It was partly why he’d let her have her space after he’d gotten back from his meeting with the lawyers yesterday. If she hadn’t wanted to talk, he hadn’t been in the mood to press her, plus his brothers had finally gotten back to him, promising to be at the Tate Oil meeting he’d scheduled to finally face the board. Neither of them had told him jack shit about what was going on with them, which hadn’t done his temper any good, and so it seemed prudent to keep some distance between him and Chloe. Because God knew she didn’t need him being a grumpy fuck, not when the equivalent of a stick of gelignite had exploded in her life.
So what he should be doing right now, since he’d given her all the facts, was to leave her alone to deal with those facts and to keep himself uninvolved.
Yet he found himself simply unable to walk away.
She looked small and fragile, her face white, dark circles under her big dark eyes.
He’d always known that Noah had cared about his foster kids more as abstracts than as people. As heirs, as guardians of his legacy, as tools to protect his real love: Tate Oil.
But Chloe clearly hadn’t known that, and for some reason Van didn’t like that thought. It wasn’t her fault Noah had been a lying asshole, and it made him angry that Noah had clearly done something to make her think he was a better man that he actually was.
“You’re not fine,” Van disagreed, scanning her pale face. “You look like hell.”
Something burned in the darkness of her eyes, a hot flame. A familiar anger. “Yeah, well, I didn’t sleep all that great. That bed is really uncomfortable.”
“Bullshit. It’s not the bed.”
Her chin lifted higher. “Of course it’s the bed.”
“So you sobbed all over me yesterday because you had a shitty night’s sleep. Right. Totally nothing to do with the fact that you just found out your father was a fucking liar not to mention not actually your father.”
She flushed. “Yesterday was an aberration, so don’t worry, it won’t happen again. Besides, like I said, I always knew Dad was a liar. This isn’t as big a surprise to me as you apparently think it is.”
He stared at her, trying to read her expression. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. You know that, right? You’d just had a hell of a shock.”
Her cheeks went even redder. “You know what? I think I’m done here. Thanks for the chat.” She turned, making as if to go past him toward the door.
And he didn’t know why he didn’t let her. Didn’t understand what made him reach out and take that stubborn little chin in his hand. What made him hold her gently but firmly, turning her face toward his so he could look at her.
Her eyes had gone wide and there was no disguising the angry glow burning in their depths.
No, she wasn’t fine. This hurt her. This really hurt her. But she was pretending very very hard that it didn’t.
“Noah lying to you was a shitty thing,” he said, because it was and because he wanted her to know that he knew it was. “It’s okay to be angry about it.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for the validation, but I don’t need it. I couldn’t give a crap whether he’s my father or not.”
Little liar. Why was she pretending this didn’t matter to her?
“Oh, come on.” Her skin was very warm beneath his fingers, very soft. “You think I can’t see how furious you are?”
Her mouth flattened and she tried to jerk her head away. But something in him wouldn’t let her go, wanting to help her, protect her. Comfort her.
Stupid. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that he should be letting her walk away. Yet the skin beneath his fingers was so smooth. So fragile.
She’d broken apart yesterday, right out there in the street. Had put her head on his chest and wept. Apparently not caring about the fact they hadn’t seen each other for eight years and were virtual strangers. No, she’d done it as if she felt safe with him. As if she trusted him.
And you know what happens to women who do that, don’t you?
He felt cold all of a sudden. Fuck, of course he knew. They died.
“I’m not angry,” Chloe snapped. “Let me go, asshole.”
She was standing close to him, probably too close, and he didn’t know where this urge to push her had come from. And what was worse, he wanted to keep doing it, to find out why she was protecting herself so fiercely, why she’d broken yesterday, and why she was now trying to pretend that that hadn’t happened.
These things don’t matter. Why are you letting them?
Fuck if he knew.
“Yeah, you are,” he murmured. “But what I can’t figure out is why you’re pretending you’re not.”
“Like I said, I’m not having this conversation now.” Her dark eyes glowed hot. “Let me go, Van.”
He could feel the tension in her jaw and in her neck. Could feel it gathering in the space between them too, a thick, heavy kind of tension that shouldn’t be there.
Did she feel this? Or was it just him?
He found himself staring as she swallowed, his attention caught by the elegant column of her neck before settling on the beat of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Was it getting faster or was that his imagination?
What the fuck are you doing? Let her go, dick.
The tension pulled tighter, the hot anger in Chloe’s eyes wavering as she glanced, oh so briefly, at his mouth.
He knew that look. He’d seen it many times on the faces of the women he picked up while he was on leave. Women who didn’t want anything more from him than a night of hot, commitment-free sex. Women who simply needed a hard-muscled body to fuck before going off to do whatever else it was they did, which was the way he preferred it.
Yeah, those women looked at him the way Chloe was looking at him right now—wanting him.
Something dangerously like satisfaction clenched deep inside him. Which was just so fucking wrong. She was his goddamn foster sister and Jesus, apart from anything else, he was supposed to be protecting her.
