Behind Her Smile Page 3

  “Look what we have here.” David crouches close to me, his blue-green eyes trained on my face the entire way. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Karolina.”

  Oh, no. Is he flirting with me? Dora will hate this development. I need to point him in her direction as soon as possible. “Hi, David. It’s good to see you, too. We were just talking about you.” Glancing over my shoulder, I nearly heave a sigh of relief. Dora is cozying up to the other Morgan, whose name I’ve already forgotten. She moves fast.

  “Only good things, I hope,” he murmurs. Despite the chaos around us, David focuses his razor-sharp attention squarely on me.

  “Well—er—yes, of course.” Any English class I’ve ever taken has apparently escaped me. I can hardly speak in this man’s presence.

  “I’m very pleased to hear that. You caught my eye the moment I saw you across the pool, Karolina.” David’s hand is on mine again, his thumb caressing my pulse point. I fight the urge to squirm at the sensations shooting up my arm.

  “Thank you,” I mutter stupidly because, really, what else can I say?

  “Shots! We need ‘em. How many?” Dora interrupts us, looking none too upset at nabbing the other Morgan brother. “One for Karolina and me . . .”

  “Oh, no. No, thanks. I’m at my limit.” I gesture toward my half-full cocktail.

  Dora frowns in disapproval. “Come on, Lina. Lighten up.” She’s already pouring the clear liquid into small shot glasses laid out on the table by a waitress earlier in the night. When I refuse again, she shrugs and shoots back the liquid after a sloppy cheers with the other Morgan brother.

  “There’s nothing sexy about a woman slurring her words.” David’s smooth, cultured voice whispers into my ear, his lips brushing at the outer shell. This time, I can’t hold back the shiver. As if he commanded me to do so, I shift closer to Dora on the sofa to allow David to sit next to me. His thigh presses against my leg and his arm winds along the length of the seat behind me so his fingertips brush against my shoulder. The scent of his masculine cologne tickles my nostrils. It’s elegant and strong but not overpowering. “Now, these little shorts you’re wearing. They’re definitely very sexy.”

  “I made them,” I admit.

  He slides a finger underneath the navy material, teasing my thigh before quickly removing it. A naughty secret between us. “Beautiful, talented, and charming. Where have you been hiding, Karolina?”

  A blush tints my cheeks, and I gaze downward shyly. No man has ever given me this type of attention. Only boys have asked me on dates, resulting in a couple not-so-serious boyfriends. In a club full of cultured and glamorous women, David’s discerning eye found something about me interesting. I’m surprised that he’s here next to me when he could have any woman in this club, probably, the city. It’s not that I consider myself unworthy of David. Around wealthy and influential people, I tend to forget that I’m well educated and no different from anyone else. All I remember are the second-hand clothes I wore until I was able to create my own clothing. Insecurity wages a battle against my will to enjoy David’s company.

  I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Thankfully, David’s not suffering from the same paralysis. He lifts his hand, draws the pad of his pointer finger along the length of my jaw, and nudges it so I meet his penetrating gaze. A current of electricity flows between us.

  “How old are you?” I blurt out.

  A slow grin stretches across his cheeks. “Thirty. And you?”

  Nearly wincing at the age difference, I mutter, “Twenty-one.” What would an established man like David want with a girl like me?

  “Karolina is a lovely name.” Apparently, the disparity has no impact on his decision to stay here, next to me, finger still crooked beneath my chin to maintain our eye contact.

  “It was my grandmother’s name.”

  David nods in approval. “Family lineage is important.”

  Not mine.

  “Karolina Last-name-still-a-secret, I’d like to take you to dinner tomorrow.” It’s not a question; more a statement that he dares me to refute.

  “Adamchik. My last name is Adamchik,” I tell him quickly.

  “And?” He cocks one eyebrow expectantly.

  “Yes, I’d love to go to dinner with you tomorrow.”

