by Amanda Usen
I’ll kill anyone who touches her.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen them and opened and closed his mouth several times to relieve the tension in his jaw. Where the hell had that come from? Susannah wasn’t his, but he couldn’t deny the possessive fury that gripped him at the thought of anyone else continuing the lessons he’d started. He took a deep breath, slid out of bed, and forced himself to think. He didn’t want a relationship, and Susannah was the marrying kind. A banker would be perfect for her.
He walked into the bathroom and turned on the cold water. What had happened between them was a one-off, and he needed to stay focused on his career, not his cock. He stepped into the spray and welcomed the freezing sting as well-deserved punishment for bad behavior. As soon as he got out of the shower, he’d text her an apology and let her know he wasn’t going to continue to harass her. Then he’d do what he’d come to DC to do.
His parents were already bristling that he’d chosen to stay at a hotel instead of at the house, and if he were late for brunch, it would make things even more volatile. He didn’t enjoy pissing them off, but being trapped at home made him feel like he was being strangled. Even thinking about it made adrenaline flood his system, and there was no doubt what his instincts were telling him to do.
Fly.
He couldn’t—not yet.
His parents had established the charity to raise research money for the cancer that had taken Lance’s life, and there was a ton of glad-handing to be done this week and at the gala this weekend. They might hate everything about the career he’d chosen, but his parents didn’t complain when he used his celebrity to get people to write fat checks. The very second the last guest left, he’d be back on a plane. Until then he was stuck in a suit.
He rinsed off soap and shampoo and turned off the frigid water. At least he wouldn’t need any coffee at brunch now—if he were any more awake, he’d need a sedative. He dressed quickly, left the room, and headed for the front desk. As he’d expected, a car was waiting.
“Hey, Carlos. How’ve you been?” He shook hands with his father’s driver and slid into the backseat.
“Can’t complain too much. Good to see you, kid.”
“You, too.” Their eyes met in the rearview mirror, and Russ flashed back to being a teenager, when Carlos had arrived in the nick of time on too many occasions to count. He probably had the guy to thank for keeping him out of jail until the military could turn his tendency to act first and think later into an advantage. A wreath of wrinkles bracketed Carlos’s penetrating black eyes, some of them courtesy of him, no doubt. It was nice to now see warmth instead of censure in his gaze.
As the miles between him and his parents lessened, Russ steeled himself for the guilt he always felt in their presence. They’d been angry when he enlisted in the army instead of going to law school as planned. When he’d been selected for the Special Forces and disappeared for months at a time, they hadn’t been happy either. His parents didn’t like anything they couldn’t control, and he understood that perfectly—he’d inherited that trait.
When Bergman had tracked him down and offered him In the Wild, his hunger for a new adventure had reached its peak. The military had been a great place to train, but he didn’t plan to follow orders for the rest of his life. The idea of bringing his skills to bear in a challenging new environment every week excited him on every level. The show had taken off, and Russ had gotten an agent and signed on for two more years.
But then Lance had gotten sick.
His parents had eventually forgiven him for trashing their plans for his future, but they would never forgive him for taking Lance out of treatment. His little brother had been the apple of their eye, the peacemaker, the suave, politically correct diplomat in the making—or so they’d thought. After his first round of grueling chemo, Lance had privately admitted he’d never wanted a life in politics at all. He’d only followed in their father’s footsteps to keep the family peace, something he wouldn’t have had to do if Russ had done it for him. That was the night they’d made the list, and Russ had been determined to make his little brother’s last wishes come true.
Lance’s prognosis sucked, and he didn’t want more drugs. There hadn’t been any time to waste. The next day, he’d picked Lance up from the hospital, and they’d headed for New Orleans. Their parents were livid. The hospital staff was appalled. Russ had taken the blame, never telling them it was what Lance wanted. It was easier that way. Lance hadn’t wanted to disappoint them, and Russ already had.
He’d never forget the joy on his brother’s face each time they crossed an adventure off the list. They’d cruised Glacier Bay in Alaska, watched the bulls run in Pamplona, gambled in Monaco, and done things in Amsterdam that had eased the pain for both of them considerably.
The good times had lasted until Egypt. They’d been standing in front of a pyramid when Lance said it was time to go home. Then he’d said the words that had driven Russ ever since. Keep living for me, bro. Don’t ever stop.
The door opened, startling him.
“Sir? We’ve arrived.”
“Thank you.” He got out of the car. The front curtain moved, and a suffocating sense of expectation descended on him. Nothing had changed. His mother had likely been watching for him all morning, waiting for her next chance to bring him back into the fold.
It wasn’t going to happen. He’d never be the son they wanted, but he could play the part for a week—for Lance. He straightened his shoulders and strode up the walkway.
The front door opened, and his sister leaped off the porch and sprinted toward him at a dead run. She jumped, and he caught her, swinging her around.
“Russ, you asshole. It’s been a year!”
“Sorry, Jess. Been busy. You’re welcome to join me anywhere and anytime, you know.” He set her back on her feet and tugged her sleek blond ponytail. It was hard to shut down the urge to tell her how much he’d missed her, but he did. If she knew he thought about her every day, she’d intensify her already-fierce campaign to get him to visit home more often. “There’s a big wide world out there.”
