by Lara Adrian
It sickens me.
It also makes me think about another woman and the years of abuse she endured as a girl, not from a boyfriend who claimed to love her, but from a father who should have been the one to keep her safe. A sick, cowardly man who would have killed her and the rest of his family if fate hadn’t intervened to keep their car from plunging off a highway bridge in the dark.
My blood seethes at the thought. I’m also filled with a bone-deep relief that Melanie survived the crash and the hell of her childhood. I don’t want to imagine the world existing without her—even if I’m determined there can be no place for her in my own.
I suddenly realize Nate hasn’t moved from where he stands in front of my desk. When I drag myself out of the grim reminders of Melanie’s past pain, I find my friend’s piercing stare locked on me.
“You didn’t hear a word I just said, did you?”
I grunt. “Sorry. I’ve got some things on my mind today.”
He eyes me skeptically. “You’ve been prowling around in here grumbling and scowling since the weekend.”
I level a dark look on him now, which only serves to prove his point. “What were you saying?” I ask, ignoring his on-point observation.
He points to the file folder. “We’re going to need Alyssa to sign those documents so I can file them with the judge. The shelter she’s staying at is on the way to the courthouse. I could take the file over to her for signature on my way.”
“No. I’d rather bring her here to review the process with us and answer any questions she might have. She’ll be more comfortable doing that somewhere other than where she’s staying. I want to talk to her about the art program in Chelsea, anyway.”
Nate nods. “Let me know if you need anything else on my end.”
“Actually, there is something. We need to discuss the Gramercy Park project.”
“Sure. What about it?”
“I’m suspending the project, effective immediately.”
“Suspending it?” Nate’s brows rise. “Meaning you’re scrapping it entirely, or putting it on hold for a while?”
“I haven’t decided. But as of today, I want Crowne and Merritt cut loose.”
Nate lets go of an exhaled curse. “That’s not going to go over well. Victor Crowne is notoriously litigious. I’ll guarantee you we can expect a lawsuit from him in response.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck about that?”
My barked reply comes out hotter than intended. It’s rare that I lose control of my temper when it comes to my business dealings. Rarer still that I lose it in front of Nate.
Unlike my art, my clubs and real estate ventures have never meant much to me. They’re nothing but diversions, albeit lucrative ones. They’ve also become a needed distraction from the reality I’m loathe to accept: that my ability to paint is slipping away from me day by day.
And now I have another loss I need to accept.
The dubious look on my friend and counselor’s face intensifies in the wake of my anger. “What’s really going on here, Jared? Why am I getting the sense this grudge you have with Daniel Hathaway goes a lot deeper than the seventy-five grand poker debt he owes you?”
I scoff sharply, despite the fact that he’s got that much right. But everything’s changed now, because of her.
“I’m not interested in Hathaway anymore. I took this thing too far. I need to let it go.”
Nate studies me. “I think you mean let her go. We’re talking about Hathaway’s woman, aren’t we?”
Hathaway’s woman. Melanie doesn’t belong to him, not that she ever did. She couldn’t have, not if she was able to kiss me the way she did. The way she melted under my touch scorched the truth of it into all my senses. Melanie Laurent is mine.
Damn it, she should be mine.
Maybe she could be, if only I were a different man. A better man.
“Just kill the fucking project, Nate.”
“All right.” He gives me a tight nod. “Consider it done.”
“While you’re at it,” I add, when he turns to leave. “I need you to take care of something else for me, too.”
I have a business checkbook in the desk. I take it out and hastily scrawl out a payment. I hold it out to Nate, daring him to mention the subtle tremor that make the paper tremble in my fingers.
He frowns as he takes the check from me and glances at Melanie’s name and the figure representing the full amount of our agreement.
“You’re cutting her loose, too?”
I drop the checkbook back in the drawer without answering, then I get up from the chair behind the desk. “I need to get out of the city for a while. I’m thinking I’ll spend the rest of the summer in Sagaponack, come back here in a few months. Maybe later.”
A look of incredulity crosses Nate’s expression. “Holy shit. You really must be falling for her.”
Fuck, am I? It sounds ridiculous to hear him say it, yet the denial I want to lob back at him refuses to leave my mouth.
Am I attracted to her? No question. Do I want to be inside her so badly it makes me hard just thinking about it? Hell, yes.
Do I wish I had this whole fucked up situation to do all over again? Without a doubt.
But I haven’t survived almost thirty-eight years of living by looking out for myself, only to get tangled up in a relationship that can only end one way—in disaster.
I can’t let myself get any closer to Melanie so long as she’s playing a part in the payback I wanted to wreak on Daniel Hathaway, and once she learns the truth about that, she’ll never want anything to do with me again.
“Make sure that check reaches her ASAP,” I growl at Nate. “I plan to wrap up the business I have here in the city, then be gone by the end of the week.”
He gives me a grave nod. Before he can tell me what an asshole I am, or that I’m making a huge mistake letting Melanie go, a rap sounds on the doorjamb of my open study.
