Sins of My Father (Black Brothers #1)

by Lisa Cardiff

  “I’m glad you did.” She smiled. “So what do you have planned for dinner now that Winnie ditched us?”

  I’d have to find a way to thank her friend sometime in the future. I wasn’t opposed to including Winnie in our dinner plans, but I preferred to be alone with Langley.

  “Originally, I planned to take you to The Bar Café in Adams Morgan, but if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to grab take-out and eat it at my place.” Honestly, I should stick with the plan to meet her in public. I needed to push Senator Wharton, draw him out, and make him reckless. I couldn’t do that by keeping my budding relationship with Langley secret, but I didn’t want to be in public right now, and I had every reason to believe that Senator Wharton had someone trailing Langley anyway. Now that I thought about it, taking her to my house might be more effective than being photographed together.

  “I’m not sure we’re ready—”

  I held up my hand, interrupting her train of thought the second her mind went there. Sure, if she wanted to go there, I was game, but I didn’t want to risk having her crawling back into her shell and rejecting me entirely—not until I got what I wanted, what I needed. “I don’t have an ulterior motive. It’s been a long week, and, to be truthful, I’d rather spend time with you where we can relax.” I ran my hand through my hair for the hundredth time since I walked out of my office in search of Langley. I’m pretty sure it had long since lost any style, and I resembled a mental patient more than number five on last year’s D.C.’s most eligible bachelors list. Not that I cared, I hated that fucking title. I wished I’d gone with my initial gut instinct and refused to be part of the article. I didn’t bust my ass to impress anyone else. I did it so I had the power to take down Senator Wharton when the time came.

  “It was that bad, huh?”

  “You can’t imagine.” I shook my head. “But let’s not talk about work.”

  “Okay. Then, it’s settled. We’re eating take-out at your house.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. Spending time with you in private isn’t a sacrifice.”

  A wholly unexpected sharp pain tugged at my chest. “Most women I’ve dated would disagree with you.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Then, you must have a habit of dating the wrong women.”

  “There might be more truth in that statement than I’d like to admit.” I draped my arm over the back of the oyster-colored leather seat and pulled Langley closer to me. I didn’t want to like her. It’d make everything I needed to do so much easier if I didn’t like or respect her, but I didn’t have a choice. Something about her called to me like no woman I’d ever met.

  I should reevaluate and revise my plans. Wanting Langley like this was dangerous. She made me lose focus on the end goal. This entire week she had monopolized too many of my thoughts, and even after five days, my desire to call her, see her, and touch her hadn’t faded.

  “Hey,” she said, rubbing her fingers between my eyebrows. She shifted closer so her leg pressed against mine from my hip to my knee. Her perfume invaded my senses, and her whisper-like touch lit up my nerve endings. “You’re thinking too hard. Relax.”

  “Work stress,” I murmured, distracted by the look on her face. Her eyes were soft. Her chin angled downward. Fuck, she looked like she cared…cared about me. I didn’t remember the last time someone truly worried whether I was stressed, tired, or sad. Maybe mom had before she traveled so far down the road of self-pity she couldn’t see anything but herself. Even before then, any respect and love she had for Knox and me came second to my mom’s love of whiskey and amoral men. Except for Knox, the people in my life only valued what I could do for their career, their life, their bank account, or their social status.

  Langley pulled her phone out of her purse. “Where do you live? I’ll order us some food.”

  “There’s a sushi restaurant in my building. It’s convenient if you like sushi.”

  She twirled her phone in her grasp. “In your building? Where do you live? At a hotel?”

  “Almost. The Residences at the Ritz-Carlton.”

  Her eyebrows scaled her forehead. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Hey.” I squeezed her leg. “It’s convenient. I split my time between New York and D.C. I don’t the like maintenance that comes with owning a home, and the residences have a concierge, a maintenance service, and a valet.”

