No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  Tugging her phone out of her back pocket, Charis started typing as soon as she had the screen unlocked. She stopped a few seconds later and her eyes darted back and forth as she scanned what I assumed to be search results. She tapped on something, read some more, and frowned.

  “She was murdered,” she said, gaze still glued to the phone. “It’s kind of vague, but sounds like there was some kind of stalker involved.”

  “Mr. G?” Emily squeaked.

  My heart squeezed, begging the universe for that not to be true. I couldn’t dismiss it immediately, because I knew exactly how aggressive he could be. I loved his powerful personality and control when it came to sex. Just thinking of the way he’d been forceful yet gentle last night made my thighs clench together. I held my breath as I waited for Charis to respond.

  “Hmm, no, it looks like Reagan was right about them dating. Had just started, actually. Some whack job attacked her, stabbed her to death.” She shuddered. “God, that’s horrible. She was a bombshell, too. Look at her.”

  Turning the phone toward us, the screen of her phone held a single image of a curvy brunette, posing in an evening gown with a sly smile that promised things were about to get interesting. You could tell just by looking at her that she’d been a big personality and a lot of fun to be around.

  “Does it say why Cyrus would hate Mr. G so much?”

  Charis turned the phone back and read for a few more seconds before shaking her head. “Not really. It barely even mentions him, just says they’d been dating for a few weeks.”

  Everything Cyrus said rolled back through my mind. One thing stuck out, and I asked Charis before I lost the nerve. “Did they catch who did it?”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t sound like it. Whoever this stalker was, he just vanished afterward. Gone.”

  We all jumped when a pair of large, hairy arms bearing plates of food dropped into our midst. A gravelly voice accompanied it. “You ever coming back from your break? I got orders up.”

  “Fine,” Charis said, smiling. “You know I’ll get them out. Just got distracted for a minute.”

  He grunted and stalked away. Charis laughed it off. She stood and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. “I’ll stop back by when things get slow. Let me know if you find out anything else. Now, eat up, and holler at me if you need anything else to drink.”

  She was in no hurry as she walked back to the kitchen to pick up more orders. Either she was extremely confident she could talk her way out of getting fired, or she didn’t care. I shook my head at either one. Trying to understand Charis was beyond me. I stabbed at my Philly cheesesteak, not hungry at the moment. Emily was gobbling up her burger, still pondering everything.

  “So what are you going to do about Mr. G?” she asked between bites. “You’re going to call him, right?”

  I couldn’t help the slight hesitation. Finally, I said, “Yes. Give him the chance to explain, I guess.”

  Nodding, Emily said, “That’s good. Clear the air. Talk. Get back to fucking each other up against his kitchen wall.” She laughed when I choked on a fry, and threw me an evil grin.

  By the time both our plates were clear, there were several empty beer bottles on the table and my glass had been refilled a few times. We’d alternated googling more about Keira Marpole, Cyrus, and Mr. Gabriel, but hadn’t come up with much more than the bare details of the case. In between our poor attempts at detective work, Emily talked nonstop about the shoot she’d costumed that day and the usual office gossip I rarely paid attention to. Surprisingly, it hadn’t all been about me and Mr. Gabriel. I’d honestly had no idea Pedro was married, let alone just found out his wife was pregnant. I’d have to tell him congratulations next time we ran into each other.

  “All right, I better get home. I’ve got to go pick up a few new dresses from one of the designers first thing in the morning. We’ve got that period costuming shoot next week and the models still need a final fitting.” Emily stood, and I followed, giving her a hug. She pulled back, more serious than she had been a few minutes earlier. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  I nodded. “You know I will. Thanks, Emily.”

  Charis waved goodbye to my friend on her way back to my table. “Need something else before you go?”

  “Nothing other than a few minutes to talk myself into walking to my car.”

  “No rush,” she said. “We’re not exactly dying for the table.”

