Tell Me When (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Marcus

“You wanna explain why we’re going to Nightshade?” Chase asks as he steers his car onto the busy street. “I thought it wasn’t your scene.”

“It isn’t.”

He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes on the road. Then he groans. “This isn’t about Tammara, is it?”

“Why would it be about her?” But as I say it, it hits me why he asked. It’s because that’s where she and her friends like to hang out. How could I be such an idiot? And now I’m walking in there with Amber. “Don’t worry. It’s not about Tammara. It’s about the girl I’m tutoring.”

Chase laughs. “So the girl got to you, huh? I can’t believe we’re going there so you can hook up with her. Isn’t that like violating some kind of tutor-student rule?”

“I’m not hooking up with her. She paid me to pretend we’re dating.”

Chase’s head jerks around to face me, the darkened car interior hiding his expression. “You shitting me?”

“Would I do that?”

“Right now, I’m thinking the answer is yes. Since when did you become a paid escort?”

I grunt. “Look, I’m just helping her out.”

A truck drives past, its headlights brightening Chase’s face as he throws me a dubious look. “How do you figure that?”

“Her friend wanted to go to the dance club, and Amber doesn’t want to worry about guys hitting on her.” And they will if given a chance, something I don’t intend to let happen. “So, she asked me to keep ’em away.”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Yeah, like a bodyguard.” Except this bodyguard is planning for a little physical action on the side. There’s no way I’m going there just to hold hands. For starters, I don’t hold hands.

“There’s one other thing,” I add.

“What’s that?”

“Her friend can’t know that Amber and I planned to meet up there. And she’s supposed to think tonight is a one-time-only thing so she doesn’t think Amber and I are actually dating.”

He laughs. “So what you’re saying is you’re supposed to play yourself? That shouldn’t be too big a stretch of the imagination.”

My cell phone rings. I pull it out of my back pocket.

Kitten: We’re in. Pls hurry

Chapter Fifteen

Amber

Where the hell is he?

When I asked Marcus to help me, I might not have been thinking things through. I was freaking out over what happened in the store. I was freaking out at what I remembered. I was freaking out over what Jordan would say once she joined me. Heck, I was even freaking out over what I would say to find out what I did, which ended up being nothing more than me screaming, “Let me go!” And when I saw the guy coming toward me and how Marcus inadvertently scared him off....

God, I hope I’m not making a mistake.

Jordan stops walking. She turns around, her gaze taking in what looks like a former warehouse. Even in the dimly lit dance club, with its multicolored spotlights zigzagging over the crowd, it’s easy to see her face glowing in anticipation of her newest adventure, and yet another item to cross off her bucket list.

“Can you believe this place?” she says over the loud dance beat. Her hips sway to the erotic rhythm while her hoop earrings, thick threads of gold and silver twisted together, gleam in the light. “No wonder it’s so popular.”

The sound of cheering pulls my attention to near the dance floor, to a group of guys peeling off our clothes with their eyes. I push down the desire to cover my girlie parts with my hands, since it’s not like the guys can see through the fabric of my sweater dress. And covering myself will only make things worse by drawing more unwanted attention.

Two of them break away from the group and swagger toward us while their friends watch. I groan. The guys aren’t bad looking, but I’m not interested. No matter what Jordan might believe, the last thing I want is a boyfriend.

I scan the area, searching for a way to escape before they get here, but quickly give up on that plan. I’m not leaving Jordan alone, and she’s busy smiling at the guys, which means she won’t want to leave just yet. She might not be looking for a boyfriend, but she is looking for some fun.

Just as I’m about to pretend I have to go to the bathroom, a warm breath brushes against my ear. “Here, Kitten,” Marcus says behind me. “I bought you a drink.” His hand glides along my hip and rests protectively on my waist. I stiffen at his touch, but then remind myself why he’s here and let out an uneasy breath. His scent, a combination of leather and spice, somehow makes me feel oddly safe.

I’m almost tempted to lean into him, but that would be a mistake. If I’m planning to keep Jordan from figuring out what’s going on, I need to be careful. She can’t know that I planned for Marcus to meet us here. All she needs to know is that this is a one-time deal, and that I’m just here to have a good time.

Besides, guys like Marcus don’t want girlfriends, and I’m not interested in being some guy’s quick lay.

