Broken (Voyeur Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Broken

  The Voyeur Series

  Part #3

  Copyright © N. Isabelle Blanco & Elena M. Reyes

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.

  Cover image licensed by / ©yarlander

  Cover design and editing by Coquette Graphics

  Publication Date: Sept. 28th 2017

  Genre: FICTION/Romance/Erotica

  Copyright © 2017 N. Isabelle Blanco & Elena M. Reyes

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  CHAPTER 19

  5 Years Ago . . .

  The phone atop my desk rings and I press the speaker button without thinking.

  Immediately, my office is bombarded with the sound of harsh breathing.The kind only someone with an open-mouth breathing habit can make.

  In other words, it’s creepy.

  That, and there is only one person in this company with this apparent issue.

  Squaring my shoulders, I mentally prepare myself for her snide attitude. “Yes, Ms. Thornton? How can I be of assistance?”

  At first she stays quiet. I can imagine she dislikes my always pleasant demeanor. Fake or not, I’m always a professional whereas she lacks tact.

  “Ms. Reid, come into my office,” my boss yells over the phone’s loudspeaker on my desk and I flinch. The woman is also a stranger to the term indoor voice—seems to go right over her head.

  “I’m sorry, Valerie . . .” while everyone else is afraid of her, I welcome the challenge “. . . but you know I’m close to heading out. My medical appointment was cleared through you and H.R. last week.”

  “Oh really?” I hear her typing in her computer at top speed, and her sarcastic tone isn’t lost on me at all.

  God, I dislike the woman, and the feeling is very mutual.

  There’s never a hello, thank you, or please with her.

  At least, that’s the vibe she puts off. Like my mere presence disturbs her somehow, and yet, she knows the board won’t allow her to dismiss me.

  She might be the manager at this marketing firm, but my family owns part of the company which signs her checks.

  “Cancel it.” There is irritation in her tone, but an undercurrent of desperation which catches me off guard. “Need you here within the next ten minutes for a meeting. No excuse. Your presence is expected.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Pulling my cell phone from the top drawer, I shoot off a quick text to my gynecologist office and cancel. Thank God I’m friends with his office secretary and she answers within minutes letting me know it’s taken care of.

  “Because, I said so.”

  I can almost make out the grinding of her teeth.

  “I’ll need more than that,” I reply, my tone sweet, but the undercurrent of my annoyance is palpable. She knows I’m not like everyone else on her staff and resents me for it.

  I don’t care.

  If I wanted it, I could have her job.

  Her luck is that I love what I do. Being creative is my forte. My passion. Management, however, is not.

  She takes in an exaggerated breath and lets it out slowly into the receiver. Ewww. “New client. A beauty company based out of England is trying to expand its territories to include the United States and we need our best on board. No one here takes on more fashion advertisements than you, so get in here.” With that she hangs up and I’m left stewing in my anger. Her almost pat on the back—the two-faced reply—rubs me wrong.

  “Fucking bitch,” I mumble under my breath a minute or two later and close my laptop. The campaign I’m heading at the moment is private, not even my boss knows about it. If I deliver this account, it has the potential of being a multi-million dollar payout for us.

  If I was going to have to cancel my appointment, I would have rathered doing so to stay in and work on that.

  Standing from my chair, I realise just how tight my muscles feel and I walk toward the center of the room. Bending at the waist, I keep my legs straight and touch my toes. Hold the position for a few minutes until the tension turns into a satisfying throb.

  A knock on my doorframe is followed by an, “Oh fuck,” and then a cough.

  They catch me off guard and I pitch forward, landing on my hands and knees. Face down and ass up, I’m embarrassed as all hell.

  Why the hell did I leave the door wide open? Because I was too lazy to stand from my desk.

  My greatest wish at the moment is for the floor to open wide and swallow me whole.

  “Are you okay, Miss?” A hand appears beside my face and it belongs to the richest, most velvety English accent I’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing. “Didn’t mean to startle you, doll.”

  Jesus, it meets my ears and my body clenches. Every muscle locks down while my panties grow damp.

  His voice is fucking kryptonite. My kryptonite.

  “I’ll be fine, just a bit mortified.” Taking his hand in mine, I gasp. Electricity flows between our fingers and it rushes through my petite frame. Standing on shaky legs, I let go of his hand and look up—

  Holy. Mary. Joseph. And Jesus.

  His face is gorgeous. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

  And those eyes. Dear God, those eyes.

  “Breathe, doll.” Even his chuckle is sexy.

  Arrogant men turn me off, but his actions only make me curious about him and the butterflies in my womb flutter.

  Not giving into his taunt, I widen my eyes and pray he falls for the fake innocent look. “Please ignore what you saw in here.”

  “Now why would I do that? Too pleasant a memory to ignore.” His heated gaze rakes me over from head to toes, lingering on my legs for an inappropriate amount of time.