  I wanted to sit there and not think for a while longer, but Marie was expecting me ready to work on her shoot in the morning. If I showed up hungover, I’d never hear the end of it. Tossing enough cash on the table to cover mine and Emily’s meals, as well as a generous tip, I forced myself to stand and be a grown up.

  “Thanks for the company tonight, and for listening.”

  “Any time,” Charis said with a smile. Then her gaze slid past me and narrowed for a brief moment before coming back to me, when she was all smiles again. She moved closer, leaning her hip against the table. “I get that you’re not into women, and I don’t hold that against you, even if it is disappointing. I’m a good listener whether I find you attractive or not.”

  She pushed away from the table, putting her right next to me. That close, it was impossible not to notice her full breasts, barely contained by the sports bra beneath her thin t-shirt. She was an inch or two shorter than me. When I pulled my gaze upward, her bright green eyes were full of mischief. I didn’t know how to react when she pinched my chin lightly between her thumb and forefinger.

  “If you change your mind about who you want to go home with, I’m here for that, too.”

  I was too shocked to react to her leaning in. Her lips brushed against mine before I could process what was coming. Her grin spread wider as she stepped back. When she licked her lips, my gaze followed the path of her tongue. I’d never been attracted to a woman before, but god she was sexy. I couldn’t even explain my reaction to her.

  Charis turned away to get back to her duties and I finally took a breath. Shaking my head at the never-ending string of insanity my life seemed to have become, I turned around, intent of going home and getting some much needed sleep. Mr. Gabriel standing in the doorway, wide-eyed, hand rubbing across his jaw, stopped me dead.

  NINE

  Conflicted

  A bizarre battle of thoughts raged inside my mind as I stood there staring at her. On one hand, I couldn’t believe she came to Charlie’s to hang out with Charis when she was mad at me. One the other, I had never been more turned on. I would be the first to admit Charis was a gorgeous woman. There was no doubt in my mind she’d be amazing in bed. The fact that she was interested in my girlfriend, or whatever Reagan was willing to admit to, pissed me off. Teasing was one thing, but what the fuck gave her the right to move in on me like that?

  And yet, I couldn’t stop picturing her lips graze against Reagan’s. Clearly, it hadn’t been expected or asked for. Reagan’s expression was ninety percent shock, though some of that came from her own surprise at being turned on by the kiss. The last ten percent was lingering exhaustion. I knew I’d caused some of that. The rest of the blame fell squarely on Cyrus’s shoulders. Thinking of him again made my anger rise.

  Taking a deep breath, Reagan moved toward me. I was too conflicted to do much of anything but stand at the door and wait for her. It seemed to take three times longer than it should have for her to arrive. “That…wasn’t what it…I’m mean, Charis…surprised me.”

  Glancing over at the traitorous woman, I scowled at her when our gazes met. She flashed me a grin before turning to a couple who’d just sat down at the bar. “Never mind Charis,” I grumbled. “I’m less concerned about her game than Cyrus’s.”

  Reagan’s body tightened. “I know about Keira,” she said quietly.

  Hearing her name come off Reagan’s lips was like a knife to the gut. “Can we talk?” My gaze skimmed the tavern before coming back to her. “Somewhere else?”

  Wrapping her arms around her b
ody, Reagan said, “I don’t think I should go back to your place.”

  The knife twisted.

  Before I could suggest an alternative, she looked up. “Mine?” She rubbed at her arm absently. “I’d be more comfortable there.”

  A small kernel of hope teased me. She was asking me to come to her place? It was an odd thing. She didn’t seem to trust me enough to spend any more time at my apartment, but she was willing to let me into hers? Even without understanding, I wasn’t going to turn her down. “Of course, sure,” I said.

  She nodded and stepped up the short flight of stairs that took her out of the main dining area to the small elevated landing at the entrance. She was looking at the door as she said, “You should…follow me.”

  Not riding together. Okay. I told myself that made sense and didn’t mean anything in particular. I nodded and reached forward to push the door open for her. After offering a faint smile, she stepped through. She didn’t seem to be in a mood for questions or talking, but I found it impossible to resist.

