“I didn’t even say I took the test.”
“We both know you did.”
Her cell phone rings, she stops walking to reach into her purse, and I release her and motion to the desk. “I’ll grab my bag.”
She nods, and I head for the security desk, giving Randy a wave. By the time I reach the counter, he’s sets my bag on top, and leans close. “Your father was with a woman tonight.”
“I know,” I say. “I had the misfortune of running into them. Do you know her?”
“No, but I saw her with your brother a couple of weeks back at a restaurant around the corner.”
My fucking brother is manipulating and spying on my father. Why does this surprise me? “Thanks, Randy. Do me a favor. Make me a copy of tonight’s security feed, wipe it clean, and send it to my apartment.”
“Consider it done.”
I give him a nod and grab my cell phone from my pocket, turning to find Emily standing in profile near the elevator corridor, her head tilted low. I text Seth: My father’s at Jeffrey’s with a woman. Randy says he saw her with Derek off location. I know nothing else.
I wait for a reply, watching Emily as she turns just enough for me to see the anger on her face, a perfect match for what I’m feeling right now. Well, not a perfect match per se. She’s sweet at her core, while I’m not sure what the hell I am, but it’s not even close to sweet. I’m everything she is not, and that makes her damn appealing.
Deciding to hell with Seth’s reply, I stick my phone in my pocket, and start walking toward Emily, a man on a mission to get us both naked as soon as possible. No more delays and I really have no clue how I went from furious in that restaurant to laughing on the walk over here, but I’m damn sure not laughing now. Neither is she. Her spine is stiff, her long brown hair hiding her face, but I can hear her muffled, terse whispers. I’m almost on top of her when she ends the call and faces me, all but jumping out of my jacket in the process.
“You scared me,” she says, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “Sorry about that.” She cuts her gaze. “It was my landlord and he’s—”
“You don’t need to make up stories for me.”
Her gaze jerks to mine. “What?”
“You don’t lie well and that’s a compliment.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t,” I order softly, shackling her hips under my jacket, her hand settling on my chest, where it balls rather than flattens.
She pales. “What?”
“Say nothing or tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”
Her fingers grip a section of my shirt. “Nothing then.”
“Understood,” I agree, but the fact that I want to convince her to tell me everything is a problem I’ll either deal with later, or holy hell, maybe not. I cup her face. “Here’s how this is going to play out: Whatever, or whomever, is tormenting you can’t have you tonight. That’s what you need to know. Not tonight. Understood?”
“Yes,” she breathes out. “Please.”
“Yes and please. Remember those words and my name because I’m going to make you say them over and over again.”
She sucks in a breath, a mix of shock and interest in her expression that burns hot in my blood. She has never been properly fucked and I damn sure like the idea of being the one to remedy the situation. I take her hand and lead her to the elevator, punching our floor. The doors open instantly and I lead her inside, punching the ground level. I don’t turn to her or I’ll shove her against the elevator, fuck some of this anger out of my system, and Randy will have a show before he deletes the footage.
The doors open in less than sixty seconds, and I take her with me as I exit the elevator and enter the garage, where my car sits alone, a centerpiece of nothing. Interesting, considering my father is only two blocks away, but I’m sure it has to do with hiding his evening activities. Fishing my keys from my pocket, I click the locks, and the lights flicker at the same moment my cell phone beeps. I release Emily to grab my phone, and look down at the text that reads: Sending a man now. Simple and to the point, that’s how Seth operates, and I like it that way. I stick my phone back in the pocket of my pants, my attention riveted on Emily who is standing at the trunk of the car, her finger tracing the Bentley emblem, with what I assume is nervous energy.
She glances in my direction, her eyes meeting mine from a distance. This time I’m not sure what I read in her face, but holy hell, I feel this woman in ways that make no sense. I start toward her and she rounds the car, making her way to the passenger door. I’m there in time to open it for her but she doesn’t get in the car. She faces me.
“A Bentley was my dream car,” she announces, apparently throwing her vow to say nothing to the wind. “No,” she amends, gripping the rim at the top of the window. “Is my dream car. And Harvard’s my dream school. And you have them both and somehow I’m with you. I’m not sure if you’re a kiss good-bye to my dreams or a promise they aren’t over.”
“Don’t let the universe decide what it means. Don’t let it have that power. And don’t let what you want get away from you.” I step closer to her, my hand settling on the window next to hers but I do not touch her. “What I want is what I told you in the restaurant. To fuck you so right and well you never forget me.” Her lips part, her eyes widening in surprise, chest rising and falling. “Now. Your turn. Don’t censor your answer and don’t think about yesterday or tomorrow. Right here, right now. What do you want, Emily?”
“You know what I want.”
“Say it,” I command, pushing her limits, a precursor to the rest of the night intended as a test to find out if she can really handle where I plan to take her.
She knows it too. I see it in the lift of her chin, and the hint of rebellion in her eyes. “You. Nothing but you.”
