by Parker, Ali
Then I wandered down the long hall from my bathroom into my kitchen and made myself a coffee, which I carried out to my balcony overlooking Manhattan. I padded barefoot to the railing, a good forty feet from my balcony doors, and leaned on it, cupping my coffee mug in my hands and enjoying the rich, earthy aroma as the steam carried it up to my nose.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. There was no better way to start the day than this.
The sounds of the busy city were drowned out by the immense space between me and the ground some fifty stories below. I could see everyone bustling around down there, small pinpricks dancing along the sidewalk and hurrying across the street on their daily commutes to work.
I loved my solitude up here.
There was nobody here to stare at me, to whisper behind my back and wonder aloud why I hadn’t married yet. Why a girl like me, with a father like Frank Snow, had not yet hitched her wagon to another billionaire socialite to start her life off on the right foot.
It was exhausting.
Luckily, my father did not share the same sentiments as the rest of our wealthy community. He was happy that I was working for him and still striking out on my own, starting my life by planting my roots in the city I loved on my own terms.
Yes, his money had paid for this penthouse, and yes, my trust fund was bursting at the seams, but I was fairly certain I could survive without his money. I was capable. I was smart.
And I was not as spoiled as others, looking from the outside in, might assume.
That was not to say I wasn’t spoiled at all, of course. My father overcompensated for me not having a mother by making sure I lacked for nothing from the moment I took my first breath to now. And what was more, I never asked for anything. I just received it.
I knew I’d developed a bit of an entitled complex, and I knew his doting hadn’t done me any favors in the long run, but I was also aware of the fact that I was hundreds of leaps and bounds ahead of the other young women in the circles I hung around in. They would be trust-fund babies for the duration of their single years, and once they were married off to some well to do, pompous, yacht-club membership owning rich snob, they would use his money to fund their shopaholism.
At least I was not one of those.
I turned my back on the city as it came to life that morning and headed back inside just in time to hear the knock at my front door. I padded over, my silk robe swishing around my ankles, and opened the door to find my best friend Victoria on the other side with a jug of OJ in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. She flashed me a bright white smile and held both up in height with her shoulders.
“Hey, bitch,” she chimed. “What does your afternoon look like?”
“Wide open,” I said, stepping aside for her to brush past me into my penthouse. Her heels clicked on my white marble floors, and she set everything down on the island in my kitchen. Victoria made herself at home and helped herself to two champagne flutes, which she dropped two ice cubes into before mixing our mimosas.
She handed me mine, and I took a sip. “My hairstylist is coming by this afternoon. Should I call and see if another girl is free? A blowout and cut on me, if you’d like?”
Victoria, whose family was wealthy but not of the same caliber as mine, beamed at me. “That would be lovely.”
So I made the arrangements, and by the time we’d moved on to our second drink, both of the stylists had arrived, and we were sitting in the middle of my living room with them bustling around us as they cut and styled our hair.
“After this, I have a mani-pedi,” I told Victoria. “I called and asked them to send another girl for you, too.”
“How did I get so lucky to have you as a best friend?”
“You had a hot older brother,” I teased.
It was true. Her older brother, Sammy, who now lived in Dubai overseeing the family real-estate business there, had been the first thing that drew me into her life, and when the two of us met, we were instantly bonded to each other. She was my anchor that kept me grounded, and I was the wind beneath her wings, for lack of a better expression.
Sammy and I weren’t together long, just a few months, and things ended mutually between us. I came out on top because through our relationship, I gained a best friend.
He gained a couple of headlines in magazines for being my boytoy of the season.
It had been a completely unfounded article. They played me out to be some high-rolling, man-eating shark when in reality, I’d only had three boyfriends after high school, one of them being Sammy.
The other two had been even less thrilling than our two-month romp and led to unemotional breakups that were easy to walk away from.
They didn’t matter. They were in the past.
“Sammy still asks about you when we talk on the phone,” Victoria said as her stylist pulled her head back, rolling the round brush through her silky blonde hair while fanning it with her blow dryer. “He was happy to hear you’d struck out on your own in New York like you wanted.”
I smiled. Sammy had been more of a friend than a boyfriend, and he had always supported my dream of breaking away from my sheltered upbringing. “How’s he doing?”
Victoria closed her eyes and rested her head back while her stylist continued working around her. “He’s really good I think. I very well could be wrong, but I think he met a girl.”
“Oh?” I asked, arching an eyebrow and then wincing as my stylist tugged at my hair a little too hard.
She apologized instantly.
“It’s all right,” I assured her. “No pain, no gain, right?”
My stylist smiled and worked more gently.
“Yeah,” Victoria said, cracking open one eye to peer over at me. “I asked him about it, but he says it was nothing serious. I think he just doesn’t want Mom and Dad to find out. Buy himself some more peace and quiet before Mom starts talking about wedding rings and venues and babies.”
“She’s still riding that grandma bandwagon hard, huh?”