And that includes protecting her from you.
Fuck.
It took far more effort than it should have to let go of her chin and take a step back, away from her. But he did it.
“Fine.” He tried to ignore the fact that his voice sounded husky. “Have it your way. But now you know the truth, you’ll understand why it’s important that you do exactly what I say. De Santis is dangerous and we can’t let him know you’re here. I need more time to figure out just what the fuck we’re going to do about him.”
There was color in her cheeks now, and he didn’t think it was purely lingering embarrassment from him mentioning the day before. But she didn’t look away this time. “Why? What the hell do you think he’s going to do? I don’t own anything, so I’m of no use to him at all.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.” The warmth from her skin lingered on his fingertips and he found he’d curled them into a fist, as if he could keep hold of her heat. Surreptitiously he straightened them. “And even if he does know you were cut out of the will, that doesn’t stop you from being a useful hostage.”
A muscle in her jaw tightened, her shoulders hunching even more. “So, what? I continue to be trapped here? Until you deal with him?”
Once again he felt the oddest urge to take her in his arms, because beneath the anger she steadfastly refused to acknowledge, he caught a glimpse of what he thought was fear.
Christ, it really was time he got out of here. He didn’t need her getting under his skin any more than she’d already done.
“Pretty much,” he said shortly, stepping back and turning toward the door.
“But what am I supposed to do? I can’t just … sit here in front of the TV.”
“Then use the gym.” He didn’t wait for a response. He simply strode out before she could say another word.
It was only as he was standing beneath the shower, letting the water clean away all the sweat from his workout, that he realized he could still feel the s
mooth warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips.
CHAPTER SIX
Use the gym, Van had said the day before.
“Fuck you,” Chloe muttered as she sat on the edge of the bed, watching the flakes in the snow globe whirl around the miniature ice rink.
She didn’t know why she was looking at it, but O’Neil hadn’t needed anything from her when she’d called the ranch that morning, and she’d gotten sick of watching television. Exploring the mansion had taken all of ten minutes, and after a cursory search through the library had turned up nothing to read but classics and books on business, the only thing left was to sit on the bed and fiddle with her stupid globe.
She shook it again, the snowflakes a blizzard against the glass. She still remembered her father giving it to her. How she’d had her bag packed the whole week, just like she always did whenever he made his “this time you can come to New York” promises. She’d been so excited, thinking that this time he really meant it. He’d organized a chopper to pick her up from the ranch and from there she’d be taken to the airfield where the corporate jet would fly her to the city. She had her bodyguards with her, and her dad would be waiting for her at the other end so there wouldn’t be any danger.
She’d waited for the chopper to come sitting on the staircase with her suitcase on her knees, almost vibrating with excitement. But the time for it to come slowly passed and still there was no sound from the sky, none at all. She sat there a whole two hours, the pit in her stomach getting wider and wider, until the front door of the ranch house had opened and one of her dad’s employees came in carrying a box with a small note attached.
In the box was the snow globe, and the note attached had merely said that he was sorry but this visit wasn’t going to work out. That maybe she should come later in the year, when he wasn’t so busy, and here was a little piece of New York to keep her company instead.
She’d unpacked the snow globe, tears of disappointment streaming down her cheeks, hating herself for continually believing that this time would be different. Believing that one day he’d actually do what he promised.
Because it wasn’t really about going to New York. It was about whether her father actually cared about her. And the fact that he kept building up her hopes only to dash them at the last minute proved that he didn’t care, that he was happy with the distance he consistently held her at, and that she would never bridge it.
It had been in that moment that she’d decided. She wasn’t going to believe his empty promises any longer. She wouldn’t hope that things would change. She would let him keep his distance and she would find something else to channel her love into. And she’d keep the snow globe to remind herself of the danger of believing anything her goddamn father said.
Chloe sat there staring at the stupid thing.
She didn’t understand why she’d even believed him at all when he’d told her that she was his own blood. In fact, why had he even said it at all? Why had he pretended that she was his when she wasn’t? It didn’t make any sense.
She should have asked Van the day before, but he’d walked so abruptly out of the gym, she hadn’t had the chance. She still didn’t know what had happened to make him leave, but he’d shut himself in his office for the entire day afterward, making it pretty clear he didn’t want to have any further discussion.
You really don’t know why he left?
Chloe’s breath caught, the memory of his hand holding her chin sweeping through her. His grip had been gentle yet firm, and he’d looked down at her with a hot gold flicker in his eyes.
She’d felt the tension between them, dense as the atmosphere before one of the wild storms that sometimes came in over Shadow Peak. And she’d felt her attention drift helplessly to his sensual mouth.
She couldn’t kid herself that she didn’t know what that tension was, or what it might mean. Sure, she was pretty inexperienced when it came to men, but she knew what sexual tension was. She knew what it felt like.
Abruptly, she put the globe back on the nightstand and stood up.
No, she wasn’t going to think about the look in Van’s eyes, or the way he held her, or the heat of his body, oiled and gleaming, so hard and muscled and perfect. She wasn’t going to think about the part of her that knew he’d felt the tension between them as well. And had liked it.
