Cunningham Family: Lost And Found Part 18

But I tear my mouth away. "Not in here."

His eyes are so glazed that at first I'm not even sure he registers my words. But then he nods. He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway to the back door.

The sun outside is blinding, but Ward doesn't give me a chance to adjust to the sudden brightness. The minute we're in the alley, he backs me against the brick wall of the opposite building and kisses me again.

The practical side of my brain reminds me that we're just outside of a church. Outside of his father's funeral. Even if you ignore those things, we're in an alley adjoining a busy street. Anyone could walk by and see us.

I pull away from him again. But this time I'm the one to grab his hand, and I pull him down the far end of the alley and around the corner. Now we're next to the fence we climbed over on our way in, and the church and everything it represents are hidden beyond the ma.s.sive brick building behind us.

This time when Ward presses me up against the wall, he's a little gentler. But the desperation is still there. I cup his face and pull his mouth to mine, and within seconds I've forgotten everything else.

There's a reason people turn to the arms of a lover when they're upset. It's not just the s.e.xual release. Or even the need for distraction. It's that in this-this meeting of bodies and souls-there's a profound beauty. That is what we really need.

Ward's mouth meets mine again and again. His hands run down my arms, then move to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He touches me everywhere, feeling me through my dress. I'm feeling him, too, letting my fingers roam wherever they can reach.

I don't mind the roughness of the bricks against my back when he's against me. And I don't object when he reaches down and tugs up the hem of my dress. I'm the one to push my panties down my legs and kick them off. I'm the one to pull at his belt.

I know what he needs. I needed it after my father's funeral, though I didn't get it until after I'd flown back to Thailand. I wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me up. I hook my legs around his hips.

We don't have a condom. Not that it likely matters at this point. Ward doesn't know that, but he doesn't seem to notice. He loosens his grip on my thighs and lets me sink slowly onto his hard length.

And there it is-the flash of pleasure in his blue eyes as he buries himself inside of me. That flicker of beauty and hope and grace that he needs right now. I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeper than I've ever kissed him. Right now, he's the only thing in my world, and I want to be the only thing in his. I want all of his grief and anger and confusion to go somewhere far away, if only for a few moments.

We move together as hungrily as ever, but there's nothing frenzied about this lovemaking. Nothing wild. Instead, it's exquisite and heartbreaking, two bodies just trying to find peace and happiness. Two souls trying to twine together through our movements.

My fingers are in his hair. His press into my hips. I don't ever want to pull my mouth away from his. When I feel my climax approaching, I hold him closer. Kiss him harder. He groans and increases his tempo against me, and suddenly everything crests. I cry out into his mouth, and he's not far behind me. He pushes me against the wall a final time as his own release comes.

But he pulls his face back just enough for us to be able to look each other in the eyes. There's a calm in his expression-a real calm, not the mask-like emotion he wore during the funeral-and beneath that, there's something fierce and unrestrained.

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

He leans forward and presses his cheek against mine. His lips touch my ear.

"You've had me from the beginning," he says. "You've had me from the moment you kissed me that first night."

"This is real, isn't it?" I say. "Promise me this is real."

He kisses me just below the ear. "This is real, and it's ours. No matter what else happens." His mouth makes a path down my neck.

Maybe I don't need to wait to tell him about my possible pregnancy. This is the perfect moment, and neither of us is going anywhere. I'll tell him my period is late. Then we'll find a drugstore together and buy a pregnancy test with whatever change we can wrangle up. Whatever the results, we'll figure out the rest of it hand-in-hand.

But the minute I open my mouth, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye.

I turn, and Ward follows my gaze. There's someone else in the alley, just on the other side of the gate.

And he's got a camera pointed right at us.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

I notice quite a few things in those first couple of seconds.

First, that my dress is still bunched up around my waist and Ward's pants are still around his ankles.

Second, that the person on the other side of the gate looks rather comfortable-and he's partly hidden, which means he's probably been there for several minutes, if not longer.

Third, there's something familiar about him. I'm not sure whether it's his hair, or the set of his shoulders, or...

He moves his camera slightly, and my stomach sinks.

It's Asher Julian.

