway. She damn sure better not be running her mouth to anyone.”

“She didn’t. She told me she couldn’t.”

“But you tried to get her to.”

“I just asked for more details on Corey, and what the police were saying about him and you.”

“And since there’s nothing more to tell, and she’s supposedly abiding by her contract, you got fed the ‘I’m like Blake’ bullshit I’m sick of hearing.” He doesn’t give me time to deny or confirm his accusations, adding, “Don’t go around me again. I told you this morning. I’ve trusted you in ways I trust no one, but trust goes two ways.”

“You’re right, it does. But if you think selective honesty is true honesty, you’re mistaken. I’ve seen the extra phone, Mark. Are you trying to find Ava on your own?”

His eyes are hard, unreadable before he straightens. “What would you do if the person who killed someone you cared about was on the run, and was still a risk to others?”

It’s not his obvious admission that he’s playing vigilante that bothers me. It’s his choice of wording that sends me to my feet to face off with him. “Someone you cared about? Don’t you mean the woman you love?”

His lashes lower and he cuts his gaze away.

I make a sound of disbelief. “My God. She’s dead, and you still can’t say you love her.”

His gaze jerks to mine. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is. You loved her. That’s clear for anyone to see. You still do. What do you think is going to happen if you admit it? She’s going to come back from the grave and demand a wedding ring? Maybe you aren’t pretending to be an *, after all.” I start to turn and he captures my arm. “Don’t,” I say in warning. “I’m angry for her, and sad for you.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“And clearly she never really knew you—yet she still dared to give you the biggest gift anyone can give. Herself.”

His jaw clenches and unclenches, and I want him to admit his love for Rebecca. I want him to be the man I believe him to be. Instead, he releases my arm, leaving me frustrated, disappointed, hurt for reasons that I can’t name and make no sense, and my feet can’t take me fast enough to the door.

I exit to the hallway, my mind racing. Somehow, as furious as I am with Mark, I’m still thinking of the black velvet bag and wondering what was inside. This must be what happened to Rebecca. He got under her skin and seduced her just by existing. Before she knew it, she was out of her own mind and in his, just like I am, caught in the web that is Mark Compton.

Entering the lobby, I will myself to focus on the job I have to do. I stop at the receptionist’s desk and wait for Beverly to end a call. “Do I have any messages?” I ask when she’s free.

Her eyes go wide and she nods. “Do you ever.” She sets a stack on the desk in front of me. “Thanks to all the press, there’s an extra-large pile of angry customers for you today.” She holds up a finger. “Oh yes, and this.” She hands me a white envelope with my name typed in the center, the word “Private” on the corner.

My brow furrows. “Any idea who it’s from?”

“A messenger brought it—that’s all I know. Probably a reporter. They’re desperate to get to you.”