The Stranger, page 10
“Ahh,” Abigail screams, tugging on her own hair in frustration. “Why are you so hellbent on ruining my life?”
Pot, kettle.
I shake my head in disbelief. “How do you figure that?”
“Spencer was my future … not yours.”
“And Kayne was mine, you spiteful, vindictive, narcissistic, gaslighting troll.”
“Delilah! That is enough,” my father bellows from the front room.
I can’t even with these people.
My sister gives me a smug smile, and something inside me snaps. “I hate you!” I roar.
They are words I never thought I’d say out loud, but right now, I mean them with every fibre of my being.
Abigail’s cunning smile grows as she leans in and whispers, “Don’t get too comfortable, Lilah … I took Kayne from you and now I’m going to set my sights on Spencer.”
“Thankfully, skank isn’t his style. And why are you so obsessed with the men I date? Do you enjoy my sloppy seconds, Ab?” The words are out of my mouth before my brain even registers what I’m saying.
“Fuck you,” she sneers.
I reach for the handle of my suitcase, preparing to flee to the safety of my bedroom. Tears of pure rage are now clouding my eyes, so when my sister raises her hand and violently slaps my face, I don’t even see it coming. I certainly feel it, though.
Slamming my bedroom door behind me, I wipe my stinging bottom lip, only to find blood on my fingers when I pull my hand back. Abigail is having a complete meltdown in the hallway—crazy bitch—and my parents are trying to console her.
The loss and devastation I felt when I first found out about the affair pales in comparison to what I’m experiencing right now. I’ve never felt more alone in my life. I can’t stay here with these people. It’s obvious where their loyalties will always lie.
I lift my suitcase onto my bed and unzip it as I begin to throw all my belongings inside. My hands are shaking as I slide my phone out of the back pocket of my denim skirt and dial Spencer’s number. I have nowhere else to turn.
The moment I hear his voice, I break down.
“Delilah, sweetheart … fuck, what’s wrong?” His concern only seems to wreck me further.
“I … I …” The tears are coming thick and fast and I’m so overcome with emotion I can’t even string two words together.
“Hold tight. I’m turning the car around now … I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
True to his word, I can hear someone bashing on the front door a short time later. It’s followed by some commotion in the hallway before my bedroom door swings open so violently it hits the adjoining wall with a thud, startling me.
I turn to see Spencer standing in my doorway. His breathing is rapid, and the concern etched all over his handsome face is evident. In an instant, he’s stalking across the room and folding me in his big muscular arms.
He holds me, tenderly rubbing his hand up and down the length of my spine until the tears stop. Once I’ve settled somewhat, he gently cups my face in his hands and tilts my head back so he can get a better look at me. His eyes search mine briefly, but when they flicker down to my cut lip, I see his worried expression morph into something else.
Leaning down, he briefly places his lips against my hair. His tenderness has the tears rising to my eyes again. He doesn’t ask me how I am; he can see I’m not okay. He doesn’t even probe as to what happened, but when he glances at my open suitcase on the bed—with my clothes haphazardly thrown inside—he releases me.
I watch on as he grabs the last of my things off the mattress, and stores them inside my suitcase before zipping it up. Once he manoeuvres it onto the floor, one of his hands wraps around the handle, while the other reaches for mine. Then he starts walking. Out of my room, down the hallway, and through the front door. He gets me seated in the car first, securing my seat belt, before stowing my suitcase on the back seat.
We travel to his house in complete silence, but his big strong hand remains wrapped around mine for the entire journey. It anchors me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel seen, cared for, and safe.
Words cannot convey how grateful I am to this man.
When we arrive at Spencer’s apartment building, it’s close to midnight. It’s a rinse and repeat of last night when he picked me up from work and brought me here for the first time … with one obvious distinction.
Once we’ve parked in the underground parking area of his building, he helps me from the car and collects my bag, but this time when we cross the polished concrete, heading for the elevator that will take us up to his floor, he reaches for my hand and entwines our fingers together.
I glance up at him, but he keeps his face trained forward. I can see by the pinch of his eyebrows that he’s still angry … and I’m hoping it’s not with me. The last thing this man needs is my family’s drama to add to his already stressful life.
When we reach the elevator, he stabs at the button with more ferocity than needed. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.
His gaze snaps down to me. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Delilah,” he barks, and when his grip on my hand tightens, I feel a lump rise to the back of my throat.
“I only called you—” I dip my face before continuing, “—because I had nobody else.”
“I’m glad you did,” is all he says.
The ride up to his floor is silent. After entering his apartment, he abandons my suitcase in the main room and leads me down the long hallway—past the room I slept in last night and towards his bedroom. The one he distinctively told me was off-limits.
As soon as I realise that, I try to tug my hand out of his grip, but he holds tight. “Where are you taking me?”
“To my bathroom, to clean up your face.”
“Oh.”
