Pieces Of One, Part 2 (The Dark Life Collection) Read online

  “Something like a Kiwi graphed into bioskin?” I say excitedly.

  Bryson is bemused by my question. “Exactly. How do you know about Kiwi and bioskin?”

  “For one of my lab projects, I’m building a prototype computer like Kiwi, but half the size. It will have the same features, but with mods to the design to give it greater abilities. You know how with Kiwi, you have to be aware of overclocking? Well with my build, that won’t be an issue due to an internal monitor and software balance. I was going to pair it with a micro-camera I built but…,” I pause thinking about my destroyed ear cuff. “Uh…”

  “Couldn’t get the configurations to couple?”

  Bitterly, I grimace. “Yeah, something like that.”

  The legs of the chair scrape against the hardwood as Bryson sits back and crosses his arms over his broad chest. His navy t-shirt molds to his body like liquid color. Yes, God built this man.

  “To answer one of your questions, I’m using Kiwi to connect to my office. Because the GPS Locator is turned off,” he holds up his cellphone, “they can’t trace the connection.”

  My brain is churning with ways someone could still trace his digital footprint. “What about your IP?”

  “It’s off my corporate server. I’m just using an echo.” Confusion must still be scripted on my forehead because Bryson smirks roguishly. “There is a Kiwi connected to a satellite phone in my office. I have that bouncing signal around the world and accessing through a back-door private cloud server.”

  Nodding my head, I am rightfully impressed. “You’re hacking your own infrastructure.” He bellows a laugh and smiles broadly at my assessment. “And it’s secure?”

  “Hope so,” he says affronted. “I built the damn thing.”

  Damn, he couldn’t be hotter right now. My mouth waters the more my thoughts settle on the man sitting a few feet away from me. All the tech talk coming from those luscious lips, and his mischievous, bright glittering eyes, have me rising from my seat. I inhabit his space and come to rest on his lap. Tilting my head, I search the clear blue pools that are filled with so much knowledge. I run my fingers through his neatly manicured hair, giving him a messy bed-head look. I imagine him as a boy running through an Italian vineyard and wonder how the man I’m staring at came to be.

  The Bryson exclusive scent infiltrates my senses as I lean in to get more like an addict. I sniff, trailing my nose from neck to ear.

  His jaw flexes indicating a hard swallow. “So geek-speak gets you going, huh?”

  “Mmmm…” I graze behind his ear. The vibration from my lips shoots straight down to the crux between my legs. I clench my butt cheeks to contain the throbbing, but my effect on him is ridged, and pushing up beneath me. A slight release gushes and lubricates my girly parts as I shift my position. The pulsing sends a craze of electrical impulses firing through my body. I need to be sated.

  My ribs smart when I straddle Bryson, but my want supersedes the ache. I push myself flush against every solid plane of his body letting his heat suffuse into my skin.

  He has the most adorable ears and the temptation to nibble the lobes is something I do not deny myself. My tiny bites turn into suckling the meaty lower half. His breath becomes swift against my neck and I feel his heart’s sudden rushing beat against my chest.

  “Tell me more about the prototype,” I murmur in his ear.

  I hear the swallow he takes before he speaks. “I…uh…” My nibbles move to the helix at the top of his ear. He breathes out loudly. “Um…the Kiwi can detect the differences between the brain’s impulses to both functioning and unresponsive muscle tissue.” Bryson gulps again when the tip of my tongue licks the small triangular gap in his ear. I couple that with a few strokes of my hips against his lap. “The algorithm…balances and mimics…fuck, you’re making this very hard to be a gentleman, Trista.”

  “I like my gentlemen hard.”

  Holy shit! Where did that come from?

  Bryson jumps up and gently sets me on my feet. “Let’s go work out.”

  I can think of better ways to work out than what he is suggesting.

  Smirking, I see the pink head of his cock peeking out of his pajama pants waist band, as if it’s saying, “Hello, Trista! Nice to meet you!” I’d give it a proper hand shake greeting, but Bryson spins and is moving quickly out of the kitchen toward his upstairs bedroom. Crap. That looked delicious.