  “I thought you were going out with Emily.”

  Reagan glanced over at me, her expression difficult to read. “I did. She left before you showed up.”

  “Why Charlie’s?” I asked. I bit back asking about Charis specifically.

  She shrugged. “It was a nice place. I liked the atmosphere.”

  Silence pressed in as Reagan approached her car. Mine was a few spaces down, but I stopped beside hers. She had her keys in her hand, hesitating to unlock the vehicle or reach for the door.

  “I hadn’t considered Charis being there tonight. She…I don’t know why she did that…the kiss.” She kept her gaze down.

  “Reagan, it’s fine.”

  Finally, she glanced up, her expression confused. “You don’t care?”

  “Care?” I laughed. “Yes, I care. Charis is going to fucking hear it from me later. Am I threatened by it? No. If you break up with me tonight, it’s not going to be because of her.”

  “I never agreed we were a couple,” Reagan said, her voice tired but still edged with irritation.

  I held up my hands. “Okay, I’m sorry.” I didn’t fully get her refusal to give in on that, but it wasn’t my main concern. I checked my frustration and dealt with the more pressing issue. “What happened with Cyrus today has been weighing on me. I need to explain, if you’ll let me.”

  There was a long moment of waiting before she nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.” She turned away, the lights of her car flashing as she unlocked it. She had the door opened and was about to get in when she turned back to me. “Are you okay following me, or should I just give you the address?”

  “I’ll follow you,” I said. Fear that she’d change her mind if we got too far from each other kept me from taking the more logical option.

  She gave me a quick nod and slipped into her car. The snap of the door shutting sounded loud in the night air, but pushed me to get moving. I jogged to my car and climbed in. By the time I was out of my parking space, she was waiting for me by the exit. We moved through the city in silent synchronicity. Every move she made, I matched it, my anxiety growing with each mile and turn.

  I’d run through the conversation with Cyrus a dozen times that afternoon. He’d said enough to give her a place to start if she’d chosen to get online. I knew what the reports said. Keira’s family had done what they could to keep the worst of the details out of the papers. They wanted their daughter remembered as she had been in life, not as a victim of a violent crime. Their name and status had played a part as well. What was reported held enough information to let a person draw some uncomplimentary conclusions, if that was their frame of mind. Cyrus’s rant certainly hadn’t helped, yet Reagan seemed willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.

  She slowed and pulled to the curb in front of a five-story apartment building. Knowing how much money she made, I wondered why she hadn’t moved somewhere nicer. Her building wasn’t terrible, but she could afford better. Stepping out of my car, I walked to where she was getting something from her trunk. She had several shopping bags in one hand and was trying to get a few more when I came up behind her.

  She jumped when I reached forward to take a few of the bags from her. “I can get them,” she said.

  “Let me help, Reagan.” She hesitated at the sharpness of my voice, her grip tightening. When I sighed at my inability to play nice and relaxed my stance, she loosened her hold, and I took two of the bags from her hand. As I did, I noticed a familiar logo.

  “When did you go to Claudette’s? I told you I would take you this weekend.” I felt ridiculous sulking over something like that, but I honestly couldn’t even figure out when she’d had time to go.

  Reagan shut the trunk lid and only glanced at me from the side. “Emily went for me. I needed something for tomorrow’s shoot with Marie and she got a little carried away.”

  That made more sense. I wanted to slap myself for being such a fucking crybaby about everything tonight. “That was nice of Emily,” I said, unable to think of a better response. Reagan nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  The walk to her building was quiet. So was the trek up to the third floor. I waited for her to unlock her door, barely holding back the desire to spill out my explanation of what had really happened with Keira. As soon as we got into the apartment, she said, “Do you mind if I change first? I’ve been dying to get out of these shoes and blouse all day.”

  The corner of my mouth quirked up, and not only because I was now telling myself to quit picturing her naked. “Of course not.”