And with that simple, perfect answer, she turns and slides into the Bentley. I immediately close the distance between us, kneeling beside her, and yanking the belt from the panel. She grabs my hand midway across her body.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she says, and she isn’t talking about a seatbelt any more than I am, but for different reasons. I know what I see in her eyes because I’ve lived it. She’s alone, trying to convince herself that’s just fine by her.
Reaching over her, I connect the belt, my arm brushing her breast, her reaction a soft gasp that I feel in the tightening of my body. I inhale and settle back on my heels, my hand finding the bare expanse of her knee just beneath her skirt. “Tonight,” I say. “You’re mine and I take care of what’s mine.” I don’t give her a chance to object as I stand and shut the door.
Rounding the trunk of the Bentley, I stop dead in my tracks as my brother’s 911 pulls in and parks three spaces from my car. Without question, he is up to something, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with the woman who’s with my father. Damn glad Emily is in the car, and out of his line of sight, I step forward to greet my brother.
He exits the 911, his gaze landing hard on me, a smirk appearing on his chiseled features. “Ah, sweet brother,” he calls out, moving to the trunk of his car, his jacket now removed. “Working late I see.”
I take three steps, bringing us close enough to ensure Emily won’t overhear our conversation. “What are you doing here at this hour, Derek?”
“Rolling up my sleeves and getting the dirty work done, of course. A necessary evil considering I’m at war with my own brother, but at least I know who’s in my corner. I wonder if you do.”
It’s not a question and he doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and walks toward the elevator, leaving me standing there, his words left behind as a taunt. His intent is to make me question myself and everyone around me. Of course, I know my father is ultimately on his side. Perhaps he even has more of the stockholders in his pocket than I suspect. Or not. In my experience, those who talk the loudest use language as a smokescreen. Why, if he had ever
ything locked down, as he’d like me to believe, did he feel the need to plant a woman in our father’s life to spy on him? And I’d bet money that’s what’s happening. Whatever the case, all is fair in love and war, and I’m starting to believe all there is left for Derek is war. I inhale, feeling the darkening of my mood, like a monster taking over. I need an outlet and I need it now.
I start walking toward the Bentley, and I’m pretty damn sure the woman inside, and the pleasure I’m going to give her, are about the only honest things in my life right now.
In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns.
—Mario Puzo
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY
Shane is a man of absolute control, readable in his every action and reaction, including his long, calculated strides toward the Bentley to rejoin me. Too calculated, I decide, and I have the distinct impression he’s overcompensating for whatever emotional whirlwind he’s just had stirred to life. He makes his final approach, and I steel myself for the end of a night I’d finally decided to embrace, or whatever else, his mood brings to the table.
He opens the door, claiming the driver’s seat, and sealing us inside, inky shadows consuming the small space. I inhale the scent of him, autumn and spice, wholly male, and it assaults my senses right along with a wave of cutting dark energy. He doesn’t look at me or speak, wasting no time pressing the ignition to start the car, his hand going to the gear shift as if he can’t wait to get the hell out of here. But he doesn’t put us in drive. Instead, his wrist settles on the steering wheel, his spine stiff, and I have the distinct impression he’s suddenly back in the battle he’d had with that man outside the car.
I don’t know this man well, but I know that “no regrets” means not holding back. With another inhaled breath, I press my hand to his arm and try to turn the tables on him. “I could offer to get out of the car—”
He turns to me and my hand falls away, his expression a hard mask no amount of shadows can disguise. “No more back and forth. I need you in or out.”
“I was going to say, but I won’t offer. I won’t get out of the car. Whoever that was—”
“My brother. That was my brother.”
I hear betrayal in his voice and I understand in ways I can never share. And I don’t think that’s what he needs from me anyway. He needs something without complications and that’s me. “Well then,” I dare to say. “Your brother, your father, and the rest of the world, can’t have you tonight. Because just as you said I am yours, you’re mine.”
Those gray eyes of his sharpen, slicing through the darkness like hot ice and the impact of this man’s full attention is hard to describe. I have this uncanny sense of him seeing hidden pieces of me that I shelter with care and that he shouldn’t see. And then suddenly, his fingers tunnel into my hair and he drags me closer. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone quite like you.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he says, and a moment later his mouth slants over mine, his tongue pressing into my mouth, stroking deeply, and I swear I feel it in the most intimate part of me. But more than anything I taste that harshness of turmoil in him that has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with why he’s here with me tonight. And now I know why it has to be me and no one else. Because we are the same in ways that needs no words to be understood.
He deepens the kiss, kissing me like I have never been kissed. Like I am his next breath and I have never been anyone’s next breath. I moan and he responds by tearing his mouth from mine, his breath a warm whisper against my cheek as he lingers and promises, “You will do that many more times tonight.” He releases me and settles back in his seat, and this time he places the car in gear, and us in motion. Only we’ve been in motion since the moment I reached for a cup of coffee that wasn’t mine, but I think it was always meant for me. It’s a silly, fantastical idea for a woman who, at any other time, wants to believe stealing the power of the universe is as simple as Shane directed. Simply not giving it the power.