The guys heading toward us stop, consult each other, shake their heads in defeat, and return to their friends. I have to focus on the floor to keep from laughing. This will be easier than I thought.

“Thanks,” I say, unsure if I meant for the drink or because Marcus successfully chased the guys away. I turn and my breath gets caught in my lungs. His messy black hair and intense hazel eyes give him the sexy vibe that’s gained the attention of a few girls nearby. Peeking from under the sleeve of his gray T-shirt is a black tattoo that resembles part of a tribal design, but the T-shirt covers too much of it for me to make out what it’s supposed to be. But none of this is what caused the guys to change their minds. It’s the way Marcus stands next to me and his watchful eyes that signal “Back off.”

I take the drink from him and eye it nervously.

Marcus takes it from me, and sensing my fear, drinks some of it before handing it back. “I can get you something else if you want,” he says.

Shaking my head, I lift the glass to my lips and gulp some back. It burns going down, and I’m hit with a coughing fit. Rum and coke, and whoever made it for him made it extra strong.

I cough a couple more times before the fit subsides. I look up to find Jordan trying to communicate with her eyes, only I have no idea what she’s saying.

“Marcus, this is my friend, Jordan.”

Jordan breaks into her usual grin. “Hi. Amber’s told me all about you.”

My face heats at the implication that I have a thing for him just like every other girl. “Not that there’s much to say, other than you’re helping me with my math,” I clarify.

Marcus’s friend joins us and hands Jordan a drink similar to what Marcus gave me. Which means the guys are either older than they look, or they have fake IDs.

“Hi.” He extends his hand to me and I take it. “I’m Chase. Marcus’s roommate and friend, and the guy who’s much smarter than him when it comes to math.” Adorable dimples spring to life.

Laughing, Marcus slaps him on the shoulder. “You wish.”

“Do you guys come here often?” Jordan asks, the other guys long forgotten.

“Yes,” Chase says at the same moment Marcus answers, “No”.

Jordan looks back and forth between them. “So, which is it?”

“We’ve come here a few times, but it’s not our regular hangout,” Marcus amends.

A new song comes on and Jordan sways to the beat while she glances longingly at the dance floor. I open my mouth to ask her if she wants to dance but Chase beats me to it. At her “yes,” he leads her onto the floor. He’s not as good a dancer as she is, but he holds his own. More so than most of the guys pretending to strut their stuff.

Jordan loops her arms around Chase’s neck and grinds her hips against his. I laugh at his expression. Jordan has no idea what she’s doing to him.

I’m not the only one to laugh at his reaction. Marcus chuckles, and just like that we start talking, mostly about our classes and about some of the crazy stuff we’ve seen around campus. Nothing personal, though. After he abruptly changed topics when I asked why he’s studying engineering, I got the sense he prefers to keep up a wall. But other than that, talking to him somehow isn’t as intimidating as I thought it would be.

It’s pretty easy, actually.

I don’t know how long we’ve been chatting when Marcus glances over my shoulder, for a moment lost in thought. He then closes the space between us, so less than a foot separates us. His hand strokes up and down my hip, molding to my body. He lowers his lips to my ear. “If we’re gonna convince everyone you’re off limits, we need to do more than just stand here and talk. Unless you want people thinking I’m your cousin.”

I swallow hard. “What do you have in mind?”

“Maybe this....” He brushes his fingertips against my neck and moves my hair back, exposing my skin. His head drops and his warm lips teasingly caress my neck.

Fortunately if Jordan sees him kissing me, she won’t clue into what’s really going on. She’ll think we’re hooking up after bumping into each other here.

Or at least I hope that’s what she’ll think.

His tongue flicks against the skin he just kissed. I jerk away.

Relax. Trent used to do that all the time and you never freaked out.

“Whoa, Kitten. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not that asshole from the party.”

“I know. It’s just...it’s just....” My voice fades away, drowned out by the music.

“It’s just what?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

Encouraged by my response, Marcus leans in and his lips meet mine, softly, sweetly. But he’s not satisfied enough with that. His lips try to pry mine open.

His mouth presses against mine, hurting me, violating me. I want to scream for him to stop. But that’ll make things worse. He always punishes me when I resist.

My body tenses, heart beating loud and fast, breath equally fast and shallow. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting against the memory.

