367 Days Page 7

  He wasn't wrong.

  No one wanted to think their government did things to its own people. But, fact of the matter was, they did. Every government in every country in all the world.

  It happened in San Quentin prisons from the nineteen thirteen to nineteen fifty-one when the doctors performed illegal surgeries on inmates.

  It happened up until the seventies when big business companies paid the prison system to inject dioxin into the inmates.

  It happened in the sixties and seventies to poor black people who were given whole-body radiation without being told it was being done to them.

  It happened in the early two-thousands when people all over the United States were injected with artificial blood without their knowledge, unwittingly increasing their chances of heart attacks and death.

  MK-ULTRA.

  Project Bluebird.

  Project Chatter.

  And those were just the ones that were declassified and brought to the light. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of others.

  Brock wasn't a conspiracy theorist. He had just seen enough corruption and unethical government overreach to be understandably aware of the possibility of it happening again.

  Bringing it to my attention was, whether I liked it or not, a good thing. I needed to be open to all possibilities on a case as weird as Riya's. As much as I doubted it was a government experiment, I had to admit there was a chance.

  Especially done the way that it was.

  It was perfect.

  She had no memory of what happened to her over the course of her missing year. So when she showed up at the cops and hospital, they just thought she was nuts. No one would believe her after that was recorded, even if she did eventually start remembering what happened.

  There would always be a record of her being nuts.

  It was a flawless plan.

  And if there was one thing the government was good at, it was taking out their own trash.

  "I'll keep my mind open," I assured him, making the last of the tension leave him. "Right now, I have a lot of work to do. I needed all the test results and Barrett's file so I know where I am heading. I have her former co-workers to look into. I need to go back and talk to her landlord alone. And I need to track down these exes and these people she thought of as friends. I have a lot of questions for them."

  "Starting with why no one filed a missing persons report," Brock said, nodding.

  "Exactly. Why, when someone has a proven track record of being reliable and easy to get in touch with, did no one think it was weird for her to fall off the face of the Earth?"

  "You need any help on this one, I'm in. And not just because I think she's the best looking woman in this town."

  "Nice to have a challenging case," I agreed, nodding, understanding that. "I'll keep you up to date," I told him, giving him a nod. "Go home. Get some rest."

  "Rest?" he asked, giving me a smirk. "The last thing I plan to do is rest."

  "Another woman already?"

  "Nah. Same one," he said with a shrug.

  "The same one who threw you out with nothing on and then screamed at you?" I asked, brow raising, lips twitching.

  "What can I say... I like a little spirit. Nothing better than a passionate woman."

  I shook my head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Brock."

  "Hey," he said, stopping and turning back from the doorway.

  "Yeah?"

  "Riya in your place..." he trailed off.

  "Strictly professional."

  "Yeah," he said, grinning. "I give that two more days tops."

  He would win that bet.

  EIGHT

  Riya- 1.5 days

  My body jostled, the sensation both foreign yet familiar. I lifted up, hovered for the barest of seconds, a strong pressure under my knees and across my upper back. My side pressed up against something strong and warm. I turned my face and was met with material and a faint smell of spicy cologne and just... manly musk.

  I rubbed my cheek and sighed, slowly making my way toward consciousness, my brain and body objecting, but drifting awake anyway.

  "Didn't figure you for the snuggle sort," Sawyer's voice said, lower than usual, like he was trying to not startle me.

  "Sawyer?" I heard my voice mumble as his body started moving.

  "Shh. Go back to sleep."

  "Why are you carrying me?" I asked instead, eyes fluttering open. My head tilted and I looked up into his deep green eyes.

  "You didn't look comfortable," he said, stopping walking suddenly.

  He looked different to my tired eyes, a little softer but rougher at the same time. There was scruff on his face and his hair was in disarray.

  I liked him messy.

  "Careful," he said oddly.

  "Hmm?" I asked, my voice a little dreamy.

  "Keep looking at me like that and we're going to have a problem."

  "What kind of problem?"

  "The kind where I lose what is left of my self-control."

  "And do what?"

  "What your eyes are telling me you want me to do," he said, voice getting a little husky.

  "You want to kiss me?" I asked, always being the type to prefer clarification over assumptions.

  "I want to do a lot more than kiss you, babe. But it's a bad idea."

  Even half-awake, I understood what he meant.

  It was never a good idea to mix business with pleasure.

  That being said, I wasn't in the mood for rationality. My world just got turned on its ear. I was lost and confused and, yes, scared. And alone. I was so, so alone. I just wanted to feel something other than all that negativity for a change. I needed a break from it all.

  My hand slid up over his chest, slipping up the column of his neck, then traced over his scruff, his short hair scraping across my palm as I laid it on his jaw. My eyes found his, heavy lidded and heated.

  "Riya..."

  "No more talking," I said, pulling him down toward me.

  He didn't object. He didn't even hesitate.

  His head lowered.

  His arms tightened around me, crushing my body to his as his lips descended on mine.

