“I understand.” She pouted.
“Thank you. Now excuse us, because we’re trying to have a nice, quiet dinner.” He meant without her, but his statement had the opposite effect of diverting her attention toward Alexandra. Gina focused on Alexandra, mouth falling open in an O formation as though Gina had no clue Alexandra sat there. The bitch knew where everyone was, as she tried to manipulate people like chess pieces for her enjoyment. Gina’s smile was saccharine. “Oh, I’m sorry. Roman has the worst manners. I can’t believe he didn’t introduce us.” She held out her hand, face devoid of any of the fake pleasantries she’d put on moments before.
Alexandra refused to move her hands from her lap. “He didn’t forget. He doesn’t want you to know me. You’re the kind of girl who smiles in someone’s face then puts her hands on someone else’s man as though it’s your right. Let me make something very clear, in case you didn’t get it from what he said. Roman’s trying to be nice, but I won’t be. I don’t share¸ and if you disrespect me or touch him again, I’ll make sure you’re sorry.”
Gina leaned down so she was in Alexandra’s face. “He wasn’t saying that a couple of months ago.”
“Yeah, but he took out the trash. And you’re acting like that lone piece of paper that won’t stay away, no matter how many times you put it in the garbage.” Roman covered the laugh with a cough, patting his chest when he felt it went down the wrong pipe.
“I have better things to be doing than talking to you two.” Gina slinked off, tossing her hair across her shoulder as she went—a move she thought was sexy but reeked of desperation.
Roman tried to adjust himself in his chair, the growing erection pushing against his zipper after watching Alexandra verbally bitch-slap Gina. “Damn, babe, that was kinda hot. And crazy. Crazy in a hot way.”
She chuckled, drinking her wine before responding. “I’ve always been proud of my crazy. I tend to pull it out in situations when it needs to match other crazy, and she’s as nutty as they come. But wipe the side of your mouth,” she pointed to the left side of her lip, “because you still have some lipstick.”
“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin, grimacing at the fuchsia. It really was an awful shade.
Alexandra twirled her wineglass. “I’m not mad, but I need to know, am I going to need to worry about any other women coming up and acting like they own you?” He could have killed Gina for putting the doubts in Alexandra’s mind.
“No,” he reassured her. “She’s the only person riding that crazy train. I know we haven’t discussed it, but I didn’t date a lot before you. I own a sex club, and I’m not going to insult your intelligence and tell you I didn’t have relationships with other women, but those tended to happen away from the club. And all those women knew the score.”
Alexandra continued to avoid his gaze, twirling her pasta around with her fork. “What about me? You told me the score, yet somehow I’m sitting in a restaurant eating dinner with you as though we’re on a date.” Roman would give anything to assuage her fears, placing his had atop hers and squeezing it in comfort. She looked up, allowing him to read the confusion in her intelligent depths. He bobbed his knee, knowing he would be making himself vulnerable to a woman who had the power to destroy him. Because he was falling for her. And the thought of not being with her sent an ache straight through his chest. Now or never, he needed to convey what he felt to wipe some of the fear in her eyes.
“When I first met you, I believed nothing would happen. I didn’t need the complication. Even though I wanted you, I still refused you. But you bulldozed me, dazzled me, and made me so damn grateful you refused to take no for an answer. I told Gina the truth—you’re mine. You’re the one whose hands I want on me, and be damned sure I’m the only one who touches you. You’ve been mine from the beginning, even when I refused to acknowledge it.”
Her eyes shone with happiness. “I came into this arrangement looking for sex. Nothing more, nothing less. You’re the person I didn’t know I needed but always wished I had and the reality is more amazing than I could ever imagine.”
He smiled, feeling like the Grinch after his heart expanded. The blood rushed to his head as he considered the implications of her statement. She wanted him as much as he did her. She returned the smile, and Roman thought himself a pussy because one smile could drop him to his knees. He wanted to continue the conversation, but felt her bare foot creep up his pants legs. The blood rushing to his head took a quick trip downward, and he decided to spend the rest of the night inside her. “How bout I get the check?”
***
“What’s going on in your head tonight?” They lay in the quiet, Alexandra’s head was on his chest listening to his heartbeat, the aftershocks of her orgasm still running through her body while she contemplated Roman’s question. She rolled away from him, staring at the wall where he’d taken her when they’d first walked in his house. Another broken rule, coming to each other’s houses, but neither seemed to care when they left the restaurant.
“Nothing. I came back here to get away from my problems, not discuss them.” She jerked back when he slapped her ass, glaring while she rubbed the spot he’d just hit to take out some of the sting.
“Don’t do that.” He put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her so her back was flush with his chest, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “We’ve had an amazing few weeks and a really great dinner, so you can’t cry foul or tell me I have no business asking you what’s wrong now.”
She sighed; he was right. They’d been doing this weird friends-with-benefits deal since he’d taken her outside the bar, and dinner solidified it. She came to the club, they had sex, and then they talked. An unintended side effect of their relationship, they both found in each other a good listener.