Gibson awkwardly clears his throat. “Excuse the interruption, gentlemen. Mr. Rush, you have an unannounced visitor waiting downstairs.”
Just what I don’t need right now.
“Not Alyssa Gallo, I hope.” I frown, wondering what kind of fire I’ll need to put out for her this time.
“Ah, no, sir.” Gibson looks even more uncomfortable, if that’s possible. “It’s Ms. Laurent. She’s insisting that she see you at once.”
Nate smirks at me, as if he doesn’t give a damn that I’m his employer in addition to being his closest friend. I should fire the son of a bitch on the spot.
“Guess you’ll be able to do your own dirty work on this one,” he says, placing the folded check on the edge of my desk. “Good luck, sport.”
As he strolls toward the door to make his escape, Melanie storms into the room without escort. She’s dressed in a pink-and-white gingham waitress uniform with white-cuffed short sleeves and a skirt that ends just above her knees. Her light auburn hair is gathered into a high ponytail and her long, lean legs are wrapped in white tights and crepe-soled shoes.
It’s not the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen, yet my entire body ignites at the sight of her as though I’ve got gasoline in my bloodstream and Melanie Laurent is a lit match.
Desire surges through me, giving me an erection that strains the front of my dark jeans.
Just one more reason I need to cut her loose, and do it quick.
Her blue-gray eyes latch onto me the instant she steps inside. They’re as dark as thunderclouds now, and I have to wonder how pissed she was when she set out to find me if she’s still vibrating with fury now.
“Sorry, Gibson,” she says, flicking an apologetic glance at my dutiful house manager. “I know you said to wait, but what I have to say to the arrogant bastard you work for won’t take long.”
The old man inclines his head as if she just told him she’d arrived for tea. And I would swear I detect the trace of a smile playing at the edge of his mouth in the second before he bobs his head in my direction, then hastily shu
ffles for the exit where he joins Nate.
The two men leave, closing the tall doors behind them.
At the soft click in their wake, Melanie charges forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Until a few seconds ago, I thought I was having a private meeting with my attorney.” I lean back against the edge of the desk, my hands braced on either side of me, mainly to combat the urge to go to her.
She advances until she’s within arm’s length of me. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
Reaching into the small crossbody bag slung over her shoulder, she pulls out a folded paper and shoves it toward me. I catch the in-home nursing work order and calmly set it down on the desktop beside me.
My non-reaction only seems to anger her more. “You’re unbelievable, Jared. What part of ‘I don’t want your charity’ didn’t you understand the other day?”
“As I recall, you said that about indulging a child with some sugary drinks. I didn’t think the same rule would apply when it comes to providing your mother with a necessary service.”
“It’s not necessary,” she fires back. “It’s excessive. And you have no right.”
“Maybe not, but I have the means. I’m sure your mother could use the care, and you can’t do it all on your own.” My voice gentles in the face of her outrage. “The point is, I didn’t think you should have to do it all on your own, Melanie.”
Some of the steam leaves her at that, but it’s clear she’s not ready to back down from this fight. “Again, you have no right to decide what I can or can’t handle. When I said I didn’t want your charity, I meant it.” She folds her arms in front of her. “I’m going to pay you back. It may take a while, but I’m going to pay back every cent, Jared.”
“It won’t be necessary.” I stand and turn to pick up the check I made out to her. “I have something else for you, too.”
“What’s this?” She eyes it warily, as if I’m handing her a lit fuse. When she reads the amount written on it, her gaze snaps back up to mine in question.
“I’m breaking our contract. Keep the full amount, or give your boyfriend his share. I leave that up to you.”
“Daniel’s not my boyfriend anymore. I broke up with him.”
“When?” I don’t even try to hide my surprise.
“Last weekend. The day after I was at your studio.”
The day after we kissed and I made her come in my hand. “You didn’t say anything about breaking up with Hathaway when I saw you at the hospital.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t tell me later, either.” Later, when she confessed she wanted me, too, and nearly invited me to do a lot more than just fondle her like a hormone-crazed schoolboy.
“Would it have mattered if I had told you? I think you would’ve left either way.”
She’s right. I would have gone no matter what. To save her from me.
To save myself, too.
“Why did you break it off with him?”
“Because I’d rather be alone than with someone I can’t trust. He lied to me about his gambling and the trouble he’s in. I think he’s lied to me about countless little things since we met. How can I believe him about anything anymore?”
Her gaze pierces me, and I can see that she’s also uncertain if she can trust me. I know the answer to that question, and although I would do anything to shelter her from hurt or harm, right now I also understand that I’m the biggest threat to her happiness.
“You made the right decision. Hathaway doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”
Before I try to rationalize my way into thinking I can do better, I turn away from her and walk around to the other side of the desk. I feel her eyes on me as I move. I feel her confusion, and her hurt.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”
I meet her searching gaze from behind the safety of the barrier I’ve just placed between us. It’s not easy to hold my resolve in the face of her wounded bewilderment.