  Tremors rattle across my body. A gloved hand covers my mouth, forcing me to suck each breath through my nose. Cracked leather presses against my lips and I gag at the smell. The room remains bathed in darkness. Now, I realize the severed power lines on this side of Coral Gables was no accident. The wealthy and powerful residents want to protect their assets with extensive precautionary measures. All the homes have security cameras. It wouldn’t be hard to capture footage of this monster sneaking into the home.

  My blood runs cold at the thought. This was planned. Someone wants something from David. Or me. Or both of us. Or the family fortune. The Morgan family name holds a heavy weight in South Florida. That’s why David insisted on professional security technology to protect the home yet the alarm wasn’t activated when we got back this evening. Who knows how long this man was in our house, waiting for the right time to strike.

  None of this matters now. Whoever got into the house isn’t playing around. Overwhelming anxiety takes control of my body. My knees knock together, a prickling awareness ticking each vertebra in my spine. Dizziness swarms me, and I’m unable to ground myself in the dark room. Fleetingly, I wonder if I will make it through the night. The tremors come back full force, rippling through me and making it hard to stand. If there could just be a sliver of light, I could orient myself. Then maybe . . .

  Even though he told me not to move, my captor shoves me to my knees then presses between my shoulders blades until my nose smashes against the carpet. My shoulders scream in agony when he yanks one arm behind my back and then the other. Plastic crackles and then a zip tie clamps around my wrists.

  Blackness threatens to swallow me whole. The only way I’m able to familiarize myself is by the prickle of the carpet piles. I try to slow my breaths, but I can’t.

  In, out, in, out.

  I’m going to hyperventilate if I don’t force myself to calm down.

  “What do you want?” The shakes in my body transfer to my voice.

  “Keep quiet,” the man snarls.

  “Tell me what you’re looking for. We have money. Influence. I can give you anything you want.”

  I’m pathetic. Begging. Anything to protect myself.

  “Shut. Up.” His bent knee collides with my spine, pressing me deeper against the floor. The rough touch jerks my head, and my teeth sink into my tongue painfully.

  “Ouch!”

  The man grunts but doesn’t shout at me again.

  Static crackles, plastic clicks. Then a muffled voice speaks, but I can’t make out the words. “She’s secure. In the bedroom,” the man in the room says in response.

  The voice on the other end barks out an order then I hear another plastic click and silence.

  “Fuck, it’s dark in here.” The man grumbles to himself and then the pressure on my back is gone. Relief. My quick breaths slow, settling the jumbled mess of thoughts racing through my mind. Without his oppressive weight, I have a small opportunity to level the playing field. Scrambling, I flip over and shuffle my body until my shoulders smack against the bedframe. A moment later, a trickle of moonlight filters through the bedroom when my captor yanks aside one of the heavy black shades. The light allows me the first glance at this man.

  Close-cropped hair reveals a shiny forehead. He’s around my average height but with the body of a professional weight lifter. His precise movements indicate some sort of training, military or otherwise. A fierce scowl mars his face, and his dark, beady eyes are lifeless. Despite the oppressive heat, he’s dressed in a long-sleeve, form-fitting shirt, pants, and heavy boots. All black. There’s a small electronic device wedged into his ear, and it’s blinking a green dot. A flash of metal is holstered to his hip. I swallow the bubble of alarm
threatening to overtake me. A gun.

  “Keep quiet and sit still. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be,” he growls. He has no discernable accent. Nothing distinct sticks out for me to remember him. I need to find something, some way to identify this man. He will be caught. He won’t get away with this. They won’t get away with this. Whoever they are.

  Strength. It may be buried, but I have it somewhere deep inside of me.

  “Where is my husband?”

  The man moves quickly, dropping to one knee beside me. He fists a chunk of my hair, brutally yanking my head backward and sending bursts of pain to the back of my skull. I stare at him. My assessment was correct. There’s not an ounce of humanity in him. Blank, emotionless black eyes drill into me.