  What the hell? My eyebrows knit. Shut up, Marvy!

  Day-by-day, Marvy is coming through stronger. I check myself the reflective surfaces more often, caring about my appearance. There is a sway in my walk, a confidence in my movements, and an aroused feeling of sexiness overcomes me whenever I’m around Bryson.

  Perhaps working off the tension between my legs on the treadmill isn’t such a bad idea. I can feel her comments and her smarmy thoughts under my skin. I still don’t understand why she just doesn’t come out if she wants him so badly.

  My stomach jerks at the thought and I catch a sneer raising my upper lip.

  Whoa. Am I…jealous?

  No, I can’t be. I’m with Alex in my real life. He’s the good guy, the white hat; shit, the one who didn’t try and sell me as a business perk. This is just a play I have to act out. There is nothing real here and no layers of a hidden agenda under my hidden agenda. The cravings that take over my brain when I’m around Bryson are not my true feelings, they are Marvy’s. Her lust holds no affect and I cannot let it rule this situation. I need to stay in control and clamp this shit down.

  Before leaving the kitchen, I check his laptop, but it’s locked again. Shit. There’s no time to hack it, he’ll be back any minute. I’ve been trying to get in whenever he’s not around, but he’s got mad inscription skills. That first time in the kitchen a few days ago must have been a fluke.

  I grab his cell phone but even that has a security code and thumbprint verification to gain access. After two failed attempts, a warning pops up alerting me of a forced shut-down. He’d know I was trying to get into his phone. Double shit!

  “You know I don’t have Candy Crush on that,” Bryson jokes from the kitchen entry. I jolt and the phone hurtles from my hand, skids off the table, and hits the floor.

  I scramble for it, heating up like a furnace. “I’m sorry. I…I…I just wanted to send a text. You said this is untraceable.”

  Bryson strolls over with a chiding expression. “It is, but anyone you call, you endanger. Your friend Catherine, for example. People saw us sitting together at the table. They could find you through her.”

  The valley between my eyebrows deepens.

  Fuck me, he could be right. What have I done? Did I drag Kitta and Jones into this shit? Could someone be watching them, waiting for me? Dawson better be keeping his promise to keep everyone safe, including Kitta.

  Arms the size of my thigh wraps around me, but I don’t return the gesture. “Don’t worry, I have a man out at your house to make sure your family is safe.” I look up at him with curious eyes. Bryson shrugs, pursing his lips. “I got you into this.”

  Another sign of kindness I don’t expect.

  “One of your bodyguards?”

  I was wondering where the other bodyguard was. I only see the one that stays by the front door. Maybe the other is at my house.

  “Trust me,” he smirks. “I have people.”

  “I guess. They must be the sneakier ones bringing us groceries and fresh flowers since I don’t see anyone else coming to the house. I would have figured a man like you would have servants or at least a butler.”

  “I told you, I’m normally never here. Every other month Serafina sends a cleaning crew, but other than that, I was raised to take care of myself. Just because I have money, doesn’t make me dependent on people to do simple things around the house.”

  It’s strange that Bryson insists on doing everything himself. He cooks for us and we wash dishes together. He wipes down the counters and the table like the Health Inspector is coming for a meal. All the stainless
steel appliances are spotless and not one fingerprint can be found on any glass surface. Mr. Seviride is actually very domestic. A little OCD about it, but then again, so am I.

  I relax into him, inhaling that Bryson-scent and sigh on an exhale.

  Those tree trunk arms squeeze me. “Feel better?”

  “Ouch,” I flinch and squeeze my eyes tight. “I did, but I don’t think the pain meds have fully kicked in yet.”

  Bryson lightens his hold on me. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “It’s not too bad, I’m good.” In actuality, I do feel better, so I nod. It’s stupid, but I feel content just like this.

  “Okay good. Let’s hit the weights and beef you up, skinny girl!” Bryson pushes me by the shoulders out of the kitchen. “Go get dressed. I’m going to make you work today.”

  I roll my eyes, but do as he says.