Marcus pulls away and searches my face. “It’s okay, Kitten. I swear I’m not going to hurt you.” His fingers brush against my cheek. “You’re safe.”

I can tell from his expression he wants to ask who the hell hurt me. I don’t want to tell him. This is my secret.

My secret. I almost laugh at the irony. The truth was on the evening news for several days after it happened. Amber Alerts were issued. My name was splashed across newspapers and the news channels. The girl who for months had been the victim of a terrifying stalker before she was kidnapped.

But once I was found and details of my kidnapping were made public, my name magically disappeared from the news reports. I became a nameless seventeen-year-old girl, a victim of horrific acts of violence. But everyone in my town knew the news reports referred to me, even if the rest of world no longer did.

People from Crossfields may know what happened, but Marcus doesn’t. And I want it to stay that way.

“I’m fine,” I say as an idea plays out in my head. Paul was the last man who kissed me. I’ve got my life back, but I need more. Marcus is my chance for more, in a safe way. Besides, I can’t think of a better candidate for the position. He’s got to be a great kisser. Girls tend not to get all hot over guys with a reputation of being a bad kisser, right? And if I’m going to take back what Paul stole from me, what better place than to do it here, with Marcus? I mean, isn’t that what I’m paying him for? Kind of.

“You’re right,” I say. “If we’re gonna do this right, you need to kiss me.”

Eyes narrowed, Marcus studies my face for a second, as if trying to read my mind, then his lips touch mine, again, as his arms wrap around my waist. He doesn’t push me further and I’m able to relax into him.

Gaining a little more confidence from not flashing back to Paul this time, I run the tip of my tongue against Marcus’s lower lip. He parts his lips and lets me tentatively explore the inside of his mouth. I focus on his spicy scent and on his strong body against mine. A body that’s nothing like Paul’s.

A kiss that’s nothing like Paul’s.

Unlike Paul’s kisses, Marcus’s kiss is hot, but I can tell, like me, he’s just going through the motions. He’s not really present in the moment. A side effect of being a man-whore, I guess.

I continue kissing him and feel something stir deep. I quickly stamp it down as I pull away. A subtle taste of victory courses through me. My experiment, a success.

“You wanna dance?” Marcus asks, arms still around my waist. Jordan and Chase are on the dance floor, laughing and dancing to the fast beat. Both are tall and can be easily seen over most people, which is just as well since the floor’s packed.

“Okay.” Crowds don’t bother me. It’s being alone that scares me.

We squeeze our way through the mass of bodies until we reach our friends. Jordan grins and hugs me then goes back to dancing with Chase. Marcus wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer. My arms instinctively go around his neck. Our bodies press together.

I don’t dare look at Jordan. I can sense she’s watching me. I can also tell she’s reading way too much into what’s happening. And for the second time since I came up with my plan, I wonder if I made a mistake. Now she’ll be excited for me, especially since I’m not going home with Marcus, which makes me different from most girls he knows. Especially because he’s my tutor, so it’s not like this is the last time I’ll see him. Especially because she wants something to happen between Marcus and me, since she figures that will make my life complete.

Practically yelling to be heard over the pulsating beat, I ask, “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t your kind of music?” Chase seems to fit in with the place. Marcus doesn’t.

“I prefer rock music, not this dance crap.”

“I don’t mind it, but give me bands like Nickelback and Bon Jovi and then we’re talking. And I love Aerosmith, even if the band looks a hundred years old.”

Marcus laughs. “So none of those guys make you want to rip your shirt off?”

“I wouldn’t rip my shirt off for any musician. Doesn’t matter if he’s my age or sixty.”

Marcus’s lips move to my ear. “Well, for the record, I like those bands too. And for the record, some guy’s fucking you with his eyes.” His voice sounds odd and I wonder if there really is a guy watching me, or if he just said that to cop a feel. “You’re okay, Amber,” he says softly. “I won’t let him touch you.” He looks in my eyes and I see for a brief moment a familiar pain staring back. A pain I’ve seen reflected in the mirror.

I don’t want him to think that we’re playing by his rules, but this time, as his mouth moves along my jaw, I don’t flinch. And inwardly I high-five myself for not freaking out, and for once again being able to enjoy the moment a little.

But just as I think his reputation as a man-whore is overrated, he murmurs in my ear, “God, you look fuckable in that dress.”

Figures.