Telling someone you really didn’t know about your problems was refreshing. No judgment from either party, and he didn’t dish out advice based on how he assumed she’d react. But no matter how many Romagasms he gave her, he was destined to be her good-time guy, a walking orgasm-maker. Blair knew she came to the club, and while her sister and mother wouldn’t care, her grandparents may have a heart attack if they knew. She was too damn old to worry about her family’s feelings, but if this was serious, she would have to introduce them.
“My job is bothering me,” she acknowledged. “My boss said some cryptic message earlier, and I’m trying to figure out what it all means.”
He moved, shifting their positions so she lay on the bed and he propped up on his elbow, looking down at her. She traced her finger down the line of his chest, loving the grooves. He put his hand on hers, stopping her wandering. “You want to expand your statement?”
“Nope,” she said, lifting up so she could kiss him. “But before I forget, I won’t be able to meet you on Saturday at the club. I’m going to a charity event and won’t get out until late.” He settled back down on the bed, dragging her over to him so she could lay her head on his chest.
“Survive and Thrive?”
She tensed. Survive and Thrive was the charity honoring her grandfather. “Not this week. But I am going later on this month. You know it?”
“Club Valentine sponsored the event.”
“Great.” She tried to sound casual while her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. “Are you going to the event?”
“Me? Nah. I have no business trying to rub elbows; I just want my name on the list. I know what it’s like to be orphaned. Someone very close to me left two small children.” He rolled away from her, getting up to go to the bathroom before she answered him.
The relief she felt in knowing he wouldn’t be there filled her with shame. Don’t take anyone to bed you can’t bring to the light, her mother had taught her, but Alexandra had never been the best student. When she’d started this, she expected to get her rocks off and go on her merry way. She never expected their relationship to get this far. Roman came out of the bathroom, bathed in the light, unfazed by his nudity. He kneeled on
the bed, leaning over her.
“Alexandra.” He reached for his shirt, not looking at her. “I’m exhausted, and I know you’re swamped with work. What do you say we cut this short and I take you back to your car?”
“Um…okay?” Why was he suddenly treating her like she had the plague? Still feeling raw from their earlier conversation, she wrapped the sheet around her while she searched for her clothing. Of course, nothing was within easy reach, and she risked further embarrassment by walking across the room and grabbing her panties. She threw the skirt on—she’d just forgo panties—and pulled her top over her head sans bra. He jingled his keys, his face drawn and mouth tipped down. He’d been fine minutes before, so why the sudden brush-off? She couldn’t stay silent.
“Is something wrong? Did I offend you?”
The side of his jaw ticked. He was gritting his teeth so hard she feared he’d chip one. “No. I need to go to the club, and we need to keep this in perspective.” She picked up her panties on the way out the door.
13
The pit in Alexandra’s stomach grew when she snagged the envelope from her office. She bypassed the living room in favor of the kitchen, pouring a tall glass of pinot noir. She rubbed the back of her neck, shoring herself up for the contents of this package. After Roman’s earlier brush-off, she’d come home and gone to bed, but the glow of her alarm clock mocked her. She’d lain awake, worst-case scenarios running through her head until she gave up the futile idea of any rest.
Several articles fell out of the envelope when she shook it. She picked up the first one, so thin she put it back on the table so it wouldn’t rip. The creases were soft when she unfolded it, the half page detailing the plane crash so long before. She smiled when she stared at the picture of her father in front of the courthouse. He looked like her own version of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, the fearless crusader who fought for the underdog. She’d never seen the article, which detailed the crash. There were two dead, both indiscernible due to the fire in the cockpit, but the flight manifest helped identify the bodies. She turned to the next article, as old as the first, months before the crash.
Misrepresentation: Local Lawyer Accused of Bilking Clients of Millions.
She put her hand over her mouth in disbelief while she scoured the article, which detailed a list of financial crimes her father was suspected of committing against his clients. Overbilling, charging for hours not worked, and various other accusations. She remembered the months prior to the accident—the fights, the tension—but she had no idea about any of this; she’d been shielded, protected, and too young to realize what had happened. The third article, soon after the crash, discussed how the case against him was closed. They had found him guilty, seized some of his assets, but left her mom alone. She picked up her phone, needing answers.
“Hello.” She heard the raspy voice of her mother on the other end. “Alexandra?” Alexandra opened her mouth but no words emerged, only a strangled cry. “Alexandra!”
“Mom, what happened to Dad?”
“Huh? Alexandra, it’s four in the morning. Why are you calling about your father now?”
Alexandra clenched her hand over the article. “Did Dad steal from his clients?” She heard rustling on the other end on the line.
“Look, honey, what occurred years ago is over. They had the investigation and found he did commit some wrongdoing, but those actions do not diminish his accomplishments. It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone, and bringing it up will only hurt more people in the long run, your sister and grandparents included.”