Victoria nodded. “Yep. Sammy is naturally her first target because he’s almost thirty, but if he doesn’t get a move on, I know the heat is going to turn to me.”
“Even though you’re not seeing anyone right now?”
“Do you seriously think my mom cares if I’m seeing anyone? I’m sure she’s done her research and has a list of suitors a mile long, all with great genes. Over six foot, coming from big families with a good slice of inheritance coming their way at some point or another. Oh, and likely all sexist dicks who would be more than happy to leave me at home all day, every day with their spawn.”
I snorted before descending into a fit of laughter. Our two stylists, young women around mine and Victoria’s ages, couldn’t help themselves and started giggling too.
Victoria looked around at all three of us. “You laugh, but I’m not joking. That’s my nightmare right there, and my mother would be more than happy to marry me off to one of those vermin if it meant she was half a step closer to having her first grandbaby.”
“I feel for you Victoria,” I offered sympathetically. “I’m lucky in that regard. Daddy would freak if he caught wind of me considering parenthood.”
“Lucky,” she grumbled.
My phone lit up on the kitchen island, just out of my reach. My stylist, who had been coming to my penthouse every two weeks since I moved to New York City, reached for my phone and handed it to me.
“Thank you, Brittney,” I said as I peered down at the screen. It was a number I did not recognize, and I considered letting it go to voicemail so I could enjoy my much-needed gal-pal time with Victoria.
“You should get that,” Victoria said.
I pursed my lips and decided she was right. It might be a business call. I lifted the phone to my ear. “Evangeline Snow.”
“Evangeline,” a deep, familiar male voice said through my speakers. “Hey. It’s Matthew Aero. From the party.”
“Hello, Matthew Aero from the party.” I smiled, lean
ing back against my chair and rolling my shoulders. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”
“I didn’t expect to call so soon. But I must confess, I’ve been thinking about you since the last moment I saw you, and even though I tried to talk myself out of calling so soon for fear of giving the wrong impression, here I am, calling.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Really?”
He was charming, I’d give him that much. “Really. If you hadn’t called, I was going to have to find someone else to take me for a drink tonight.”
“Then I am most definitely glad I called, too. I will send a car for you at eight. Will that suffice?”
Charming and proper. A gentleman.
“I’ll be waiting.”
“See you tonight, Evangeline.”
I hung up the phone and put it facedown in my lap. I could feel Victoria’s eyes on me, and I peered over at her. She lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Who the hell is Matthew Aero?” she asked, her foot bouncing anxiously in anticipation.
My stylist giggled. “He sounds like a superhero.”
I smiled. “He does, doesn’t he? His name has a ring to it.”
Victoria snapped her fingers. “Don’t evade the question. Who is he? Why is he calling you? Spill the beans, woman.”
I pressed the tips of my fingers together and smiled at my friend. “I met him at the party last night. He works with my father. He’s handsome and witty, and he thought the whole affair was as overdone as I did.”
Victoria looked impressed. “So is this just a drink with a friend, or is this a date?”
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“What do you want it to be?”
I studied my friend and considered her question.
Did I want to dip my toe in the dating pond again? It wasn’t that I didn’t like dating or didn’t like men. It was more or less that I had never met someone who gave me that rush of giddiness, of nerves, of white-hot and unquenchable passion.
Well, I’d met one person, but he was off limits.
Dangerous.
And he was buried deep in my past, where he would stay.
“A date would be nice,” I said, leaning back and closing my eyes as Brittney ran her curling wand through my hair to polish off the final touches of my blowout.
Chapter 5
Owen
“Are you sure you don’t want a coffee or a cup of tea?” Quinn offered when I told her and Rhys that I should probably hit the road and head home.
I shook my head. “Nah. Caffeine this late will keep me up all night.”
“You’re getting old, man,” Rhys said.
We had moved from the kitchen table to the living room after finishing dinner. Quinn had the kettle on the stove, and I could hear it starting to bubble away. Soon, it would be shrieking, and she could pour her and Rhys their evening cup of tea.
He might look tough, but he was a softie on the inside, and watching Rhys and Quinn together reminded me that there was no one way to be a Lost Breed.
For a long time, I thought love and romance did not belong in the lives of me and my brothers. Our lifestyle was too fast-paced, too hardcore, too rough. There wasn’t any room for women who either couldn’t fight for themselves, which was a category Quinn certainly did not fall into, or women who wanted us to change. There was no room for damsels or girls who were afraid to break a nail.
If you were with a Lost Breed, you were a fighter. Plain and simple.
And you were someone who knew the risks and the danger you were exposing yourself to.
Men like Isaac Reed liked to make things personal. He’d gone for anyone and everyone, and some families had been hit hard by his cruelty. The thought of having someone I loved be put in danger because of the life I led was simply not an option for me.
Although that did not eliminate the appeal of having a woman like Quinn waiting for me at home.