  MY HOTNESS POINTS must be at an all-time high with the sweat triangle that’s formed in the middle of my sports bra as my feet pound on the treadmill. His ex must have been smaller than me because my boobs are squished together so tight, I could start taking credit card purchases. But she must have had a great butt. The running shorts have a little more room than I am used to and it’s quite airy down there.

  After stretching, I started at a passive, but quick, walk to test my pain tolerance. So far, I’ve been gradually increasing the speed and am jogging at a nice pace. The digital readout states I’ve run slightly more than two miles, yet I already feel my legs burning and breathing is a challenge. I don’t stop though, because that’s just ridiculous. Kitta and I run five miles before either one of us are winded.

  “You are not fully recovered, young lady,” Bryson says pushing the button to slow my pace. Maturely, I stick my tongue out at him.

  He lies down on the bench and waves me over. “Come spot me.”

  “Really?” translates in my grimace and I hop off the treadmill. “If you can’t manage this weight, I may just let it drop on your face. Don’t be such a pansy.”

  My sweat towel is already damp, but it’s better than nothing so I grab it and stand at Bryson’s head. Upside down, his blue eyes twinkle with mirth and good God, just like that, the throbbing is back. At this angle, I could totally sit on his face.

  Oh my GOD! Stop it!

  Regardless of being surrounded by the glass windows on the top floor of the house, my pervy mind strays with all the positions we could be in on the various equipment. It doesn’t help that Bryson is grunting and huffing with each lift of the barbell. The sweat that rains down his arms has me licking my lips. His chest muscles move with each action and his arms shake, but maintains control of the weighted bar’s descent. The navy color of his shirt is darkened with sweat and near black. There is nothing sexier than a physically fit man in a tight black t-shirt.

  “You’re doing it again,” he says, shaking me out of my musings.

  Faking my best innocence, I widen my eyes. “What?”

  “You’ve been optically fucking me all over this gym.”

  Shrugging, I give him a crooked grin. There is nothing I can say in my defense. I find his sweat hel-liously sexy and it’s like his muscles have muscles. I about died when he was on the Versa climber thing. It was a total body workout for him and for me. His gluts must be rock solid. I just want to reach out and find out for myself. Then he hit what he called a Treadwall, and the thing practically went vertical. I almost lost my balance and fell off the cycling exercise bike angling my head to the side. The way he held on by his fingertips, dangling till he got his footing was mind-boggling. All the machines in his custom gym are geared to train for mountain climbing. I, myself, wouldn’t mind rappelling off his cliffs.

  Crap on a crouton!

  I need something else to direct my thoughts. A topic that will keep my thoughts occupied and won’t draw my attention to Bryson’s man-cakeiness. Those damn gym shorts he’s wearing don’t help either. They do nothing to conceal his peeter piper. During his climbing practice, I thought I saw “it” peeking out so I’m pretty sure he’s going commando. Just what I needed–easy access!

  “Have you seen—,” I point to his entire…well, him. “—You?” I say and look away when I realize I’m staring at his nipples again.

  He huffs a chuckle with a little blush shading his ears. “As a matter of fact I do on a daily basis.”

  “You must get the look all the time. Isn’t that how your ex looked at you?” I ask. He flinches as if I’d hit him with a baseball bat.

  Whoops, raw nerve.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. Honestly, I don’t really want to know.”

  Sitting up, Bryson rubs the back of his neck and then rolls his head. “For Dariandra, it was about my money and social connections. I was stupid enough to believe she loved me. She freaked over the pre-nup and left me. I saw the signs, but I ignored them. Then I found out she had been cheating on me for months. Her and her boyfriend tried to extort money from me by threatening to go to the police with some of my emails and memos that she had stolen. The Croatians didn’t like that. I don’t know what they did, but I haven’t heard from Dariandra or the boyfriend again. I see them from time to time at parties, but they leave as soon as I get there.”

  I sit behind him and wrap my arms around his mid-section. Even though his shirt is soaked with sweat, I give him a squeeze and lay my head between his shoulder blades.