  “Let me lay this out for you, bitch. I don’t give a shit about you. You are a cog in a very fucked-up wheel. All I gotta do is this job. Get paid a fuck-ton of money. No questions asked because I don’t have any fucks to give. Don’t try to cry or be begging for mercy. Shut the fuck up and don’t move.” He punctuates the growly speech and spittle nails me on the nose. I shudder away, a dull ache radiating from his tightening grip. “Got it?”

  “Y-yes,” I stutter. Another weakness creeping out. The man’s lips twist in a maniacal smile. He thinks the power has shifted in his direction; he thinks that I’m a trembling housewife who won’t fight back.

  I’m tired of people underestimating me. I’m tired of letting men walk all over me. I’m tired of being a supporting actress in my own life. What this man doesn’t know is that I’ve experienced much worse pain than a little hair pulling. You’ve survived worse, and you will survive this. The promise comes from somewhere deep inside of me. A dormant hope that I thought had died long ago.

  The one thing this military man didn’t plan for on this job was the fact I have nothing to lose at this point.

  Nothing.

  My life is one painted party after the next. To an outsider, I live a luxurious vacation. Expensive gowns, exquisite jewelry, and socializing with the elite conceal my reality; my entire existence culminates in one miserable lie. David wears me like an expensive watch: there for show, but not much else.

  The lie ends now.

  Even though an overwhelming wave of panic builds inside me, I will not sit back and allow what’s left of my dignity to be stolen, too.

  Rearing my head back, I activate every last muscle in my body to whip my forehead against the bridge of this man’s nose. Thwack! The man grunts in surprise. His grip on my hair disappears, and he lands on the carpet with a thump.

  “You broke my fucking nose, bitch!” he roars.

  There’s no time to think about a plan. I have to move. Now.

  Without the use of my hands to balance, it’s an uncoordinated stagger to my feet. I race around the howling man, again hearing that tinny voice through the device in his ear. Shoulder first, I bang into the bedroom door. The door connects with the wall outside the bedroom with a loud bang.

  I run.

  “Don’t be nervous. Mother smells fear.” With one hand lazily steering the car and one hand resting on my knee, David’s the picture of tranquility. His ocean-colored eyes cut away from the road and he winks at me.

  “Very funny,” I grumble, but seeing his calmness relaxes me. Nothing ruffles David. In a life full of sharp turns and twists and little stability, I crave the kind of steadfast security a man like David provides. He doesn’t get upset easily. In problems, he finds solutions. There are no games with him. He calls when he says he will call, and his emotions are even, not erratic and unpredictable. If that weren’t enough to sell me on a relationship with this gorgeous man, he has me hooked because he looks at me as if I’m the only woman in the world.

  Since I met David at Hotel Monroe, I’ve seen or talked to him every day. The term whirlwind romance comes to mind to describe us. Dating David is like nothing I’ve experienced before because he is a man. Not a child, like the boys who took me out to hot dog stands and frat parties with cheap beer. My first date with David was to a steakhouse overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. After I had told him I love exploring Miami’s thriving art scene, the second date was to an exclusive gallery opening where the paintings sold for upward of ten thousand dollars. No one seemed to notice I was out of place at these fancy events because I was on David’s arm. Everywhere we went, people knew him and wanted to be around him. He never left me to myself, keeping me glued to his side wherever we went as if to shout, “she’s with me,” to anyone who dared to question my appearance. He has a way of making me feel important, and it’s quickly getting addicting to be the center of this man’s attention.

  A month into our relationship, David decided it was time for me to meet his family. We’re on our way there now.

  “Are you sure I look all right?” I ask as I smooth a hand down the front of the sleeveless lavender wrap dress I had made over the summer.

  The hand on my knee tightens imperceptibly, and then he teases his fingers over the skin, sending ripples of pleasures in its wake. “You are picture perfect.” The praise makes me glow, cheeks stretched wide with a grin. “This is a new experience for me, too. You’re the first woman I’ve brought to meet them.”

  “How can that be? You’re Miami’s most eligible bachelor,” I rib.

