SEIZED Part 2: Steamy Romantic Suspense (Seize Me Romance Fiction Series) by JC Coulton Page A
Authors: JC Coulton
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her chest, so I have to ask.
“Is there another reason not to talk Carrie? Is there someone else in your life?”
“No, no, there’s not, I don’t even really date back home. I’m just trying to think about the chain of evidence and how you might have to testify one day and how it looks…”
She breaks off, and I feel it in my gut—that after all of this opening up, there’s still something she’s not telling me. In that moment all my resolutions of trust and kindness go out the window. It only takes a second for my switch. I’m in the red zone.
“This is bullshit. I’m telling you everything like an open book, and you’re still shutting me out, Carrie. You’re not telling me something.”
My voice is too loud in the empty coffee shop; loud enough that it surprises me. Right now Blake the detective is speaking. Now I’m the detective who won’t hesitate to intimidate when necessary; the one who can recognize and call out a liar when he sees one. And I see one. She’s cowering now. My aggression scares her, but I don’t fucking care.
“Tell me the truth!”
Tears start trickling down her face. I take her lack of protest as an admission of guilt. I stare at her while she stares at me. The silence stretches out in the dim light of the café.
Chapter Nine
Carrie
I can’t believe what just happened. First he gives me the hottest ride of my life on his sofa. Now he yells at me and then storms out. He actually shouted. I’m shaking. My clit is still throbbing, but now the adrenaline is pumping. I wish I didn’t have this much coffee, but I pick up my cup and finish it anyway.
Blake Anderson has anger issues. I don’t deserve this shit. I try and breathe. I need to think, but my brain isn’t kicking into gear. I need some food.
I’m alone in the café now and there’s still some cash he’s left on the table. I order a donut from the cashier. She raises her eyebrows—probably from all the shouting from Blake—but at least she has enough tact to not say a word to me. I need sugar and time.
I sit back down, and the leather chair protests as I get comfortable. I’m staring at the wall. The donut is nice. Fried cake is beautiful. It’s what I need right now. Or a burger. What am I going to do ? He obviously thinks I’m still hiding something, but I’ve told him everything. Except about the story I wrote today. He probably doesn’t know I called those numbers again either, but he’s told me that they’re Jessup’s already. So really, I’m hiding nothing.
I’ve done nothing wrong, except write an angry story and email it to myself. His outburst was way out of proportion. Is he upset about something more ? Hell, I don’t know, but he certainly has trust issues, and he needs to get into an anger management class—stat. I’ve not seen a guy redline that quickly for years. It’s scary. I’m trying to blow it off, but I was scared. He scared me.
If I just delete the story, will he be happy? If I tell him I love him and that I always have, will he be happy? If I go back up there and take him to bed again, will that work? I just don’t know what to do. He thinks I’m a liar. No matter what I do, he’s not going to believe me, and I’m at the mercy of his anger. I’m trapped in his house, with no way to connect to the outside world, and forced to trust him.
This does not sit right. Everything I learned about self-care tells me this is wrong. This man is violating every boundary I have. He takes me, pleasures me, shouts at me, storms off like a child, refuses to trust me, and then turns those eyes on me and I’m powerless again. Blake Anderson is trouble. I’m in trouble even being close to him. I can’t think around him. I need to get out of here. I need to get some space. I have to have my head on straight if I’m going to do anything for April—or at least stay sane.
I feel it’s time to face some truths. If those assholes wanted to take me down when they took April—they
“Is there another reason not to talk Carrie? Is there someone else in your life?”
“No, no, there’s not, I don’t even really date back home. I’m just trying to think about the chain of evidence and how you might have to testify one day and how it looks…”
She breaks off, and I feel it in my gut—that after all of this opening up, there’s still something she’s not telling me. In that moment all my resolutions of trust and kindness go out the window. It only takes a second for my switch. I’m in the red zone.
“This is bullshit. I’m telling you everything like an open book, and you’re still shutting me out, Carrie. You’re not telling me something.”
My voice is too loud in the empty coffee shop; loud enough that it surprises me. Right now Blake the detective is speaking. Now I’m the detective who won’t hesitate to intimidate when necessary; the one who can recognize and call out a liar when he sees one. And I see one. She’s cowering now. My aggression scares her, but I don’t fucking care.
“Tell me the truth!”
Tears start trickling down her face. I take her lack of protest as an admission of guilt. I stare at her while she stares at me. The silence stretches out in the dim light of the café.
Chapter Nine
Carrie
I can’t believe what just happened. First he gives me the hottest ride of my life on his sofa. Now he yells at me and then storms out. He actually shouted. I’m shaking. My clit is still throbbing, but now the adrenaline is pumping. I wish I didn’t have this much coffee, but I pick up my cup and finish it anyway.
Blake Anderson has anger issues. I don’t deserve this shit. I try and breathe. I need to think, but my brain isn’t kicking into gear. I need some food.
I’m alone in the café now and there’s still some cash he’s left on the table. I order a donut from the cashier. She raises her eyebrows—probably from all the shouting from Blake—but at least she has enough tact to not say a word to me. I need sugar and time.
I sit back down, and the leather chair protests as I get comfortable. I’m staring at the wall. The donut is nice. Fried cake is beautiful. It’s what I need right now. Or a burger. What am I going to do ? He obviously thinks I’m still hiding something, but I’ve told him everything. Except about the story I wrote today. He probably doesn’t know I called those numbers again either, but he’s told me that they’re Jessup’s already. So really, I’m hiding nothing.
I’ve done nothing wrong, except write an angry story and email it to myself. His outburst was way out of proportion. Is he upset about something more ? Hell, I don’t know, but he certainly has trust issues, and he needs to get into an anger management class—stat. I’ve not seen a guy redline that quickly for years. It’s scary. I’m trying to blow it off, but I was scared. He scared me.
If I just delete the story, will he be happy? If I tell him I love him and that I always have, will he be happy? If I go back up there and take him to bed again, will that work? I just don’t know what to do. He thinks I’m a liar. No matter what I do, he’s not going to believe me, and I’m at the mercy of his anger. I’m trapped in his house, with no way to connect to the outside world, and forced to trust him.
This does not sit right. Everything I learned about self-care tells me this is wrong. This man is violating every boundary I have. He takes me, pleasures me, shouts at me, storms off like a child, refuses to trust me, and then turns those eyes on me and I’m powerless again. Blake Anderson is trouble. I’m in trouble even being close to him. I can’t think around him. I need to get out of here. I need to get some space. I have to have my head on straight if I’m going to do anything for April—or at least stay sane.
I feel it’s time to face some truths. If those assholes wanted to take me down when they took April—they
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