The Bastard

by Lisa Renee Jones

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Eric

  Dirty. Filthy. Fucking.

  That’s what I tried to make it between me and the princess, but now, here, in her foyer kissing her, I admit that it was never that. She slid right under my skin and stayed there from the moment I saw her across that pool. I don’t want to let her go, but she, apparently, doesn’t have the same sentiments right about now.

  She shoves against my chest, tearing her mouth from mine. “No. No. My version of together isn’t hatred and obsession. It’s not me being a princess to you.”

  “Sweetheart, I tattooed Princess on my body. I tattooed you on my body.”

  “You also tattooed a jaguar on your shoulder in spite of your father.”

  “That jaguar isn’t about revenge. It’s about the world being bigger than the Kingston name. It’s about not putting limits on myself. Everything inked on my body is a piece of me, Harper. You became that. You affected me.”

  “You walked away.”

  “Be glad I did. I might have wanted you then, Harper, but I wasn’t the same man I am now. It wasn’t our time. Now is our time.”

  “And yet you came at me like I’m fucking your brother.”

  “I had no right to tell you that you couldn’t, but had you fucked us both—”

  “Oh God,” she says, trying to pull away, but my leg slides against her knee, my hand going to the wall by her head.

  “What just happened?” I demand.

  “You implied that I’m some sort of whore who wants to do two brothers.”

  “I did no such thing. I told you how I feel.”

  “I slept with you. You affected me. You have always affected me, Eric, even when I wanted you out of my head.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says, her eyes blazing with anger. “Let me off the wall.”

  “Not until you tell me what that means.”

  “You made me feel dirty, and like a weapon.”

  “You brought me here,” I say. “And I told you: I came for you, not them.”

  “I don’t like being put in the middle of Kingston drama. It’s consumed my entire life.”

  “I’m not a Kingston if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Yes, you are. You are a Kingston,” she says. “You are your father’s son just as much as I am my father’s daughter.”

  “I was born a Mitchell and I will die a Mitchell.”

  “What are we doing right now, Eric?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who pulled me into this and now you’re telling me to let go.”

  Her expression softens. “I don’t want you to let go.”

  “That’s what you said. Let go. Your words, not mine.”

  “Those comments about me and Isaac turned me back into the enemy. Maybe not in context, but I felt the distrust in you. I heard it in the nickname, and don’t tell me it’s inked on your skin and that makes it okay. We both know it represents a divide.”

  “A divide that’s now what brought us together.”

  “Don’t let him divide us.”

  “He’s not dividing us,” I say. “I’m not walking away this time. This time is different. You have to know that. You have to feel that. We’re together now.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “You do know. I know you know.”

  My cellphone rings, and I glance down at the number to find Grayson calling. I hit decline and curse under my breath. “Look, sweetheart, we need to talk but I’m negotiating the purchase of an NFL team and I have a small stake in the deal. Grayson is calling me and he knows I came here for you. He wouldn’t be calling if there wasn’t a problem.”

  “You’re—wait—you’re buying an NFL team?”

  “Packaging the project, but yeah. It’s a big deal for the Bennett Corporation and for me.”

  “Take the call. That’s incredible. I want to know what happened with Isaac, but I can wait.”

  “I’m going to call Grayson while I go to the hotel and grab my bag to move over here with you, unless you have a problem with that.”

  “I’d have a problem if you were staying at the hotel. That is unless I was with you.”

  “Good,” I say, walking into the living room to finish dressing. “I want you to lock up.” I say when she joins me. “If Isaac comes back, call me and don’t open the door.” I pull on my leather jacket and walk to the front of the house where I check the locks. Harper’s in the foyer when I turn around.

  “Do you think he plans to come back?” she worries. “What haven’t you told me?”

  “He’s running scared,” I say taking her hand, “and when he’s scared, he acts erratically.” I lead her into the kitchen and to the back door. “I’ll explain my brother’s version of crazy when I get back.” I kiss her. “Flip the locks behind me.”

  “Okay, but now you’ve made me nervous, so hurry back, please.”

  “I will. I’ll be fast.” I exit the kitchen and wait for her to shut the door, then listen for the lock to flip into place.

  I walk to the car and climb inside, dialing Grayson as I sink into the leather seat. “What’s happening?”

  “Julius Monroe is trying to back out,” he says, of a major player in the NFL deal. “He won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  “Fuck. What’s his problem?”

  “A competing bidder made a sweeter deal for him,” Grayson says.

  “Who the fuck is the competing bidder?”

  “You tell me,” Grayson says. “I didn’t know we’d opened up a bidding process.”

  I scrub my jaw. “I’ll call him and call you back.” I start to hang up and he stops me.

  “What’s happening there?”

  “I’m pretty sure my brother just threatened to kill me and Harper,” I say. “If that doesn’t tell you how well this is going, I don’t know what will.”

  “Isaac talks a lot of big words,” he says, knowing him well from Harvard where he and I met. “Same ol’ Isaac, or something more this time?”

  “He’s scared. Really scared. Harper was right. She’s over her head because he’s over his head, and about to take her down with him.”