  David smirks, guiding the car through a gated community’s security checkpoint without slowing. “There’s never been anyone as special as you.”

  My heart squeezes in my chest, a pleasurable pain. No one has ever called me special before. The threat of tears sting, and I blink them away. Glancing out the window, I hide the swell of emotion overcoming me. David makes me feel proud of who I am. There’s no need to be insecure with his sincere compliments and support.

  “Our family is close knit,” David continues. “Chandler and I don’t bring the woman du jour to our parents’ home. Sunday dinners are for the family and those closest to us.” He tangles our fingers together. My heart flutters again. Does David consider us to be in a serious relationship? I chance a glance at David and find nothing but his normal, serene expression.

  “Will there be anyone else there tonight, other than your brother?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but Mother springs last-minute friends on us all the time.” David releases my hand to finish steering into the long, stone drive. I don’t bother to smother my gasp in surprise. This structure is not a home; it’s an estate. The architecture of the two-story home is Mediterranean. The exterior is dramatic and stunning. Keystone detailing wraps the high tower entryway, and the stucco finish, round columns, and louvered window openings provide glamorous touches to the façade.

  “I didn’t realize your family was this well-to-do,” I confess, shooting another worried look in David’s direction. He parks in the rounded drive and presses a button to turn off the engine.

  “Money doesn’t make us any different. We’re just another family.” David unlatches his seat belt and leans across the center console. His minty breath brushes across my cheeks, the familiar scent of his masculine cologne wrapping around me in a comforting embrace. He brushes his warm lips across mine in a tender kiss. In the past, his touch has silenced every nagging doubt in my mind. School, work, bills—none of it matters when David’s near. This time, his reassurance doesn’t have the intended effect because this fear is about him. I want his parents and brother to like me.

  I don’t have much family left. My father died long ago, and my sister and mother aren’t interested in a close family bond. I long to find a place for myself in another family—one that celebrates Christmas around a tree and Memorial Day around a barbecue grill. I’m starting to realize that David’s family life is more ornate than the simple dreams I had for family gatherings.

  “This is not where I come from. This,” I gesture toward the home, “is intimidating.”

  David expels a slow breath. “Trust me on this, Karolina. They’re going to love you like . . . Come on. Let’s go.”

 
; Like what? I practically screech. Love me like he does? No, no way. We’ve only known each other a month. It’s impossible for David to love me. It’s not like I love him. In fact, I’m not sure I know what love is. But, okay, I could love him. He’s thoughtful and considerate and treats me as if I’m something to be treasured. I feel good about myself when I’m with him.

  David drops my hand, turns away from me, and presses open the driver’s side door to climb out of the car. I lift the lever on my side. Twisting, I plant both gold-jeweled sandals on the driveway before standing out of the car. David smiles indulgently at me and places my hand in the crook of his arm.

  “A lady should never open her own car door. Not when I’m around and especially not when I have a driver taking us to a social event.” The words, though delivered gently, are a stark reminder that I don’t know the rules that govern David’s world.

  David pauses to stoop down and press a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Think of it this way, Karolina. You’re my jewel, and I take very good care of those things that are valuable to me. I want to show you off and display you with the honor you deserve.”

  “You’re a closet romantic,” I accuse though I’m beaming. The things David says are straight from the poetry and the novels I read when I pondered the validity of true romance.

  “Nothing closet about it, my jewel. You’re inspiring me to act in ways I never have before. Now, are you ready to go inside?”

  The new nickname makes me melt. A jewel is a treasure, something to be cherished. I want to be cherished. “Yes, David Morgan. Take me to meet your parents.” He escorts me through the lush greenery framing the walkway. Instead of entering the home, he presses the doorbell. He pats my hand reassuringly while we wait.

  A dark-haired woman in a white housekeeper uniform whisks the door open.

  “Mr. David, welcome,” she says in a thick, Latina accent.

  He nods once, not particularly friendly. “Miranda, I’d like you to meet Ms. Karolina Adamchik, my date.”