“Some of us like it in Washington.” Her gaze shifted to the porch.
“Welcome home, son.” His father hadn’t changed, either. His back was ramrod-straight, and his expression was impassive. The cold blue eyes he’d passed on to his children warned Russ to keep his distance, and he knew he’d still feel miles separating them when they shook hands.
Jessie gave him a sharp shove, but he didn’t move forward. “Dinner later?” he asked.
“It will have to be here in the dining room.” Her blue eyes gleamed. “Mom’s having a party for you tonight. Did you forget?”
“More like repressed.” He could feel the Windsor knot tightening around his neck already. His mother appeared beside his father, and they stood, waiting for him to make the first move. The house loomed above them. The adventure he sought out for a living was nothing compared to the challenge in front of him. Icy adrenaline flooded his system, readying him for battle. It was time to do this.
With a measured stride, he stepped forward.
Chapter Nine
Susannah gazed at Russ’s text, perplexed.
I’m sorry for teasing you. I truly didn’t know about the footage. We’ll get through this and keep it classy. Have fun with the banker.
Talk about a one-eighty turnaround. What was he up to now? Should she ignore him or text back? And what did “Have fun with the banker” mean? Last night he’d been trying to talk her into a date, and she was pretty sure this morning’s text about being “prepared” had been a reference to condoms. She hadn’t been able to think of an appropriate response, and this text made her feel even more off-balance.
Her heart thudded. She’d barely gotten any sleep and had been operating in a thick fog all day. Her body felt heavy and sensitive. Every so often, heat would wash over her, leaving her restless. She’d worked her ass off today, trying to leave the unsettling emotions behind her, but no
w that Russ had decided to stop flirting, she was afraid she knew exactly what was wrong with her. Ever since his “prepared” text this morning, she’d been on a slow simmer, hot and churned up, thinking about sex, specifically sex with him.
She flashed back to him saying I’ve got you, and her stomach clenched. She could count the number of orgasms Ethan had managed to give her on both hands, but Russ had basically snapped his fingers, and she’d climaxed. She imagined him poised above her, pressed against her, and then sinking into her. Her legs gave out, and she staggered backward to slump against the counter.
She should thank her lucky stars he’d changed his attitude, or she might have done something stupid, like flirt back. Her lawyer assured her Ethan wasn’t going to win his custody appeal, but the publicity for the show wasn’t making her look like mother of the year. The last thing she needed to do was add more fuel to the fire. A tingling rush of heat pooled between her thighs.
Stop…just stop. Nothing was worth risking Billy.
She took a cooling breath and started typing.
Glad we’re on the same page. Have fun in DC.
She set the phone on the kitchen counter and reached for a wineglass. Billy was down for the night, and she deserved a reward for being so sensible. A response appeared before she’d taken her first sip.
Fun? Not. If you need ideas for torturing me, check this out. He inserted a picture of a room filled with people in tuxedos and formal gowns.
She did want the scoop on how to drag him out of his comfort zone. What are you doing?
Getting drunk.
No, where are you?
Home.
She snorted in disbelief. You live in a palace full of beautiful people?
You really should do more research, Susie. My father is a senator, and this is my mother’s idea of an intimate dinner party.
He sent a selfie of him raising a rocks glass.
Her breath stuttered in her throat. Russ Donovan in a tuxedo was a sight to behold. She’d have to rethink her black-tie plans for the show, because he didn’t look the least bit out of place or uncomfortable in his exquisitely tailored tux. She admired his crisp collar, sharp pleats, and perfectly tied bow tie. His shoulders looked endless, and his chest strained against the fabric. Every woman who looked at him would imagine untying that tie and popping the studs from his shirt. Or was it just her?
She dragged her gaze to his face and noticed his pale eyes were bleak and had purple smudges beneath them. His hair was sticking up, and his jaw looked tight enough to fracture. It was a good look for him, brooding and dangerous, but he did seem miserable. Sympathy stirred inside her, but she squashed it. He had an agenda, just as she did, and it was her move.
Poor baby. Thanks for the tip. I don’t like formal wear any more than you do, but I’ll make the sacrifice to torture you. Any foods you hate? Just asking.
I knew I could count on you to make me feel even better than the gin and tonic. Thanks for asking, Susie. I hate steak, loathe potatoes, and have a lobster phobia.
Surf and turf, it is.
Awesome. Looking forward to it. Duty calls. Have a good night.
She snapped a picture of herself with her wineglass and sent it. When it appeared in her messages, she regretted the impulse. Hair in a bun, no makeup, and a ratty T-shirt. He certainly wasn’t going to wish he were with her. She hesitated, hating herself for a full ten seconds, before she saved his picture to her photos.
Her phone rang and she nearly shrieked, caught red-handed.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, but as she aimed for the reject button, her finger slipped, and the call went live. Rats. Sending a call to voicemail was understandable; hanging up on someone was rude.
“Susannah Stone speaking.”