After the end of a long day, it would be nice to have a girl to come home to. Someone who was happy to see me, who greeted me with a kiss and a smile and a soft body and, if I was lucky, open legs in the mornings and evenings.
Yes. I could see myself enjoying that part of a relationship very much.
The kettle started whistling away in the kitchen. Quinn made to get up, but Rhys went for her, leaving the two of us alone in the living room.
Quinn ran her forefinger along her jaw. “How have you been, Owen? Really?”
“Good,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed a bit, and I got the impression she was fishing for something. “You’re sure? You seem a bit—I don’t know—quiet lately.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Quinn. All is good. New York finally feels like home. We still have a couple of weeks of good riding weather left. What else could a guy ask for?”
She studied me, her expression unreadable, and then relented. “All right. And the fight last night was what? Purely circumstantial? There wasn’t a part of you that was itching for it?”
She knew me too well.
“Of course there was,” I admitted.
She nodded knowingly. “I hope you’re not going to start looking for a fight everywhere you go, Owen.”
“I won’t,” I said defensively. “Last night only happened because those guys were dicks and they outnumbered you. Had there been only one of them, I would have let you handle it yourself. Hell, I’d have gone around the place collecting bets and given you the pot once you kicked his sorry ass.”
Quinn smiled but didn’t say anything.
I picked absentmindedly at a loose thread on my sleeve. “You don’t need to worry about me, Quinn. I’m not that guy anymore. I won’t go looking for trouble.”
She nodded. “Good. Because things have finally settled down. Rhys is happy. Untroubled. I haven’t seen him so at ease in years. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders, and he’s finally managed to move on after Chicago. I’m not trying to put any shit on you, Owen. I just worry about him slipping into his old ways and his old negative thoughts again if things start to unravel here.”
I leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands together. “Quinn. Don’t worry. I’m not going to fuck this up for anyone. I want the same things you do. I swear it.”
She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed it. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to assume the worst. I just still get scared sometimes, you know?”
I nodded. “Of course.”
It was another reason why relationships in this life were hard. Quinn had her guard up. She always did. She was forever canvassing for potential threats, forever looking for the pin that might come loose that might blow everything up in her face and destroy what she had wanted for so long.
Rhys.
I pushed myself to my feet, and she stood with me. “I should hit the road. Thanks for dinner.”
Quinn followed me to the door with her hand on my back. “There are no hard feelings over this, right? I’m only looking out for you boys because you’re all so incapable of doing it for yourselves.”
I chuckled and pulled her in for a one-arm hug. “No hard feelings. Someone has to keep us in line, right?”
She grinned. “Right.”
Quinn called down the hall into the kitchen to Rhys to tell him I was leaving, and he joined us at the front door to wish me a good night. I thanked them both again for dinner before hitting the driveway and getting back on my bike to head home.
They stood in the doorway with the light from the hall illuminating them from behind, and as I rode away, the image of them waving was burned onto the back of my eyes, a picture of domestic bliss.
A picture of something I could never have. And didn’t want. At least, I was fairly certain I didn’t want it.
The night was cool but not intolerably so, so I took a long way home and found myself on busy streets packed with cars heading to their Saturday night de
stinations. I wove through taxis and luxury sedans, limos, and sports cars. I ran more than a handful of yellow lights and two reds.
When I came to a somewhat less busy street lined with swanky restaurants, I spotted a woman with long dark brown hair stepping out of a limo on the curb on the opposite side of the street. I had to stop at a red light behind two taxis, and it gave me the chance to really get a good look at her.
There was something familiar in the way she moved.
She was like a dancer, completely in control of every elegant movement she made, almost like she was a woman who was used to being watched at all times. It would make sense. All I could see was the back of her, and the view was spectacular.
She was wearing all black. Her top was all lace, with long sleeves, and it ended right at the narrowest part of her waist, highlighting her hourglass shape. Her pants were skin tight from hip to ankle and blacker than sin, and she’d paired the look with a pair of sky-high black pumps with red soles that screamed sex and class.
“Damn,” I breathed, watching as she stepped up onto the curb and flipped her mane of luscious brown hair over one shoulder. She looked both ways down the sidewalk, and I got a glimpse of shimmery cheekbones and red lips.
I was not satisfied. I needed to see more.
So I wove out and around the two cabs in front of me, both of whom honked their horns in annoyance, and pulled up to the stop line at the red light. I leaned over my gas tank and kept my right foot planted on the pavement to keep myself steady as I admired every curve of her body.
Then she turned to face the road, and my breath hitched in my throat.
Evangeline Snow.
“No fucking way,” I muttered.
It took me all of three seconds to assess the intersection, pull out in front of traffic, and pull a U-turn which earned me a hell of a lot of honks and curses through open windows. I accelerated around a couple of cars and pulled into the open spot behind the limo as Evangeline turned toward a man in a black suit. She held out her hand, and he lifted it to his lips to place a kiss upon her knuckles.