  “Well, aren’t you special?” She scoffed, but her lips twitched with what I hoped was laughter and not disdain. “And I thought my two-bedroom townhome was impressive.”

  “I assure you, it was.”

  She elbowed the side of my ribcage. “You didn’t see anything except the front door.”

  “And the kitchen,” I reminded her. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing a little more in the future.” As I said the words, I realized the truth in that statement. I wanted to see more of Langley—her house, her friends, and everything that was important to her, which was dangerous. I needed to stop spinning fantasies about this woman, because the spark burning between us wouldn’t mean anything when reality came knocking at our door, and it would happen sooner rather than later. Then, we’d be enemies for life. And being enemies with benefits wasn’t a place I wanted to go with Langley, no matter the overwhelming attraction. After all, attraction faded and dulled with time no matter how hot it sizzled in the beginning. I hoped the shelf life on my fascination with Langley wasn’t any different.

  Simply put, I wanted to destroy the life she’d known for the last decade, dismantling it either brick by brick or with a bomb. It didn’t matter to me as long as it ended with his complete disgrace and the loss of everything he held dear in his life. Langley wouldn’t roll over and let me ruin her life and her family without a word. Our roles were scripted years ago, and nothing could alter it.

  In spite of her gentle smiles, perfect curves, and toned to perfection legs, I had to keep everything in perspective. Ultimately, she was a spoiled rich girl with a famous actor, albeit deceased, for a dad, a social climbing bitch for a mother, and morally bankrupt stepdad. Her sweet demeanor and million dollar smile were a façade to get what she wanted.

  To most women, I was nothing more than a healthy financial statement. Carefully crafted words wouldn’t disguise the money signs twinkling in their jaded eyes. I couldn’t let myself believe Langley was any different.

  “I’d like that too,” she said, leaning into me.

  Off balance from my moody train of thought, it took me a moment to register her comment.

  “Good.” Forcing a smile on my face, I reached for the door handle when the car stopped next to the curb in front of the Ritz. “We’re here.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Langley

  With the pricey address, I shouldn’t have been surprised when I stepped into Archer’s condo. The word condo didn’t adequately describe the sleek elegance sprawling out in front of me. Muted whites, grays, silver, and accents of gold created a soothing palate. I expected dark, masculine colors that announced his bachelor status.

  “This isn’t what I expected.” I dropped my purse on the glass table in the entry, complete with a white potted orchid.

  “It’s not?” he chuckled.

  I rubbed my hands on the sides of my skirt as I absorbed every expertly coordinated detail. “No. It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t look lived in or personal.”

  “I know. I hired an interior designer friend, and I think she decorated as though she planned to move in someday. It’s a little too feminine and sterile for my taste.”

  I sucked in a breath. His comment said more than I wanted to know about any of his previous entanglements. How pathetic. Jealousy slithered down my spine like the serpent tempting Eve with the forbidden fruit. I didn’t have a right or reason to be jealous. We’d gone on a few dates that ended with a couple of kisses, hardly commitment material. My feelings weren’t rational, but acknowledging that didn’t make the unpleasant feeling in my gut any less real.

>   He tried to make eye contact. I avoided him as my gaze rolled over every item someone else had selected for him.

  Golden starburst pillows.

  A full-length walnut mirror propped against the entry wall.

  The hammered silver coffee table cluster.

  Meaningless leather bound books chosen for color not content.

  “Maybe a little,” I said breezily, trying to wash away any lingering uncomfortable feelings with my overly cheery tone. It didn’t work.

  Toying with the cuffs of his slightly wrinkled light-blue shirt, his dark eyes studied me. “I texted the concierge my normal order plus a couple things I thought you might like. He’ll bring up our food in forty-five minutes or so, depending on how busy the restaurant is. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sounds great,” I said, my voice flat. I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the waterfall stainless steel countertop on the kitchen island. When did I become so fragile that one little comment sent my confidence into a downward spiral?