“Mom, I’m asking because—”
“I don’t care why you’re asking. Some things are better left unsaid. You’re asking questions about Franklin, and your father, and none of it matters. None of it! Your father is gone, and you need to let it go.” She heard the click as her mother hung up the phone. What the fuck? Alexandra went through the rest of the contents, her curiosity piqued by her mother’s vehement denial.
Her mother, father, and what appeared to be a younger Franklin stared at her. Franklin stood between her parents, with his arms around both, smiling. He had aged extremely well. Almost too well. She thought he’d had some Botox when she first met him, but it was as though the picture occurred five years ago as opposed to twenty. It made it hard to reconcile they were the same man and caused a sliver of unease to run through her. A bill was next, dated five years back, from his plastic surgeon for a facial reconstruction. Why the hell would Franklin need a facial reconstruction?
The final item was the most troubling. Another article, but this one was about the Richardson property, her paternal grandmother’s home.
Gone Too Soon? Adult Star Commits Suicide Following Lover’s Death.
What. The. Fuck? All the salacious details of her father’s year-long affair with an adult film star, Trina Starr, who happened to be living in her grandmother’s house, detailed in black and white. According to several anonymous sources, they were slated to travel to Washington DC together, but he encouraged her to stay home at the last minute. She hung herself from the balcony of the house in the middle of a dinner party with friends, with a note to her chest which read I couldn’t live without him. She was survived by various family, including her two young sons who were in the care of her sister—Roman and Quinn.
***
Alexandra kept it together long enough to finish Franklin’s case. She’d won. He grinned like a loon beside her while the rest of the courthouse filed out. There were a handful of people, their faces blurred. She’d been numb the whole day, reciting her arguments by rote, thankful the case had been wrapped up the week before; they had just been waiting on the judge to announce his verdict.
“I can’t thank you enough, Alexandra.” Franklin gave her a side hug. Alexandra hunched her shoulders, leaning away from him. She’d had no sleep the previous night, combing the Internet for any information about her father’s death. She’d never questioned the story her mother told, too consumed with grief to contemplate any other scenario. When she started practicing, everyone told her how proud he would be, that she was continuing the legacy of excellence. What legacy lived on? The swindler, the adulterer, the lawyer, the husband, or the father who treated his daughters like queens?
“I wish your father could see this. In fact, I know he can.”
She studied him. Why did he continue to mention her father? She was sick of hearing about it. “How do you know my father can see this?
“Did you look through the information I gave you? Things aren’t always what they seem. A shame the way he died, in the crash, unrecognizable. Thank God they had the flight manifest, or they may have believed the wrong person died.” He winked. “Tell my love bug I said hey.”
Love bug. Her father’s nickname for Parker. Franklin grabbed his briefcase, knocking over the glass of water on the table, which shattered as it hit the floor. They both bent to pick up the pieces, a thousand scenarios running through her mind and each one crazier than the next.
“Shit!” Franklin’s left hand was wrapped around his right wrist while he held his bleeding right hand up. Alexandra grabbed the tissues from the desk, passing it to him so he could staunch the blood where he’d cut himself on the glass. “I can’t believe I did that.” She continued to gather the glass, careful she didn’t cut herself.
“Here, put the tissue on here.” She held out the paper where she’d placed the rest of the glass so she could walk it to the trash.
He nodded his thanks, reaching for another tissue. “I have to cut and run.” He held his hand up but she waved him off. He needed to see about his hand, might need stitches; she’d clean up the rest of the mess. He hurried out, leaving Alexandra to deal with it. She watched him go, her thoughts running back to what he’d said earlier. She was crazy; there was no way Franklin Williams was her father. Except he knew about her mother’s golf game, and the childhood nicknames for Parker and her.
She searched the Internet for her question, a wild idea going thr
ough her mind. It may not even be legal, but she wanted to know. She had her answer, calling the company she wanted to use, who gave her specific instructions and promised quick results. Pinching the clean corner of the tissue he’d left, she wrapped it into a piece of paper so she could submit it for DNA testing. Franklin Williams was not her father. Her father died in a plane crash, but the doubts Franklin planted were enough to make her second-guess herself. She was going to prove he wasn’t Marcus Kane, and then she’d move on, and this case would be a distant memory.
***
Roman held out his hands for her when she walked into his room at Club Valentine. They were halfway through their trial period, and so far she had no complaints whatsoever. Except for the other night when he’d been abrupt talking about the charity. And being friends with two children who were orphaned? Friends, my ass.
“Hey, Alexandra.” Roman kissed her, his hands twining in her hair and holding her still. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” Not since the other night, when he’d acted like a dick. He treated her like he’d been waiting for her as though nothing was wrong. She had been. She wanted answers.
“I’ve been busy,” she told him as he reached for the clasp of her jeans. “Why do you want the Richardson property?”
He stopped mid-snap. “Does it matter?”
She stepped back to gain some space, buckling her pants. “I believe it does. First, you were a dick to me the other night, and then I saw this article about your mother—”
“Trina Starr was not my mother. She was a porn star who happened to get pregnant twice. She handed her children to her sister without a second glance. Jared and Alina Valentine are my parents.”
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