Deep frown lines mar his forehead as he stops in front of his bedroom door and glances down at me. “Where did you think I was taking you?” When I grimace, he follows up with, “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
He flicks on the light when we enter, and my gaze moves around his bedroom as we pass through. Last night as I lay in bed, the perverted and obsessive side of me—the side I’ve only recently discovered—wondered what his room looked like, and if he slept in pyjamas, his underwear … or God forbid, naked.
His space is nothing like I imagined, apart from being luxurious. It’s masculine, and a touch broody, with dark blue walls and bulky wooden furniture. The scent of his cologne still lingers in the air. It smells exotic, musky, and delicious, just like him.
My skin prickles as I stare over at his neatly made king-size bed that sits smack-bang in the middle of the room. Beyond is a row of floor-to-ceiling windows that line the far wall. I bet the view from up here is spectacular.
As soon as we enter the bathroom, which is just as lavish as the rest of his place, he releases my hand. “Sit,” he orders, gesturing to the side of the giant bathtub. I do as he asks, and my fingers nervously knot in my lap as he rifles through the drawer beneath the vanity.
He lays everything out on the marble countertop once he finds what he’s looking for. I suck in a sharp breath when he turns to face me. He looks like he’s experiencing some sort of emotional distress as he gazes down at me and it tugs at my wounded heart. I never should have gotten him involved in this mess.
My mind races as I try to think of an alternate plan. I’ve saved a decent amount of money over the past few weeks … well, enough to get me a hotel room for the next couple of nights. We both have work in the morning and I feel terrible keeping him up.
When I stand, his frown lines deepen. “Where are you going?”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Spencer, but I think it’s best if I leave.”
“Leave,” he growls, and I don’t miss the slight panic that just flashed through his eyes. “And go where? Back to that place … with them? I don’t think so.”
“I have a little money saved; I can stay at a hotel.”
“Not when I have a perfectly suitable room you can stay in for free.”
“I never should’ve gotten you involved in this mess … it was selfish of me.”
“You didn’t all of a sudden become selfish, Delilah. What you became was harder to manipulate … don’t confuse yourself between the two. Now sit.”
“I …”
He gives me a look so stern that I immediately comply. “Good girl.”
Turning, he flicks on the tap and wets a face washer. My heart is thumping in my chest when he wrings out the excess water and squats down in front of me. I’ve never been able to observe him this closely before, and I’m now just noticing the specks of gold that surround the irises of his rich chocolate-brown eyes. They shine with warmth like a cosy firelight. It’s scary how comfortable I’ve become with this man, considering I didn’t even know him two weeks ago.
“This might sting a bit,” he says, bringing the warm cloth to the side of my mouth. His movements are so soft, so gentle, and a complete contrast to the fierce and unyielding man I’ve come to know.
When he pulls the cloth away, his face remains mere inches from my own. His gaze flickers from my lips to lock with my eyes. I can feel his hot breath as it skates across my skin, and for a moment, the world seems to stand still as the air around us crackles. I have an overwhelming compulsion to lean forward, closing the distance between us, so I can place my lips on his, just like he did with me earlier tonight.
Before I can gain the courage to do just that, the moment is broken when he abruptly stands. Spencer clears his throat as he gives me his back again and tosses the cloth into the sink.
The upper part of his body leans in towards the mirror as his hands reach out to grasp the edges of the countertop. “Are you going to tell me what happened tonight?” He looks so big, so formidable and I can see the muscles in his back ripple underneath his formfitting shirt. His grip on the marble is tight because his knuckles are now turning white. Is he bracing himself for my explanation?
“I fought with my sister,” I answer.
“I gathered that. Did it have anything to do with our kiss?”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Maybe … and me staying here last night probably didn’t help. When I walked through the front door, she launched her attack.”
“Hmm,” he hums in the back of his throat. “I apologise, Delilah. I’m sorry that my actions have made this situation worse for you.”
“Hah,” I scoff. “My situation was already dire before you entered the picture.”
“What was your parents’ take on this fight?”
I swallow down the lump that has now returned to my throat. “They took Abigail’s side, of course.”
“Of course they did,” he sneers.
I blow out a puff of air as my eyes travel down the length of Spencer’s spine, pausing when they reach the round, tight buns of his backside. I might be in the middle of a crisis, but I can still take a moment to appreciate how well he fills out those black trousers he’s wearing.
When I hear a throat clear, my eyes snap up to the mirror where I find him watching me. Shit. My gaze quickly shifts to the far wall as I stand. “It’s late, and we both have work in the morning.”
He spins around to face me, and I’m thankful for the few feet that’s now between us. “I need to put some antiseptic on that cut first.”
I hold out my hand. “I can do it. I’m going to have a shower first … if that’s okay.”
He reaches for the bottle and cotton balls he placed on the countertop earlier. “Of course.” I try not to react to the shiver that shoots up my arm when our fingers brush.
“Thank you … umm … for everything, Spencer.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Delilah.”
“I do.”
“Well, you’re welcome.”