  As much as I wanted to just get this over with and deal with her reaction, I was amused. She looked incredible in the high-waist skirt and silk blouse. The outfit accentuated her figure amazingly well. The deep neckline had been killing me all day, and I’d been wanting to run my hands over her hips since she emerged from my bedroom earlier that morning. All she cared about was getting into something more comfortable.

  She darted off to what I assumed to be her bedroom, leaving me standing in the entryway with her shopping bags. Unsure of what to do with them, I decided to set them beneath her coat hooks and moved to the couch. I settled in, expecting Reagan to be a while. She startled me by reemerging from her bedroom only a few minutes later. As soon as I saw her, I groaned.

  “What?” Reagan asked. “Is something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Fuck, I knew she wasn’t trying to tease me, but I was reacting all the same. Even with a sports bra on beneath her oversized t-shirt, I could see the fullness of her breasts, the hint of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. Low slung yoga pants with bare toes peeking out from under the hems completed my torture. “No, nothing’s wrong,” I forced myself to say.

  Struggling to banish a growing erection, I sat up straighter and focused my thoughts. Reagan twisted her fingers around the edge of her shirt uncertainly, inadvertently pulling the shirt more tightly against her breasts. Focus, I told myself. Reagan hesitated a few seconds before joining me on the couch. She didn’t understand my discomfort, but seemed to want put it aside in favor of an explanation. We sat next to each other, but far enough away that nothing touched.

  “So, Keira,” she said quietly. “What happened to her?”

  “What do you already know?” I asked. Reagan pulled her knees up to her chest, her breasts squeezed by the pressure. I reluctantly dragged my gaze upward, waiting for her to speak.

  “I know she was Cyrus’s sister, and that she was murdered, stabbed to death, by a stalker who was never caught.” She breathed in, held the breath, then forced it out of her lungs slowly. “I also know she was your girlfriend.”

  Sighing, I sank into the couch. That was pretty much what I’d expected her to say. Police and news reports had been vague, purposefully, out of respect and precaution. They gave enough to the public to reassure them there wasn’t a crazed lunatic out there intent on hurting young women. No, he just wanted Keira dead. Everyone else…they could rest assured. The truth wasn’t far off, in
the strictest sense, but the story was so much more than a few lines of carefully worded reporting.

  “Keira started modeling when she was a child. Cyrus did as well, but quit in his early teens to pursue art. He’s a brilliant painter, but quickly realized his true talent lay in finding stars and launching careers. He was the one who took Keira out of teen fashion catalogues and onto the catwalk, as well as introducing her to artistic modeling,” I said. “Her mother had acted as her manager prior to that. Once she realized how well Cyrus handled things on his own, she turned the reins over to him, and the two of them became Marpole Inc.”

  Reagan’s brows pulled together in thought. “Isn’t that…our biggest advertising client?” She lifted her gaze to mine. “I couldn’t remember why that name seemed familiar aside from Brandon’s mention of the galley, but now I remember seeing their logo on a lot of the print ads I’ve checked formatting on. I don’t usually pay much attention to the content. I remember the logo, though. The dripping paintbrush lying on the blank canvas.”

  “That’s them,” I said. “By the time Cyrus was twenty and Keira was eighteen, they’d formed the corporation and were taking the art world with ease. Keira modeled less as she managed more of the business side of their ventures. Cyrus focused on the gallery and finding new artists. Marie likes to think she discovered Brandon Frere, but he grew up with the Marpoles. Brandon resisted Cyrus’s offers to put him in the limelight throughout college. Brandon was determined to make it on his own credit and not Cyrus’s extensive networking connections. Now that he has made it, he’s more than happy to let Cyrus turn him into the art world’s playboy.”

  I rolled my eyes, irritated all over again with Brandon for the shit he’d pulled with Reagan. Now he’d managed to drag Cyrus into it as well. I was beginning to regret pushing Marie to extend a contract.