  “Then bring her here,” he says. “Get her out of there.”

  Harper, in New York, in my bed. That works for me. Me leaving and not knowing this is over, doesn’t work for me or her either though. “I might send her to you and then join her later.”

  “Send her. Sooner than later if she’s in danger.”

  “I’ll let you know and I’m calling Julius now.” I disconnect and leave Julius a message.

  I back out of the driveway and I’m about to pull away when I catch sight of a car parked to the far right, next to the curb with a light flickering behind the shaded window. Unease radiates through me, the kind that used to set me off while in the deep, dark bowels of enemy territory. That threat, the idea that Harper might know more than she thinks she knows, that someone might think she’ll lead me there, hits ten wrong places in my gut. I back up, place the car in park and walk back to the door where I knock.

  “Harper, it’s Eric.”

  She opens the door. “What are you doing?”

  I pull her to me. “Come with me. I want you with me.”

  “Yes,” she says softly. “I want me with you, too.”

  “Good,” I say. “I want you to want to be with me.” I lead her to the car, and that feeling of uneasiness I’d felt with the idea of leaving her behind is not gone. In fact, it’s stronger. Someone is watching us.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Eric

  Halfway to the car, Harper shivers, and I pull her close, under my arm and against my body. “I should grab a coat,” she murmurs.

  “I’ll get it for you and lock up,” I say, wanting her inside the car where I can get her the hell out of here. I click the locks and open the passenger door. Obviously eager
to get out of the cold, she slides into the seat. I kneel beside her, my hand settling on her leg, and when she looks at me, when this woman looks at me—and I mean every damn time—I want her. I want her in a bad way. Naked, yes, but it’s more than that, it’s deeper than that and I’m not even resisting.

  I hand her my key. “Turn on the engine and the heat. There’s a seat warmer, too.”

  “I know,” she says. “Because I’m a Jaguar expert.”

  I arch a brow. “Are you now?”

  “Of course I am. They’re the enemy and the competition.”

  “But I’m not, sweetheart. Remember that. Where’s your coat?”

  “Pretty sure it never made it out of the kitchen.”

  “Got it. Lock the car door.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Lock it, sweetheart.” I don’t give her time to ask questions I’m not going to answer until I get some precautions in place. I stand up and shut her inside, waiting until she clicks the locks. Then and only then do I head toward the house, walk inside and retrieve my phone from my pocket to dial Blake. “I have thirty seconds,” I say when he answers. “I don’t want Harper to hear this conversation until I have time to explain myself.”

  “I’m listening.”

  I grab Harper’s coat and her keys from the counter and then step back into the doorway to keep an eye on the car. “There’s someone staking out Harper’s house in a black sedan. This, after my brother threatened me and Harper.”

  “Gut feeling about who’s watching her?”

  I step outside and pull the door shut. “I would if I had a damn gun and could yank the asshole in the car out and make him tell me. Hell, I might do it anyway.”

  “You think it’s your brother’s hired hands?”

  “Maybe,” I say, securing the lock, “but the look in Isaac’s eyes tonight tells me that he’s running scared. Really fucking scared. He’s in trouble, which means Harper is in the line of fire.”

  “Always,” he says. “I’ll get you a weapon. Where are you headed and what’s your plan?”

  “We’re about to leave for my hotel to grab my things, which is only three blocks away,” I say, walking toward the car with a slow pace meant to buy time to end this call.

  “You’re staying with her then?” he asks.

  “Damn straight I am. I came here for her. I’m keeping her safe and close.”

  “I’ll leave a weapon outside her place and text you the location. And that data you needed is in the electronic folder I set-up for you along with my analysis. Text or call me when you look at it.” He disconnects.

  I stop at the car door and unlock it before climbing inside the now-toasty interior. “We’re all set now,” I say, offering her the coat.

  “Thank you,” she says. “I guess I really didn’t need this. The car is warm and we’re stopping right at the hotel door.”

  “The wind is still cold,” I say. “Really cold. Is there a storm blowing in?”

  “There's a winter storm warning,” she says. “I saw it on my phone earlier. And normally my mother would be the weather woman warning me.”

  “She sent Isaac to warn you instead,” I say, shifting the car into reverse.

  “You’re the bastard storm?”

  “That’s not always a bad thing to be,” I say, backing us up and then placing us in drive, easing us down the path and eyeing the car that’s still parked in the same spot.

  My cellphone rings and I grab it to find Julius returning my call. “I have to take this. There are problems with the NFL closing.”

  “Of course,” she says. “Take it. Then you can tell me what you haven’t told me. No secrets, right?”

  No secrets.

  I can’t agree to that statement. I do have secrets. Secrets she won’t like. Secrets I don’t intend for her to find out. “We’ll talk,” I say instead and answer my call.

  ***

  Harper

  We’ll talk.

  Not “no secrets.” I don’t miss that sidestep and if he thinks I will, he’s forgotten that I’ve survived the Kingstons for six long years. He, who is all about me not keeping anything from him, says “we’ll talk” to my request for no secrets. I don’t know what that means, but I don’t like it.