  With a man like him- so controlled, I had expected to be kissed with precision.

  But his lips were surprisingly hungry, wild, demanding, completely lacking restraint.

  I whimpered against his mouth, my hand crushing into his skull, holding him to me, as my other hand dug into his shoulder.

  His arm moved slightly, his hand moving down to grab my behind at the lowest point, pressing until I realized he was trying to get me to move my leg. My arms crossed around his shoulders as I allowed him to help coax my legs to either side of his body, wrapping around his lower back. His hands stayed planted on my ass as he walked a few feet.

  My back slammed against the wall in the hall.

  His hands slipped from my butt and both moved up to frame my face, his fingers pressing in just shy of bruising as his tongue thrust forward and claimed mine.

  A low, tortured moan escaped me as my legs tightened around him instinctively, desire like a sparking live wire going off through my system, making my breasts swell, my heart pound, my skin get almost alarmingly sensitive, making my sex clench hard as a rush of wet met my panties.

  A rumbling growl came from deep in Sawyer's chest, vibrating into my own as he shifted his hips and I could feel his hardness press at the heat of me, making my body jolt at the unexpected contact.

  My thighs tightened again and my hips rose and dropped, grinding against him shamelessly, beyond caring that we had just met, that he was working with me, that I was living in his place and this would only get complicated, that I was likely only doing it because I was emotionally fragile.

  All that mattered was the need clawing inside me.

  Sawyer took over, his hips pushing in hard while rising and lowering, pressing against where I needed him most as my teeth nipped into his lower lip and he let out another rumbling growl.

  His cock s
lid up, pressing hard into my clit, making me jolt as I let out a loud, throaty moan.

  Then I suddenly felt his hands press into my hipbones, holding me against the wall as he pulled roughly against my hold of him, making my legs fall from around his waist and drop. The second my feet hit the floor, he released me completely.

  "Fuck," he hissed, moving away from me and walking into his bedroom, closing the door with a firm click.

  Completely unprepared for the sudden need to use my legs, I slowly slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor, my knees tight into my chest, trying to take deep breaths to calm my rapid heartbeat.

  "Fuck," I agreed quietly.

  Mistake.

  That was a huge, epic, stupid mistake.

  What was I thinking?

  So what if I woke up in the strong arms of a guy who made my disastrous situation tolerable? So what if he gave me sexy eyes and sex-rough voice? So what if I was attracted to him?

  I was a grown goddamn woman.

  I should have been able to control myself.

  I certainly shouldn't have melted into him, pulled his face to mine and demanded to be kissed, or dry humped him.

  Jesus.

  I totally dry humped him.

  Then he dry humped me right back.

  Until he stopped just as suddenly, leaving me high and dry. Or, in a more literal way, low and wet.

  And really, really regretful.

  It was one thing for things to get out of hand and both of you realize it in the middle of things, pull away, laugh it off, and move on. It was a whole other to be ready to keep things going and have the other person pull away then stalk away.

  It wasn't that I felt rejected. I wasn't rejected. I had felt just how much he wanted it. And let's just say... Sawyer had a lot to offer.

  It was that he had gotten to his senses first, leaving me to look weaker and less in control of myself.

  I didn't like that.

  I rested my elbows on my knees and cradled my head in my hands, trying not to overthink it, trying not to worry about the consequences.

  "Hey," Sawyer's voice said, surprising me enough to jolt back and slam my head against the wall. "Really," he said, and when I looked up, his lips were twitching, "I really don't think you need any more memory loss. Ease up on that head of yours."

  I let out my breath. "What do you want, Sawyer?"

  "Alright, well," he said, squatting down beside me. "You don't know me, but I am not the kind of guy who hides away from or avoids confrontation. So when shit happens that needs to be discussed, no matter how uncomfortable, I discuss it. So we made out..."

  "Really, this doesn't need to be a conversation. We're both adults. We made out. It meant nothing. We can move on."

  "Making out almost never means nothing. Especially when it's not some random drunk make out. So let's be adults here and be honest and admit there is at least a small attraction here."

  "Fine," I said, nodding a little tightly, making an effort to visibly uncurl from myself so I looked less like I was trying to keep myself from falling apart.

  "Come on. Put on your big girl panties and say it," he said and I got the feeling he was deliberately trying to goad me.

  "Fine. I'm attracted to you."

  "Of course you are," he said with a cocky smirk. "I'm attracted to you too. But that being said, we both see that giving into that is a shit idea."

  "Yeah," I agreed.

  "Good. Then we can move on," he said, standing suddenly and reaching down to offer me a hand.

  Perhaps it seemed mildly petty of me, but I refused it, taking my feet without any assistance. It wasn't some bullshit 'prove a point' move. I just really thought not touching him when my lips were still tingling from his lips and I could still practically feel his cock rubbing against me was a good idea.

  "So this isn't going to get weird?" he asked as I stepped over Slim to get into the guest room.