“Hi, this is Adam Lowell. I met your friend Holly in line at the grocery store the other day. Did she mention me?”
Her heart sank. “She did.”
“I’m a huge fan of your show, and I’d love to meet you. Is there any chance you’d like to grab a drink on Saturday?”
Zero.
She forced regret into her voice. “I wish I could, but I just spent the weekend away from my son, and I really don’t want to leave him again so soon—”
“Bring him along. I love kids.”
Was this guy for real? He did sound kind of nice. “Can you hang on a second? I need to check my calendar.” She didn’t really, but she needed a minute to think.
“No problem.”
She stared at the phone in her hand, remembering Russ had told her to have fun with the banker. Her heart fell a little further. Maybe she should. “I can get a sitter,” she said slowly. There was no way she’d take Billy on a blind date, but Kim had mentioned being free to babysit. “How about coffee around seven on Saturday?”
“Sounds perfect.”
They agreed on a coffee shop not far from her house, and she hung up, fairly certain she’d just planned a date with the banker because she couldn’t have Russ. Was instant transference too much to hope for? Holly said Adam looked like Clark Kent. He had a stable job, enjoyed cooking, and liked kids. Maybe she’d take one look at him and forget all about the wild man who was wrong for her in every way…except the one she couldn’t get out of her mind.
I do not need sex.
She took another sip of wine, but the alcohol intensified the out-of-control feeling spinning inside her. She stood, carried the glass into the kitchen, and dumped the wine in the sink. Sometimes, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.
She opened the freezer and surveyed her options. Belgian chocolate truffle. Peanut butter jamberry. She cocked her head to the side and pondered. Cookies and cream? Strawberry banana rum? Toffee coffee bean crunch? All of them?
She nodded slowly. With hot caramel, salted pecans, and whipped cream. This was no time for moderation. She was going to eat ice cream until she didn’t want any more—of anything. Hopefully the subsequent sugar crash would sink her low enough to sleep without dreaming of a tent.
She grabbed a bowl and a spoon and started digging.
…
Russ stared at the picture of Susannah. He’d give anything to be having a glass of wine with her right now.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket and hugged her, happy to see his old friend. “Alicia, you look beautiful, as always.” He kissed her cheek and saw several pops of light. Bergman had kept his promise, and his parents were thrilled with the coverage. Donations were pouring in. “Are you my date?”
“I’m whatever you want me to be. You know that.”
It was a comfortable arrangement, one they’d shared for several years. Alicia kept him from going stir-crazy when he was home, and he filled a need for her, too. When she was with him, she didn’t have to pretend Lance’s death hadn’t shattered her heart. He was a piss-poor substitute for his little brother, but their shared history made situations like this tolerable for both of them.
She lifted her face and gave him a blinding grin. “Goddamn, I still miss him.”
“Me, too.” He blinked as more flashes popped. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room. He couldn’t blame Stan and the other photographers, but enough was enough. Offering his arm, he led her to the bar and ordered fresh drinks. When she brushed against him, briefly fitting their bodies together in a way they’d enjoyed dozens of times, he flinched.
Her touch felt all wrong, but for no reason he could explain. Shock rolled through him, and he opened his mouth to speak, even though he had no idea what to say.
She lifted a finger to his lips and looked at him for a long moment. “I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Who’s the lucky woman?”
He shook his head. “There’s no one.”
She lifted one brow. “Then who were you texting?”
“No one,” he said again.
“You hate your phone, and you were texting in the midd
le of a crowded party. Who is she?”
“It was a work thing.”
“Uh-huh.”
He grabbed her elbow as her hand slipped into his pocket.
“Seriously, Russ, give it up. You know I’ll get it out of you one way or another.” She dug deeper. There was no way to get her hand out of his pocket without making a scene, so he crossed his arms and let her frisk him.
Within seconds, she was grinning. “You should lock your phone, delete your texts, or something. Stealthy, you are not. Susannah Stone, huh?”
“No,” he growled.
“I love her show.” She handed him his phone. “Still running, huh?”
“I’m not running. I’m living my life.”
“And Lance’s.”
“It’s what I would have done anyway.”
She gave him an impatient look. “But you wouldn’t have done it alone.”
He picked up his drink and emptied it. “Nice seeing you, Allie.”
“Don’t be a jerk. There’s a seating arrangement. You’ll be seeing me again when we sit down for dinner, and there’s no point in running from the person who has your back.” Her gaze softened. “If there’s even a prayer of you finding someone to love the way I loved Lance then I am going to push, shove, hog-tie, and carry you in the right direction. Is Susannah Stone the right direction?”
His stomach tightened hard enough to snap. He took a long, slow breath in through his nose, sucking air to the bottom of his lungs, filling his chest and inflating his throat. He still felt like he was suffocating. “It was a simple case of lust, Allie. You know I love a challenge.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “Enough, Russ. It’s been six years. You can’t climb forever, and he wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
“I can’t go there.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. She meant well, but she was wrong. He wasn’t running from his own pain—he was making sure he didn’t leave any behind him.
“So does that mean we’re on for tonight?”
His heart slammed into his gut with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He sucked air and coughed.