  Following his line of sight, I discover the reason why he licks his lips. My skirt has ridden up to above my mid-thigh and I’m exposed to his hungry stare.

  “Shit!” I try to push down the tight material and wobble in place. Again, he reaches out to me and the same surge pulses in my veins. Our eyes lock, and for a second the world dissolves into nothingness. Nothing registers but the way his clear light blue orbs penetrate me.

  A complete and utter violation of my senses.

  “Please don’t rush on my account, love.”

  Heat blooms across my cheeks and I bite my lip. “For you it’s pleasant, maybe, but not for me.”

  Rumbling—a hint of a growl—passes through his lips and this mystery man takes a step forward. “Let me take you out. I’ll help you—”

  “There you are, Noah!” Valerie rushes into my office and comes to a stop beside him. Her hand is on his forearm, fingers flexing on the sleeve of his button-down.

  “Ms. Thornton, I presume?” Mystery guy—Noah—asks. He takes a step away f
rom her, loosening her grasp while stopping just beside me.

  My arm touches his.

  Fuck. My fingers flex and I graze the flesh of his wrist. Again, heat blooms deep inside me.

  What is wrong with me? How dare I react this way? My boyfriend doesn’t deserve for me to do this to him!

  “And I see you’ve met our brightest here at Racy & Reid.” Valerie is watching the closeness, how our bodies seem attune to the other. Her eyes narrow a bit, just enough that the line at the center of her forehead becomes more defined. “She’s our diamond in the rough.”

  Her backhanded compliment pisses me off and for once, I’m ready to lay into her. Explain how professionalism works. You don’t put down your peers ever; alone or in the presence of others.

  “We haven’t been formally introduced, I just helped her up from a tumble,” Noah spits through his teeth. It’s palpable how much her words bother him. “No need for the hostility.”

  “Of course not, sir.” Valerie is taken aback and splutters. “We love her here. I meant no disrespect.”

  “It was a joke,” I add, trying to extinguish the tension.

  Valerie looks over at me and gives me a nod. “Just some fun between colleagues, I assure you Mr. Barker.”

  Now she addresses him by last name. God, she’s annoying and apparently clueless to how social interaction is supposed to work.

  Ignoring her, his eyes meet mine. “You sure, doll?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, not looking anywhere but him. His term of endearment means nothing. Just something British people use to address other’s of the opposite sex.

  I have enough English friends to know this. There’s no reason for my insides to flutter every time he says it.

  No matter how attractive I find his chiseled jaw, bright blue eyes, and thick black hair—nothing inappropriate has gone on here.

  It never will. I love Robert too much to let it happen.

  If you love him, why are you trembling at Mr. Barker’s nearness?

  “Well then . . .” Mrs. Thornton claps her hands and our moment is broken “. . . shall we head to my office. We have so much to discuss—”

  “Who will be leading my project?” Noah looks at her and I can breathe. My reactions to him are throwing me off my game. “Devilish Beauty products will only accept your best.”

  “Ivy, here, will be handling your account from start to finish. It’ll be her sole priority.”

  What?!

  News to me, and I do a good job of keeping my expression neutral. What choice do I freaking have? It’s not like I can confess to Valerie about my secret project and why I need more time to allocate to that.That grimy, little bitch will try to steal the account from me if she finds out.

  But how the hell am I going to work with Mr. Barker when his mere presence is causing my body to disrespect the man that I love?

  Gonna have to fucking suck it up.

  “It’ll be a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Barker. That’s if—”

  “Let me stop you right there, Ivy.” And fuck me if the way he says my name doesn’t cause another round of wetness to rush out of me and saturate my panties. “You have the job. Whatever you want or need from me, it’s done, as long as you head my campaign.”

  Swallowing nervously, I have to force myself to look away from the intensity in his eyes. God help me, but this man is looking at me like . . . like . . .

  I push it back. Ignore it. This is a client. You have a boyfriend. Find your professionalism, damn it! Someway, somehow, my voice comes out steady when I speak. “If that’s what you both think is best . . .” I nod at Valerie “. . . then I have no problem doing it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mr. Noah Barker’s gorgeous lips curl into a devastating smile. “Doll, either you do it, or I won’t be doing it at all. So do me a favor and help a chap out.”

  I’m too afraid to look back at him. Too afraid of this odd reaction I’m having. But more than that, I can’t look away from my “boss.”

  Valerie’s dark eyes keep bouncing between us and I can’t decipher what that glint in her eyes means. Expression neutral, she motions toward the door, clearly wanting us to take this to her office instead.

  As we all make our way back out into the hall, I hear her mumble behind me, “Yes, Ivy. Help a chap out.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Darkness.

  It’s funny how we fear it so much. How we run from it. Right now, it’s everything to me. My haven. My comfort.

  My escape.

  Memories tease me, peeking out from behind the darkness.

  Disconnected.

  Vague.