  I turned away as he sauntered toward me. A medley of aqua glass and stainless tiles ran the length of the backsplash. The glare of the incandescent lighting reflected from the shiny materials, creating little starbursts of light on the medium-brown horizontal grained cabinets.

  “Did the comment about the interior designer upset you?”

  My cheeks heated. “Not really. I have thick skin. Don’t worry about me.” It was the truth. Living with my mom forced me to grow a tortoise-like shell around my heart. I hated that he pierced it so easily. “Besides, it isn’t my business. We hardly know each other.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  I ran my finger over the smooth countertop, still not meeting his heavy gaze. “It’s not important.”

  His hands looped around my waist, and he pulled my back against his chest. His spicy scent infiltrated the air around me, ensuring I couldn’t ignore him even if his touch didn’t do the trick.

  “Truly, she was only a friend. I suspected she wanted more, and that’s why she’s not part of my life anymore. If it annoys you, I’ll change some of the stuff in here, make it more mine.”

  I spun within the confines of his arms. “That’s silly. You don’t have to do that for a woman you just met. They’re just things, and if you don’t think they mean anything, I believe you.”

  He cradled my face with his long-fingered hands like I was precious cargo, and even if his eyes weren’t smoldering with desire, I would’ve been a goner. When was the last time someone looked at me like that? Like they wanted me. Like I was special. Like I was worth the trouble. Maybe never, or maybe it had been so long that it seemed like never.

  “It’s not a big deal. I don’t love everything anyway, and I want you to be comfortable at my place, not turning every corner imagining another woman’s dreams in everything you see.”

  His lashes lowered, and all of his concentration focused on me with swoon-worthy attention to detail, thawing me from the inside out. At that instant, I realized I was in trouble—in trouble of really falling for Archer. My heart raced and my hands trembled as I circled my arms around his waist, beneath his suit jacket but over his shirt.

  One hand still cupped my face as he tangled the other one into my hair. We stood frozen in painful anticipation, his mouth hovering inches from mine, and then he kissed me gently, lovingly even, one beautiful brush of his lips at a time. His lips were warm, and his breath smelled minty. I wanted to taste more of him…all of him.

  My tongue darted out of my mouth, licking the seam of his lips. Then, without a second to process the consequence of my actions, the kiss tumbled into a frantic tug of war that successfully wiped my mind of any kiss I had shared with any other man before Archer. Stroke by stroke, we consumed each other.

  Nothing compared.

  Nothing came close.

  Our tongues danced in perfect synchronicity as though we were created for each other. We couldn’t get deep enough. We couldn’t get close enough, but it didn’t stop me from trying to feed the lust burning inside of me like I stood on the threshold of the second circle of hell.

  We pushed and pulled at each other, desperate to purge even one centimeter of distance between our bodies. I tugged at the hem of his shirt and ripped it from the waistband of his pants, burrowing my hands underneath the material. My blunt cut nails scored the rope-like muscles along his spine. My innate internal defenses hadn’t merely lowered; they had plummeted shamelessly and uncontrollably like a meteor caught in the earth’s gravitational field.

  Archer’s hand traced the side of my face, my neck, my collarbone, only stopping his exploratory descent when he reached the side of my breast. His lips coasted to my neck, nibbling, tasting, and licking. Like a well-orchestrated magic trick, my body responded to his non-verbal commands. Goosebumps showered my arms. My nipples tightened, and my breath stuck in my throat before whooshing out in one giant leap that suspiciously resembled a moan.

  Ding.

  The noise hardly penetrated my Archer-induced fog of lust. My hands fumbled with the top button of his shirt as my eyes locked on his face, savoring every angle of his savagely beautiful face, taut with desire. I wanted, needed, and craved every part of him, and I was long past caring about the repercussions. One button, two buttons, and then three, and my eyes raked over the sinful expanse of his chest exposed for my viewing pleasure.

  Ding.