Asher Julian is the one who tried to blackmail me back at Huntington Manor. The one who first printed the story about Ward's connection to Edward Carolson only a week ago. He got his big break printing rumors about my brother and Lily. This guy owes his career to my family and the drama we've caused. I should have guessed he'd be here at Carolson's funeral. He's been chasing this story for weeks.

And now he's caught us like this. Violated this perfect, intimate moment.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?" Ward asks. He helps push down my dress before yanking up his pants.

Asher smiles. "I'm sure you're smart enough to know the answer to that question already.

My cheeks are on fire. "You can't just take pictures of people when they're... after they've..."

"When they're in a public alley, they're kind of fair game. What did you think would happen? This funeral wasn't exactly a secret, you know. Or did you miss the swarm of wasps out front?"

"I want that camera," Ward says. His hand has already curled into a fist.

"Or you'll what? Knock me out? No thanks." He pretends to study his fingernails. "I know about your record, buddy. If you hit me, I'll have your a.s.s thrown in jail. And unless I'm mistaken, there's no one to bail you out. Miss Cunningham here is completely broke and Daddy Dearest is dead."

He's taunting us. He knows he has us cornered, and he's enjoying watching us squirm. I don't think I've ever wanted to sock someone so much in my entire life. Ward's livid. In spite of Asher's threats, he still looks like he's about to charge over that fence and send his fist into that smug a.s.shole's face. I put my hand on his arm, a silent plea, and though he relaxes slightly, he's still looks like he could snap at any moment.

Asher doesn't miss the small exchange. His smile widens.

"Look," he says, "I'm willing to make you a deal." He looks between us. "Will you let me climb over this fence? I'd prefer to discuss terms face-to-face."

I glance up at Ward. He looks about as wretched as I feel. But I don't know what else to do. If this gets out-if Asher releases intimate photos of me and Ward right outside of Edward Carolson's funeral-well, every gossip outlet in the country will be talking about it for weeks. Maybe I could deal with that at this point in the game, but Ward... His father just died, right after the whole world learned about their connection. He needs time away from the public eye to figure things out.

"Fine," I say before Ward can curse him out. "We'll hear your terms."

Ward's head jerks in my direction, but I don't look at him. I won't lose my nerve.

Asher climbs over the gate. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm hoping he'll fall-it wouldn't hurt him that much, but he'd probably crush that expensive camera against the pavement-but no such luck. He drops to his feet and turns toward us.

"I have quite a bit of footage of the two of you," he says. "You really should pay more attention to your surroundings before you start tearing each other's clothes off. If you really don't want half the world to know the intimate details of your relations.h.i.+p, you should probably teach yourselves a bit of discretion."

I grit my teeth together. "What are your terms, Mr. Julian?"

The smile falls. He's all business now.

"An exclusive interview," he says, "with the two of you."

That's not much better than the alternative, but at least we'd have some control. We'd just have to be very careful about our answers, make sure that anything we said couldn't be edited or twisted to stir up more drama. We'd just have to give the dullest interview in the history of interviews.

But Asher isn't done.

"We'll discuss what happened at Huntington Manor. How you two met and developed this relations.h.i.+p. We'll talk about what led to the events on the morning that you fled," he says to me. Then his eyes move to Ward. "You will talk about your relations.h.i.+p with Edward Carolson. How you found out you were his son. How you felt when you heard he was dead."

I shake my head. This is too much.

"Of course you'll have some control over how you're presented," Asher continues. "If you like, I can arrange for an exclusive photo shoot. Otherwise, we'll just use photographs from the last few months."

"This is f.u.c.king ridiculous," Ward says.

"No," the reporter says. "This is just intelligent business. In addition to everything I've mentioned, you two will promise me that any major news regarding your relations.h.i.+p will be mine first. If you break up, if you get married, if you discover that one of you has cheated... you'll come to me and give me first go at the story. If I hear it from someone else, then I'll release these pictures."

At that point, why would the pictures even matter? Our whole life would be on display. I curl my hands into fists.

Ward's barely holding it together. "So you're just planning to blackmail us for the rest of our lives? Are you f.u.c.king serious?"