He stops us at the edge of the garage, waiting for traffic to pass before we exit and my gaze lands on the Bentley emblem, a “B” framed by wings. I reach out, touching it, a multitude of emotions rushing over me. I want this car. I want the life I was supposed to have, and it hits me that in the last few months I’ve become a victim, not because of what has happened to me, but rather, how I’m dealing with it.
“Have you ever driven one?” Shane asks, his voice snapping me out of my reverie.
“Not the Continental GT Speed Convertible.” I run my hand over the tan leather on the door, glancing up at him. “With a custom color package inside and out.”
“So the dream car isn’t just a Bentley,” he says, turning us onto the main road where we’re immediately delayed by a red light. “It’s this Bentley.”
“Yes. This Bentley, which I know has an obscene price tag, but a girl has to set big goals.” I sigh. “Preferably while employed.”
“I have no doubt you’ll get a job quickly.” The light turns green and he reaches for my hand, placing it over the silver stick between us, placing us in gear, and accelerating. “Now you’ve driven your dream car.”
I laugh, squeezing the stick as he shifts yet again. “This is not driving it but I still like it.”
He cuts me a look, a bit of his dark energy at bay now. “We can change that, you know? I can pull over—”
“No,” I object quickly, shocked at the offer. “I’m not driving it.”
“Why?”
“I could wreck it.”
“I have insurance,” he says, cutting us into the driveway of the Four Seasons hotel.
“No,” I say, as two doormen hurry to our sides who he waves away.
“I have insurance,” he repeats.
“I don’t want to drive, but thank you. You drive. Please. Let’s get out of here.”
He does the opposite, placing the car in park. “I live here.”
“You … live in a hotel?”
He turns to face me. “The top floors are residential, which means we have the added benefit of room service if we so choose.” He reaches up and brushes hair from my eyes, his fingers grazing my skin and sending a shiver down my spine. “You can drive the car.”
“No. But thank you. Besides. I thought you wanted us to…”
“Should I use my highly creative imagination and fill in the blank?”
“No,” I say quickly. “Or yes. But don’t voice where that leads us or I might chicken out and never get out of this car.”
“Too late to escape.” He lifts his hand toward my window and the door opens instantly. “See you on the other side.” He turns away and exits the car.
Nerves rush over me, and I am jittery inside and out. For the first time in my life, I’m going to have sex with a stranger, only he doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore, and somehow that is both better and worse. It’s a thought I can’t begin to make sense of at this moment. Inhaling, I step out of the car and murmur my appreciation to the Asian bellman I guess to be around fifty. “Welcome, miss,” he greets me, his eyes lighting with a mix of surprise and interest, and I suddenly wonder if I’m outside Shane’s normal box. And how many women are in that box. “I’m Tai,” he adds, as I try to shake off that it isn’t important. This is one night. “And,” he continues, “I’m a regular around here, and at your service. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” I say, darting to the awning-covered sidewalk. I turn to find Shane still on the driver’s side of the Bentley, palming a tip to another man in uniform before rounding the hood of the car, and my God, the man is gorgeous and I’m about to be naked with him. And everyone knows. Oh God. That’s embarrassing.
I shove my hands in the pocket of the jacket, his jacket, and decide, yep. They all know. How can they not? I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but I have this internal need to control the perceptions of those around me that comes from a place that really
isn’t a good one. I blink and Shane’s attention locks on me, his eyes warm, and his pace determined, as if he can’t wait to get to me, and my worries about appearance slide into the breeze that lifts my hair.
Tai intercepts Shane by my side, and Shane palms him a bill I’m pretty sure is a generous fifty. “Keys in the car, Tai,” he instructs of the Bentley. “We’re in for the night.”
We’re in for the night. Does he mean me and him or him and the car? It doesn’t matter really. My belly flip-flops anyway, and not just because of his use of the word “we,” but the inference that I’m staying the night. Am I staying the night? I think I want to, but isn’t the morning after weird?
“Always a pleasure to park the Bentley,” Tai replies, sounding rather excited by the prospect.
He turns away, as if eager to get to it, when Shane stops him. “By the way, I meant to tell you. Culinary school for your daughter was a good investment. I took some clients to her restaurant last week and we all agreed. Best meal we’ve had in years. I’ll be sending people her way.”
Pride and appreciation flashes across Tai’s face. “The restaurant’s gotten a slow start, so you have no idea how much that means to all of us.”
“My absolute pleasure,” Shane says, grasping his shoulder. “One day she’ll make a husband fat and happy.”
Chuckling, Tai pats his belly. “Just like her mother.” He hurries away and Shane’s attention lands on me, and I swear the connection I once again feel to this man, who is so obviously more than his money and good looks, punches me in the chest. I’ve never had a man affect me like this.
He steps in front of me, reaching into the jacket pockets to pull my hands onto his shoulders before his settle possessively at my waist. “I like you in my jacket,” he says, his voice a low, rough caress I feel in every part of me. “It says you’re with me.”
Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1) Page 6