Twenty minutes later, I exit the bathroom in the spare room, and I see a glass of water beside my bed and two paracetamols. Next to that is an ice pack for my lip. Tears sting the back of my eyes as I pop the pills into my mouth and swallow them down.
He’d surely deny it if I ever confronted him, but underneath that tough exterior of his is a beautiful, thoughtful human being. He’s like my knight in shining armour, and I may not deserve his kindness, but I appreciate it nevertheless.
Chapter 14
Spencer
“Mother,” I say when she answers my call.
“Spencer, darling,” she replies. “What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
“I have a minor problem … I was hoping you could help me out.”
“You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Son.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips because I’m so grateful for her. I may not be close with my old man, but I’ve always been able to count on my mother over the years. And after witnessing the clusterfuck that is Delilah’s parents, it only makes me appreciate her more.
“It’s concerning Delilah,” I say.
“Oh no, what has happened to that poor girl now?”
“You don’t want to know,” I growl.
“That bad.”
“Yes.”
“That makes me so sad. She’s such a sweet thing.”
I wholeheartedly agree, but I don’t voice that out loud. My mother doesn’t need any encouragement when it comes to the women in my life.
“Is it possible for her to come and stay with you for a while until I can sort something more permanent out?”
“What about your apartment? You have spare rooms.”
“She’s been staying there for the past few nights, but … you know I like my privacy.”
I hear her laugh down the line. “Oh, is that captivating little blonde starting to penetrate that rock-hard exterior of yours?”
“Mother,” I groan. “Can she come and stay with you or not? You have plenty of room, and I know you’d welcome the company.”
“Actually,” she replies. “Now’s not a good time.”
“Why?” I snap.
“You know I’m in the middle of renovations, darling.”
“You’re having your kitchen redone, not the entire house. You don’t even cook, so I fail to see how having Delilah stay there could be an inconvenience.”
“Not to me … never. You know how much I adore that girl, but having a pretty young blonde around while I have a house full of strapping, young tradesmen might pose a problem. On second thoughts, she’s just been through a traumatic breakup … maybe a good rebound fling is exactly what she needs.”
When I growl down the line, she laughs again.
“That’s the last thing she needs,” I grumble. “Never mind. I’ll see if I can work something else out.”
“I had a feeling you’d say that. How about the three of us meet up for dinner one night this week?”
“I’ll think about it,” I mutter, and I can still hear her laughter as I end the call.
I should’ve known my mother would pull a stunt like this. I’m not stupid. She has an agenda … namely, setting me up with a certain little blonde. She’s been trying to get me to settle down for years and probably sees this as the perfect opportunity.
What Eloise Prescott fails to realise is Delilah St. James is practically a minor and far too young for me. For those reasons alone, I have no plans of ever acting on this bizarre, unwelcomed attraction I feel towards her.
Zero, nada … absolutely none.
Today was the first day since taking over this company that I didn’t arrive at work by seven. I’m usually the first here and the last to leave. I love the solitude of being here on my own, and I seem to accomplish more when I’m not constantly being interrupted by calls or my staff.
I hardly slept last night because it felt like the weight of the world was crushing down on my chest. Despite that, I still rose early, as per usual, and headed downstairs for my daily workout at the apartment complex’s gymnasium. This morning, my routine was more vigorous than usual … I had a lot of pent-up frustration I needed to release.
I could’ve headed into the office once I had showered and dressed, getting Damien to come back to collect Delilah later, but I was eager to see her. After everything she’d been through last night, it didn’t feel right not to be here when she woke.
My stomach was tied in knots as I sat at the kitchen island and waited for her to rise. Never in my life had I felt so conflicted. Not even when my mother first approached me about taking over the company my father had dedicated his life to. The feeling was palpable. A part of me wanted to put as much distance between Delilah and myself as possible. The other side wanted to wrap her in my arms and shield her from all the ugliness in the world.
Last night, when she sobbed into my chest, I made a silent vow to myself. I wouldn’t be the next person to let her down. Not like the others had. The rage I felt towards her family for the way they’ve treated and continue to treat her, had me wanting to tear that house down with my bare hands … brick by fucking brick. If they hadn’t let me in when I bashed on the front door, I may have done just that.
Never in my life had I felt so murderous.
The anger returned full force when Delilah entered the main room this morning, dressed and ready for work, and I noticed the bruise forming on her cheek. I tried getting her to eat breakfast before we left, but she just pushed it around her plate.
On the drive to the office, she stared out the window and wouldn’t engage in any type of conversation, no matter how hard I tried. The concern I feel is real, but the only thing I can do is be there for her. If it were up to me, I’d take her entire family down, crushing them like they’ve done with her spirit, but I already know Delilah wouldn’t want that. Her sweetness is bone-deep.
“What in the hell have you done?” Delilah yells as she storms into my office.
“Huh?” I reply because I have no clue what she’s talking about.
“I have Kayne blowing up my phone, accusing me of trying to ruin his father’s business because he received a cease-and-desist letter from my lawyer … I don’t even have a lawyer,” she screeches.