  Then, it was his turn. He slid my shirt up, but didn’t limit himself to looking. His lips sealed over my lace-covered nipple. My eyes fluttered closed, and I arched my back, drowning in the all-consuming burst of pleasure. My world narrowed on him, on us, and each and every stroke and suck of his too skilled mouth. Wobbly, lightheaded, I clung to him, basking in the sensations he lured so effortlessly from my all too willing body.

  Ding.

  “Shit,” Archer said, stepping away from me, rubbing his hands along the sides of his thighs.

  “What?” I said, my body sagging. Without the countertop behind me for support, I would’ve tumbled to the floor. My breath exited my lungs in jagged, uneven pants.

  “The food.”

  Dizzy and out of focus, my mind spun, unraveling his words as though he had spoken Sanskrit instead two simple English words.

  Food?

  What food?

  Crap, the sushi Archer ordered.

  No, no, no. I had never hated sushi as much as I did at that moment. I didn’t want anything to interrupt where we were headed. I wanted to continue the plunge into the world where only Archer and I existed. My fingers dove into my hair, raking the tangled strands away from my face. “Right. Sushi.”

  He closed the distance between us again and stroked the skin of my lower lip, the brief touch almost unbearable when he had no intention of continuing his attentions.

  “Don’t look so disappointed, Langley.” His hand dropped and he walked backward toward the front door. “The night isn’t over yet.”

  His promise was a double-edged sword. I wanted more of what Archer offered, but part of me wanted to hold Archer at bay a little longer, testing the waters before I dove in with reckless abandon. He’d steal my heart without trying, and I didn’t know if he’d offer his in return.

  Since my dad died, love seemed like a commodity in short supply. My mom cared. Maybe my stepdad did too, but I could never quite convince myself that either of them loved me in the same unconditional all-encompassing way my dad did. More often than not, I felt like a prop in their Norman Rockwell audition on the never-ending campaign trail rather than a treasured member of the Wharton family.

  If I gave into Archer and our relationship soured, he’d break what little spirit I had left after that Brandon debacle.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Archer

  After we ate dinner, Langley fell asleep on my couch halfway through some chick flick she forced me to watch. The best and safest option would involve waking her up and arranging my car service to shuttle her back to her house
, but I had no intention of doing that. I wasn’t ready to let her go.

  Curled into a ball with her arms cradling a pillow, her long golden hair framed her face with soft waves. She looked almost angelic. She was the perfect combination of her dad’s famous golden coloring and her mom’s petite, delicate features.

  I pulled the gray throw blanket over her legs and retreated to my study to touch base with Knox. At my desk, I popped open the bottle of Ibuprofen stashed in the middle drawer and washed three pills down with the last sip of my wine.

  I rubbed the back of my neck and then called Knox. It was well past midnight, but Knox would answer my call. He always did.

  “Knox, it’s Archer.”

  “I know who it is. I have caller ID on my cell phone like the rest of the world. Besides, you’re the only person who wouldn’t think twice about calling me this late.”

  “I think I’m the only person who calls you.” I leaned back in my chair. Knox had tons of acquaintances, but not many friends. The women he dated rarely made it beyond date three. Knox joked that after three dates they expected things like a relationship and gifts. He didn’t want anything permanent, so he cut them loose before the demands started accumulating.

  “True. So how’d the date go?” Knox asked, his voice sounding more awake than ten seconds earlier.

  “Technically, it’s still going,” I replied dryly.

  Knox chuckled. “I’m impressed. I guess that part of your plan is progressing smoothly. You’re lucky she isn’t hard on the eyes, otherwise you would’ve had to lower your standards.”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking. She fell asleep. I don’t want to wake her.” Truthfully, if she hadn’t fallen asleep, I had every intention of continuing where we left off before the food delivery interrupted us.

  “Since when are you chivalrous?” he said sarcastically.

  “Are you finished, or you still trying to make a point?”