Asher shakes his head. "As I said before, this is just business. It's how things are done in my line of work. And if I were you, I'd get used to it quickly. Stories like this don't just disappear."

Not unless you have the money or influence to keep them down. Ward and I have neither, and Asher Julian knows it. He's got us trapped. Either we willingly give him information, or he slaughters us on the page. He won't just stop with the pictures he got today. He'll drag us through the mud again and again.

I thought I hated Carolson, once. But that's nothing compared to the sheer loathing I feel right now for the man standing in front of me. My nails are digging into my skin, and my vision has gone slightly blurry.

He can't do this to us. Not today.

And then suddenly I'm moving. Running forward.

My arm comes up. The reporter's eyes widen, but it's too late for him to dodge. My fist collides with his face.

He falls back against the fence, slamming against the chain-link barrier before sliding to the ground. His camera falls against the pavement, and I hear something shatter as his body lands on top of it.

I stand over him, my fist still raised, my chest heaving.

I can't believe I just did that.

I can't move. I can only stare down at the trickle of blood running from Asher's nose. I didn't knock him out, but he's dazed. His eyelids are fluttering.

Oh c.r.a.p oh c.r.a.p oh c.r.a.p.

There's a sharp pain in my hand, but I only have a second to acknowledge it before someone grabs me. Ward.

"Come on," he says. "Let's get out of here."

Asher's blocking the fence, so we have to go the other way. Ward takes my hand and pulls me along, dragging me down the alley beside the church. There's no way to avoid the crowd of reporters at the entrance, but maybe we can slip past them without drawing too much attention.

There are still a ton of them. They're gathered at the base of the steps, waiting and watching the church doors. I imagine the service will be over soon, and everyone wants a shot of the mourners' tear-stained faces as they return to their limousines. A couple of police cruisers have joined the scene since the last time we pa.s.sed.

Ward's grip on mine is like steel. No one notices us as we slip out of the alley, and I let out a breath as we turn and head down the sidewalk. We can do this. We can escape the reporters' notice. We can walk away from the Carolsons and my brother and Asher Julian and everything we had to face today.

We're nearly at the corner when the shouts start behind us.

"They a.s.saulted me!"

I look over my shoulder, but that's a mistake-Asher is standing on the sidewalk, pointing at us and shouting, and half of the mob of reporters has already started to come after us.

I look up at Ward, and he gives me a little nod. Our only chance is to run, and we both know it. He gives my hand a squeeze, and we take off.

We make it about six steps.

Apparently the police closed off the entire block to through traffic, and that means they've stationed a car at either end of the street. Suddenly, a couple of officers are in front of us on the sidewalk.

"Stop," one of them orders. "I'm going to need you to tell me what's going on here."

Asher is still making a scene, and when I look over my shoulder again, the reporters are closer. They're yelling questions even before they've reached us, and any hope I had that they haven't recognized us flies out the window.

"Louisa, why are you here?"

"Mr. Brannon, did you come to see your father?"

"Did they bar you from entering?"

"Did you attack a reporter?"

The questions come from all sides. And Asher's at the front of the crowd, still throwing accusations at us. He holds his sleeve against his nose, but I see the nearest officer's eyes widen when he spots the blood.

Everything happens quickly. One minute my hand is still safely in Ward's, but the next we're torn apart. One of the officers has me by the arm, and he leads me to the nearest cruiser. The other cop has Ward. Ward's eyes have gone wild, and he tries to twist out of the man's grip.

Don't fight, I beg him silently. Don't resist arrest. That's the last thing he needs on his record.

There are reporters between us now. Some have gone after him, and some are pointing their microphones and cameras at me. They're still shouting questions. I lift my chin, trying to find Ward even as the cop continues to pull me away.

There!

I spot his hair first, but then his head turns, and I can tell his looking for me. Our eyes meet through the crowd, and I see the intention there, even before he tries once more to jerk away from the officer holding him. He's trying to come to me.

I shake my head. Please don't fight. Please, Ward.

He wants to. But I continue to beg him with my eyes, and I see the briefest flicker of resignation in his expression before I'm forced to look at the cop in front of me.

"Did your boyfriend attack that man?" the officer asks. "I need the truth, ma'am."