“What more is there to say, Melanie? Our agreement is no longer in effect. I have no interest in finishing the painting.”
“You mean, you’re not interested in painting me anymore.”
“Semantics,” I reply, knowing it’s cruel to let her think I’m as callous as I sound. It’s for the best, though. Best for her and for me if she leaves now and never looks back. “You told me at the hospital you didn’t intend to continue posing for me. I’m in agreement. I never should’ve proposed the arrangement in the first place.”
She scoffs softly. “Oh, that’s right. Because if you’d known about my fucked-up past, you would’ve had zero interest in me. I thought you only want to paint what’s real, Jared. Everything else is a waste of your time and your talent. Isn’t that what you said the night we first met right here in this room?”
“That is what I said,” I admit tonelessly.
“I guess it’s no fun for you now, is that it? There’s nothing left of me to peel apart on your canvas, so you can’t wait to discard me and move on to someone else.”
Her brittle stare shreds me.
“You couldn’t be more wrong.”
“You want to know what I think? I think you’re a fraud, Jared Rush. You’re an isolated, lonely man. I think you get off on manipulating people, not only through your art but in your life, too. You relish exposing people’s weaknesses only so you can convince yourself that you’re superior. I think you surround yourself with beautiful women and wealthy friends, but you’re always going to be that tragic, broken boy from Kentucky who’s not going to heal no matter how rich or powerful he is.”
Christ, her aim is accurate. Mercilessly sharp.
“You’ve seen through me from the beginning, haven’t you?” A dry, humorless chuckle escapes me. “I can see through you, too, Ms. Laurent. You surround yourself with people who lack your strength because deep down, you need to feel needed, indispensable. Because you never want to feel like you don’t matter again. You never want to feel like you can be thrown away by someone who should care about you. You never want to feel the way you did in the backseat of that speeding car as your father steered toward the guardrail.”
She reels back, her lovely face slack with shock. “I wish I’d never told you that.” Her voice is nearly a whisper. Mutely, she shakes her head. “I wish I’d never met you.”
The check I gave her is still clutched in her fingers. On a throttled cry, she tears the paper into confetti and casts it at me.
“Keep your fucking money, Jared. Keep your fucking pity, too. I don’t want either one of them.”
I’ve managed to hold myself in check since she stepped into the room, but I can’t let her remark go. As she pivots around and starts for the door, I round the desk in only a couple of steps, catching her by the wrist.
“This has nothing to do with pity. That’s the last thing I feel for you.” My words are clipped and harsh, my teeth clenched with the force of my anger. “I’m ending this because everything you said about me is right. And I’m getting too close, too fast. I care about you, Melanie.”
She gapes at me, a guarded look in her eyes. It takes everything I have not to reach up and smooth the wariness from the flattened line of her mouth.
“I had no intention of letting it happen, but it did.”
She’s silent for a long moment, then she shakes her head as if to deny what I’m saying, not only to me but to herself. “You must be drunk, Jared. Again.”
She tries to pull out of my grasp, but I can’t loosen my hold. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in two full days. Not since the last time I saw you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
Mistrust still darkens her gaze, but there is curiosity there, too. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just . . . wanted you to know. Maybe I needed to prove to myself I could get through a day without it. Maybe I wanted to prove it to
you.”
I step closer, when I should be stepping away. “It doesn’t matter why, though, because I need to let you go.”
She doesn’t blink, doesn’t take her eyes off me, as if she’s facing a wild, lethal animal and isn’t sure whether she wants to run or stand and fight. “You still have your hand on me, Jared.”
I incline my head. “I do. Tell me to let go and I will.”
She draws in a breath. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“It’s what I should want.” And yet my fingers contract even more, clamped around her delicate wrist like a shackle. I bring my other hand up to her face, helpless to keep from stroking my fingers along the velvety slope of her cheek. I curse, low under my breath. “I had myself convinced it was what I wanted, until you stormed in here all pissed off and looking sexy as hell.”
Her gaze is still wary on me, but her lips quirk just a little. “You have a thing for pink gingham polyester and white tights?”
I scowl and pull her closer. “I have a thing for you, Ms. Laurent. In case you haven’t noticed.”
At the moment, it would be impossible for her not to notice. The hard-on she gave me on sight when she arrived hasn’t abated at all. Now that there are scant inches to separate us, the heat of her nearness, the scent of her flushed skin and fragrant hair, sends all my faculties into overdrive.
I let my hand move down from the side of her face to the elegant column of her neck. She shivers, her breath leaving her in a soft, unsteady sigh. “I’m mad at you, Jared.”
I smile against her heated skin. “I know, but you’re still going to let me kiss you.”
If she intends to deny it, the words are swept away by another quivery exhalation as I lower my head so I can taste the tender skin below her ear. She’s sweet and warm against my parted lips, her quiet moan vibrating against my tongue. The curse I hiss through my gritted teeth is a dead giveaway for how close to the edge I am already with her.