  Unheeded.

  “Baby.”

  Until now, that is. Something in me twitches at the sound of that deep, worried voice.

  “Ivy, doll. Talk to me. Blink if you can hear me. Please.”

  The yearning rises out of nowhere, a steady, thrumming presence in my chest. I want to give into it—give into that voice. Yet I can’t.

  For some reason, it feels as if I shouldn’t.

  A loud scream seems to echo inside the shadows, but it’s gone almost as fast as it comes. An image flashes quickly through my mind.

  Blood. So much blood.

  Pain sparks in my chest.

  But that, too, is gone almost as soon as it comes. Soon, the darkness returns, and it brings back that comforting numbness from before. I don’t know how long passes, only that I’ll give anything to always stay like this.

  Detached.

  Numb.

  Gone.

  Like this, I don’t have to think. I don’t have to wonder . . .

  An image comes out of nowhere. Beads. White. A rosary. That scream again. The blood.

  A weird sound overshadows the scream. Like a child whimpering.

  “Oh, God. Baby. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Hands grab me by the shoulders, and suddenly I’m being moved. Lifted. The arms carrying me are so familiar and I can’t hold back that yearning again. That need to burrow closer.

  But . . . I shouldn’t feel this way. Something is telling me that it’s wrong.

  Five Years Ago . . .

  Mr. Barker stops at the counter and turns to me, black eyebrows raised. “How do you like your coffee?”

  It takes me a few seconds to answer. I’m too busy taking in the sight of him in that dark, gray suit. It’s perfectly tailored to fit his tall, muscular frame. Beneath that blazer, he’s wearing a crisp, white button-down.

  “Love?”

  I blink in shock at that nickname leaving his mouth in that sexy as hell accent.

  Ivy! God damn it. Robert doesn’t deserve this. No. He doesn’t. He’s a great boyfriend, one that’s back at the office, waiting for this business meeting to be over. One that has no idea the unfaithful, unloyal thoughts going through my head.

  I thought that relegating him to only Mr. Barker, instead of Noah, would help me keep the distance necessary to ignore this.

  Then he showed up looking like that and demanding we have our meeting in Starbucks instead of my office.

  Mr. Barker blinks worriedly at me. “Love, are you alright?”

  I want to ask him to stop calling me that. Doll, I can handle. It was uncomfortable the first time I met him a week ago, but eventually I got over it. It’s a Brit thing, right?

  So is “love”. But for some reason the way he says it makes me nervous. Licking my lips, I look away, but not before seeing his eyes darken. “Is-isn’t tea supposed to be more your thing?” I ask in an effort to lighten the mood. He’s a client. Nothing else. Treat him like one.

  Mr. Barker laughs. “Not when I’m this bloody knackered.”

  My lips twitch with a smile at his playful tone. I can’t help it. “Just a regular coffee for me please. Milk and three sugars.”

  “Alright.” He steps up to the counter, shrugging his blazer off in a single, smooth move.

  The girl behind the counter pauses, eyes wide.

  Jesus. I can�
��t blame her. Sad part? She doesn’t even have the view I’m currently being hit with. Those slacks mold to that ass perfectly and, damn, that man’s entire body has to be out of this world.

  Not that it matters, I remind myself, looking away. So what if he’s hot? Good for him. Rich, good looking men aren’t a rarity, and everything about Mr. Barker screams affluence. Supposedly, he’s only the marketing director at Devilish Beauty, but I’ll bet money he comes from a well-to-do family.

  I’ve dealt with tons of clients like him. None have ever thrown me this much off balance.

  He turns to me, a coffee in each hand, his blazer draped over his arm. My eyes drop down to the thick, leather necklace peeking through his open collar. His throat bobs as he swallows. I tear my eyes away again, reaching for the coffee he’s holding out to me.

  “Thank you,” I say politely, turning away. We walk toward one of the small round tables by the wall. As we set our coffees on the surface and I pull out my notepad, I can’t stop myself from looking over at that necklace again.

  Mr. Barker clears his throat.

  Cheeks heating, I look away. “Sorry.” I sit down and get busy searching for a pen.

  “It’s alright. Most people are curious about it when they see it.”

  He doesn’t elaborate further but it remains on my mind regardless, the curiosity of it gnawing on me.

  “Ivy!”

  I feel my body being lowered onto a soft surface, but it isn’t what my focus is on. God, no. There’s another image—another memory rising to the fore.

  His large, masculine hand wrapping around that thick leather strap and ripping it right off his neck. After five years of seeing it there.

  The necklace his deceased fiancé gave him.

  He ripped it off.

  For me.

  Noah.

  As soon as his name registers, the memories return.

  Anne.

  Her eye missing.

  Her bloody, perverted death.

  Robert, that damn rosary stapled to his chest. His blood leaking from the small holes that psycho nun cut into him so she could shove the beads of the rosary in them.