No, shit, she definitely wasn’t going to think about that.
God, what she needed was air, just a single hit of fresh air. She hadn’t been outside for a good three days and she was going stir crazy. Maybe that was why she was feeling this way, nothing to do with that hot coal in her chest, the one that kept burning and burning and wouldn’t go out.
Chloe left the bedroom and went out into the hall, glancing up the stairs. When she’d found Van in the gym the day before, she’d caught a glimpse of a rooftop terrace beyond the windows of his bedroom. Sure, he’d told her not to go outside, but surely standing on the roof would be okay? No one could see her up there and besides, she wasn’t going to be out there for long. Just enough to cool that hot, burning feeling.
Van would be pissed, but hell, he wasn’t here. He’d gone by the time she’d woken up that morning, leaving her a note that he would be out most of the day. So what he wouldn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.
Chloe stomped up the stairs to the top floor and into Van’s bedroom.
It was incredibly tidy. The bed was made and there were no clothes lying about. A large black bag was sitting on an armchair near the window. She could smell the slight hint of his fresh, forest scent and found herself inhaling for no particular reason she could see.
Stupid, she was being stupid.
Down one end of the bedroom, near the black bag, was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows with a view out onto the terrace. There was a door handle in one of the windows.
Chloe moved over to the door and tested the handle. It was locked. There was, however, a small lever that after a quick fiddle solved the problem.
She pushed it open and stepped out, and for a moment simply stood there, inhaling the scent of the city. It wasn’t sunny—the sky an intense, heavy gray—there was a cold wind blowing and a bite of rain in the air, but Chloe didn’t care.
She sucked in one breath and then another, enjoying the brush of wind on her face and raising goose bumps on her skin. The city smelled heavily of exhaust fumes, trash, and wet asphalt, which she didn’t much like, but being out in the open air was worth it.
Closing the door behind her, she walked farther out onto the terrace, shivering in the cold wind. The area was bounded by a brick parapet with lots of potted shrubs and trees, and there was an arrangement of outdoor furniture down one end—a sectional sofa plus some armchairs and a table.
Chloe wandered over to the side of the terrace and leaned her elbows on the parapet, staring out over the city, blinking at all the buildings. She’d never been in a city. She’d never even been to Buffalo. And New York was … well, she had to admit it was something.
There was the Chrysler Building. And there’s the Empire State. And wasn’t that Rockefeller Center where they have a skating rink in the winter? Just like in her snow globe?
Her throat tightened.
She was here, finally, after all those years of broken promises. But this time it was without Noah. Because Noah was dead and gone.
The coal in her chest smoldered painfully, and suddenly she didn’t want to be out here looking at a view she should have been sharing with her dad. Perhaps watching TV hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.
Then something caught her attention, a flash, like light reflecting off a window. She squinted, leaning out slightly, trying to figure out what it was. It had come from the building opposite, she was sure.
“Chloe,” a deep, male voice ordered harshly from behind her. “Get the fuck away from the parapet.”
* * *
Chloe was bent over the edge of the damn building, her black hair blowing around in the wind, revealing herself to anyone who might be
watching. Van didn’t know if de Santis had the building under surveillance yet, but he did know that de Santis was a man who left nothing to chance and that Chloe was tempting fate.
At the sound of his voice, she straightened and turned sharply, her eyes going wide as he slammed the door shut behind him and headed toward her.
Jesus, what the hell was she doing out here? He’d thought he’d been clear about the whole going outside thing. Sure, he hadn’t actually specified that the rooftop terrace was out of bounds, but he’d thought she’d have understood the nature of the danger.
It put him in even more of a foul temper than he already was.
The day had started badly with the meeting of the board at Tate Oil and Gas. Wolf had been late and then, when Van had explained the purpose of the meeting to the board—which was to fire the lot of them—his youngest brother had nearly gotten into a fight with a board member who’d taken exception to being let go.
Van had had to do some pretty quick negotiating in order to defuse the situation, while Lucas had sat there with his arms folded, sweeping the room with a look that promised death to anyone stupid enough to cause any more trouble.
Van hadn’t wanted to handle all the company bullshit by coming in and handing out orders like a damn dictator, but he’d realized the moment he’d walked into the meeting room, his brothers at his side, that unfortunately that was exactly what he was going to have to do.
None of the board members were happy with the brothers coming in and screwing around with their cushy corporate jobs and their fat corporate paychecks, but Noah Tate’s word was law. And if the brothers were now the board, then the brothers were now the board.
Even if the brothers themselves weren’t happy about it.
After the meeting, they’d spent all day closeted in the board room with a couple of Noah’s trusted managers, getting the lowdown on the company and where it was at. And unfortunately for all of them, the news wasn’t good.
Someone very, very powerful had been in the process of buying up Tate stock, and it looked like that someone was now angling to stage a hostile takeover. But it wasn’t clear exactly how much stock they actually owned.
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