  "Not at all," I said, giving him a fake smile that I was sure he saw right through. "Goodnight, Sawyer."

  I closed the door, but I heard him wish me a goodnight as well and, if I wasn't mistaken, his voice sounded amused.

  I moved toward the bed, feeling my clothes, heavy and itchy on my over-sensitive skin. On a resigned sigh, I undressed, getting under the covers in only my panties, rolling onto my side, closing my eyes tight, and trying to ignore the almost painfully insistent throbbing between my thighs.

  But that proved impossible.

  And, well, sometimes a girl had to do what a girl had to do to be able to think straight.

  My hand slid down my body and against my panties, stroking myself in hurried circles, not wanting to drag it out, just needing a release so I could stop fantasizing about going back across that hall and telling him to hell with the consequences and finish what we started.

  Fact of the matter was, for my mind, it had only been a couple months since I had been touched by a man. But in reality, to my body, it had been a year and a couple months.

  So when my fingers found my clit, it was a matter of only a couple short minutes before an unexpectedly fast orgasm coursed through me, making me let out a low whimper that was uncharacteristic of me when going solo.

  I came back down just as quickly, always finding self-satisfaction a little hollow, a little less, a little bit like an itch getting scratched instead of an experience the way sex was for me.

  So that was the main reason that, literally two seconds after I came, I heard the barely audible whisper of Sawyer's voice in the hall right outside my room.

  "Come on Slim, up."

  I heard the clip of the leash on Slim's collar. Then I heard the jingle of his tags down the hall, into the living room then past the kitchen. Lastly, I heard the front door slam.

  "Oh my God," I groaned, rolling to my side and burying my face in the pillow.

  Because, really, there was no way to deny that he had heard me. And being a very attractive and likely quite sexually experienced man, there was no way he would mistake what, exactly, that sound I made was.

  Great.

  That was just lovely.

  I jumped out of bed, dressed, ran to the bathroom to get ready for bed, then threw myself back into my room a mere two minutes before Sawyer came back with Slim.

  I listened as Sawyer got ready for bed then as he went into his room. Then, seeing as there was no way I was going to sleep after that whole incident, I listened as he got up right before the sun did, took Slim out, made coffee, left to, I assumed, work out, then came back to shower, make breakfast, then leave.

  I waited a good twenty minutes after that before I ventured out, finding Slim in the hallway watching my door like he had been impatiently waiting for me.

  When I walked out into the kitchen, I not only found fresh coffee, but a plate with dry rye toast and an egg over easy.

  But that wasn't all.

  Oh no.

  What I found was a pair of my panties that I must have left in the dryer and a note that said "Big girl panties" along with the door alarm codes.

  The bastard.

  He knew I was avoiding him.

  The worst part about the whole situation was he was right. Avoiding him was immature. I needed to get it together.

  If things were going to work with him working for me, we needed to be able to, at the very least, be in the same room without me melting into a pool of embarrassment.

  I took a deep breath, grabbed the panties, but left the note.

  I wanted him to see that I put them on.

  And maybe a small, petty part of me wanted him to know exactly what those panties looked like, to imagine me in them.

  Which should have been all the proof I needed that this whole professional relationship thing was totally not going to work.

  NINE

  Sawyer

  It was like a punch to the nuts to hear her when I walked into the hall to take Slim for a walk. A walk, I might add, that I needed to try to work off the extra sexual energy I had cou
rsing through me from making out with her. Then as I leaned down to pet his head, I heard the low, throaty sound of a moan behind her door.

  And I knew she hadn't been able to just shake it off and go to sleep. No. She needed a release, a release I wanted to give her a fuckuva lot more than I should have.

  But I had been right to pull away. Just as I had been right to talk it out with her as well. Nothing good came from letting shit slide. And nothing good would come from getting involved with someone who I was not only working for, but who was crashing at my place. If things went bad, as they likely would eventually, I couldn't tell her to leave because she had nowhere else to go.

  It was a genuine no-win situation.

  Though I couldn't help but goad her when I was sure she was avoiding me.

  The panties were just my way of reminding her that we agreed to move on from the make out session. Even if I had taken the issue into my own hands once last night and twice that morning and it still wasn't out of my system.

  That didn't matter.

  What mattered, I reminded myself as I jumped in my car and hit the road toward Navesink Bank Fertility Center, was the job. The clinic was a building I had passed by countless times and never really noticed. It was a one story white stucco building with dark windows, shaped shrubbery, and a small square parking lot out back. I parked, climbed out, grabbed a notebook, and headed in.

  The inside screamed 'doctor's office'. There was a small u-shaped sitting area with arm chairs that had awful mauve cushions and a large coffee table covered with a dozen parenting magazines. And an issue of Golf Digest... just for good measure. The walls had some kind of oatmeal-colored textured wallpaper and the floors were hardwood and shiny. There was an L-shaped white reception desk that faced both the seating area and the hallway where it led into multiple exam rooms.