  “I’m sorry, Bryson. She sounds like a bitch anyway. Good riddance to bad rubbish as my dad used to say.” Beneath my ear, his breathing slows. “I never understood that phrase. Is there such thing as ‘good’ rubbish?” He cranes his head backward to look at me so I look up at him and give him a big, cheesy smile.

  Holding my arms to take me with him, Bryson stands, and then spins me around to face him. “You are too cute.”

  Ew, cute? Really?

  After he kisses the crown of my head, he reaches down to collect his sweat towel off the bench. “I think we’re done here. Let’s clean up and have some lunch.” Bryson releases me, and sweeps his arm out indicating for me to head downstairs first. What a gentleman.

  Sigh. Well, at least I’m not thinking about his junk anymore. Good lord, I need a brain enema.

  THIS WAFFLING IS making me crazy. It has to be a horny-Marvy thing, so I reaffirm my conviction to get the heck out of here. Getting away from Bryson is for the best. At least that’s what I tell myself. Out of sight is out of that nymphomaniac’s mind. We’re supposed to leave for Croatia in three days. This means I have three days to talk Bryson out of it, or three days to somehow escape from this house without him noticing. Neither option seems possible. Every time I bring up not going to Croatia, Bryson has a reasonable answer as to why I have to be with him.

  That one bodyguard is always at the door from the moment I get up, till I’m headed to my room for bed. I have no idea if he sleeps and if he does, I have no idea where. None of the rooms show additional signs of occupancy. My only guess is that he sleeps standing up like a fucking flamingo. Not only do I have him to worry about, there is another other bodyguard watching the outside of the house. Oh yeah, plus all the doors and windows are wired for intruders. A fruit fly couldn’t get in or out of this place without a DEFCON 1 siren going off.

  Bryson told me we’re meeting up with his passport guy today. Then if all goes well with my appointment with Doctor Mason tomorrow, we’ll fly out. Maybe an opportunity to slip away will present itself en route. If anything, maybe I can get to a phone. Mom would answer, but our houseline might be tapped. I can’t remember her cell phone number and I never call Jones. I could call Kitta, but would that endanger her too? She was at the club with me. Even though I never hit Send, I’ve dialed Alex’s number so many times, I’ve memorized it. He’s my best bet.

  A compunctious spider-like feeling of shame creeps inside me. I’m only thinking of Alex now out of necessity. My thoughts have been saturated with Bryson all this time thanks to Marvy, but it still makes me lower than pond scum.


  That’s it. No more sexy Bryson thoughts. He is off-limits. He tried to use me and for all I know, sell me. When I get out of here, I’m zapping Bryson out of my mind and I will be Alex-exclusive day and night.

  So what if Bryson and I have a lot in common? Who cares that he cooks and cleans for me? Is it that important that he pulls my chair out and serves me first? That he has someone bring in fresh lilies for each room every day just because I said they are my favorite flower? And does it matter that I like when he turns into a five year-old when talking about code and computer dorkery like me? That he is a gadget geek too?

  I’m sure if I spent as much time with Alex, I’d find commonalities.

  I scrunch an eye and pull in the corner of my lower lip for gnawing while trying to think of at least one thing I know Alex and I have in common.

  He smokes and I don’t.

  Bryson doesn’t really smoke. He was only doing it at the club around Marvy. I believe him since he hasn’t lit up once since we’ve been here.

  Alex is a night-owl because of the club. I’m a day-walker. I didn’t see any books at Alex’s place either.

  Bryson’s Study is packed with them. He’s constantly learning something new or trying to figure out a better way to do something. On the second floor he has a lab with half-built computers and bots. He did manage to mutilate a toaster though, which I put back together. We actually have a lot of fun together despite not leaving the house.

  Damn it, I think I might actually like Bryson.

  Visualizing Alex, I attempt to force the same feelings I have when Bryson is around. But the two are so different. Yet Alex and I have a connection somehow. Why would I have dreamt of him if we didn’t? We don’t have anything in common though as far as I can tell, but my heart thrums just thinking about him. With Bryson, it’s more carnal than anything else and that’s Marvy’s fault. He and I have more of a mental connection–his body and mind turn me on.