  “No,” he says, to whoever he’s talking to. “That’s not the deal.” He’s calm but hard, a sharp-edged quality to his seemingly nonchalant tone that I’m not sure is about me or his caller. “I don’t like being played with,” he adds. “We’ll replace you.” He disconnects the call and we pull up to the hotel and the valets are immediately upon us.

  I slip on my coat even as I step outside. I round the vehicle as Eric palms the driver a large bill, a hundred, I think, which drives home his success, but more so, it shows a generous side of this self-made man. Someone I don’t believe has lost touch with where he came from, or he wouldn’t be so eager to dress down his success. Perhaps only his secrets. This idea sets me on edge again and I have to rein myself back in. Do I really want to go down this “no secrets” path? Do I really want to open that door? Haven’t I already? There are parts of me I don’t know if I can ever expose. Mistakes I’ve made. Things I know that would hurt him. I don’t want to hurt this man. I’m falling in love with him, and that very idea has me walking into the hotel rather than waiting on him, afraid he’ll see. Afraid I’ll scare him away and he won’t want to stay and help.

  I push through the automatic revolving doors and suddenly Eric is behind me, taking the small moving space with me, his body pressed to mine, his hands on my waist. His mouth at my ear as he says, “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

  “Depends,” I say and then I don’t know what I’m doing. I push the buttons I don’t want pushed back. “Are you going to tell me your secrets?” We clear the doors at that moment and he doesn’t reply. He simply pulls me under his arm and aligns our hips, casting the staff to our left and right random greetings before we cut left past the security desk and reach the elevator bank with two cars.

  He punches the button and one of them opens, his fingers lacing with mine as he guides me inside and uses his card to key in his floor. The minute the doors shut, he pulls me to him, his fingers tangling in my hair, his thick erection throbbing against my belly. “My secrets would hurt you more than they’d help us.” And then he’s kissing me, drugging me with the rich, spicy taste of his tongue on my tongue, driving away my need to know what he means. Because there is more in this kiss, too. There is the taste of certain pain. He will hurt me. He will leave me. And this time he’ll take everything I am when he does, and I can’t even seem to care.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Harper

  “Damn coats,” Eric murmurs, trying to pull me closer, but settling for another kiss, his tongue licking into my mouth for a deep stroke that I feel from head to toe, inside and out. I always feel this man inside and out. I have always felt this man in a complete, consuming way, even when we were apart, even when I was with other men. And the way he’s kissing me, the way he seems to drink me in, leaves nothing behind. He takes all there is to take. He takes all of me and I can’t stop it from happening. I can’t protect myself with Eric.

  He’s danger.

  He’s safety.

  The elevator dings and he reluctantly parts our lips, his hand stroking my hair in an act that is somehow tender and erotic at the same time. “Let’s go to the room,” he says, his voice low, gravelly. Affected. I affect this gorgeous, intense, brilliant man, and even now, I have moments like this one where that doesn’t feel possible. I’m the enemy. I’m the princess. I’m hated and I’ve even felt that in his touch, in his kiss, only I don’t feel that hate anymore.

  “Yes,” I say softly. “Let’s go to the room,” I add.

  His eyes smolder with amber heat in reply, with none of the ice I’ve seen there on random occasions to be found. I hate that ice. I love the fire, banked just behind those embers. He laces the finger
s of one of my hands with the fingers of his and leads me toward the hallway. We cut right and I’m relieved and surprised to find his room a short walk to our immediate left. We stop at his door and nerves flutter in my belly as if I haven’t spent hours with him this very night, as if this right now will be our first time together. He doesn’t give me time to live inside those nerves though. He pulls me in front of him, his big body behind mine, and even with my coat on I am aware of every inch of hard muscle pressing against me, promising wicked dirty deeds to follow.

  He opens the door, and when I would dart into the room, he holds onto me, keeps me with him, and walks me forward while he stays at my back. The door slams shut, and I think he locks it, but I can’t be sure. He eases us forward into the room and then shifts behind me. His jacket lands on a desk in the living room to my right. Already he’s dragging mine off my shoulders, but even as he does, he keeps me in front of him, holding onto me as he drops my coat on top of his.

  Then his hands are sliding up my stomach, under my T-shirt, dragging it over my head. It’s barely hit the floor when his hands are on my breasts and he’s leaning forward, his lips at my ear. “Do you feel me the way I feel you, Harper?” he asks, his breath a warm fan on my neck that still manages to shiver down my spine. His lips are a whisper of a touch like his words at my ear.

  “You know I do,” I say, my voice raspy, affected, my hands covering his hands.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Let me turn around and ask me again when you’re looking at me.”

  “I’m not ready for you to turn around,” he says, tilting my head back and bringing our lips together. “I was never ready for you.” I’d insist the opposite was true, but he doesn’t give me the chance. “What am I feeling, Harper?”

  “Tell me,” I say, wishing he’d let me turn around, some part of me wondering if I’m facing forward because he’s feeling exactly what I felt downstairs: vulnerable inside my own emotions.

  “What am I feeling, Harper?” he presses.