by Ivy Layne
"What?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Griffen shook his head in disgust. "You are one of the smoothest bastards I've ever met. I've seen you charm a woman into your bed in five minutes flat. So how did you fuck up that meeting so badly?" He laughed, shaking his head at the disaster that was my life. "Seriously, I wish I had that shit on video, otherwise no one would believe me. Fucking idiot."
"Yeah? Like you could have done better," I said, trying for scornful and hitting pathetic instead.
He was right. I had fucked up the meeting. When it came to Summer, that was par for the course. I opened my mouth, and I fucked up.
"I wouldn't have called her Winters for one thing. Jesus, what is she, one of the guys on your softball team?"
"I don't play softball, asshole."
Griffen just shook his head again. "And acting like you didn't know she worked here? What the fuck was that?"
I slumped against the closed door and let out a gust of air, admitting, "I don't know. I don't fucking know. She just—"
I ran out of words. How to describe what was wrong when I didn't even know myself?
I'm charming. I'm good with women. I'm really fucking good with women. I open my mouth, and the perfect words come out. I always know exactly what they need to hear, when to reassure, when to challenge. When to flirt and when to be blunt.
Then I met Summer, and all of it went out the window. First, I bossed her around, then I started calling her Winters when I saw how much it annoyed her.
Like an elementary school boy pulling a girl's pigtails, I did anything for a reaction. For her attention. At first, it was fun, the way her eyes sparked blue fire when she was pissed off. I hadn't planned to take it further. Not really.
She was my sister-in-law's best friend, and that had complicated written all over it. My thing was fun. I'd never been interested in complicated.
But I couldn't get her out of my head. The silky blonde curls, her round ass, her full, pink lips. That laugh. The way she glared at me when I pissed her off. Fucking hot.
And then the wedding. Her hotel room… I'd never had sex like that in my life. It wasn't fucking. It wasn't just getting off, having some fun and scratching a mutual itch. It was more.
I hadn't believed in more, hadn't particularly cared about it. That weekend with Summer woke something inside me.
A need I'd never acknowledged.
A need that hadn't existed until Summer. It was feral and hungry, and she was the only thing that could satisfy it. I saw her, and I wanted. Straight from my gut, from the marrow of my bones, I had to have her.
It was fucking terrifying. My brother Knox was right. She scared the hell out of me. I didn't need anybody. I’d had my shit on lock until she came barreling into my life.
Suddenly, there was a black hole right in the middle of my world, and only Summer could fill it.
I'd run from that hotel room determined to live without her. My head was clouded with lust. It would fade if I just stayed away. Except it didn't fade. It got worse.
I'll never forget the sheer, brutal relief when Cooper tossed me her file and said someone had to keep a closer eye on her.
I wasn't giving in to the need, I was only doing my job. I thought I'd figured it out. Keep an eye on her, talk my way into her bed, and get the girl without risking anything.
"Yeah, well, you fucked that up," Griffen said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
For a moment, I wondered if he'd been reading my mind before I remembered he was talking about the meeting. I scrubbed my palms over my face and shook my head.
"I know, man, I know."
"You have got to talk to Cynthia. If you're not going there—"
"Of course, I'm not going there. Jesus. You think I'm going to sleep with Cynthia?"
"Hey, no one would blame you—"
"Don't be an asshole," I said. "I want Summer. I'm not sleeping with Cynthia. I'm not sleeping with anybody."
"No shit. That's why you're so cranky." He chuckled at his joke.
"You're fucking hysterical," I grumbled.
"I know, it's a curse."
I opened my mouth to insult him again when a soft knock sounded on the door. Turning, I opened it to see Summer standing there in her navy shift dress, blonde curls still caught in their professional bun, silky strands falling around her face. She shifted her weight nervously, drawing my eyes to her hips, my hand starting to reach for her before I thought better of it.
Slow. I had to take this slow.
"Do you have a minute?" Summer asked.
I wanted to say, For you, I have eternity. I opened my mouth and out came, "Sure, Winters, what's up?"
She was a fucking mojo vampire. She came near me and she sucked up all my game, leaving me nothing more than a stuttering adolescent.
Scrambling, I said, "Let's go down the hall to the wine room so we don't distract Griffen."
I reached out to take her arm, dying a little as she smoothly sidestepped out of reach. Fuck.
I followed her the short distance back to the wine room. She leaned against the rustic wooden table in the middle, half sitting on one of the stools made from an old wine cask, looking down at her fingers, fiddling with a ring.
So many things I wanted to say.
I'm sorry.
There's nothing going on with Cynthia.
Tell me what to do to fix this and I'll do it. Anything.
I asked, "How are the party arrangements coming along?"
"Pretty well, actually. I got lucky, and one of my favorite caterers had a last-minute cancellation. I'm stopping by tomorrow to review the menu, but I think we can transition everything to Cynthia's party."
"Lucky for both of you," I said.
The side of her mouth quirked up in a grin. "Lucky for me, lucky for May. Not so lucky for the groom who walked in on his bride servicing his best man a week before the wedding."
"Ouch."
"I know. I feel bad that I'm so relieved, but it solves a huge problem. I can finesse almost everything but the food. I'm headed out in a few minutes to pick up a special order from my favorite stationery shop. I'll be up all night addressing the invitations to have them ready for the courier to deliver first thing tomorrow. Then I just need to find musicians and arrange for flowers and decorations. Those are the easy parts. Well, easy compared to swinging catering for seventy-five in less than a week."
"Good news," I said. I wasn't lying. For Cynthia to demand a party for seventy-five with barely a week's notice and expect Summer to pull it off… I had a vague idea how much work went into something like that. A week didn't come close to being enough.
With no idea what I planned to say, I took a step closer and opened my mouth, "Summer, I—"
"I thought of some things that you might need to know," Summer said, her head down, eyes on the ring she twisted around her finger.
It couldn't have been clearer that she didn't want to hear my apology. I wasn't sure I blamed her. I should never have lied to her in the first place.
When she caught me, I should have done anything but stare at her in silence. She'd been so angry. The guilt, the fear of losing her, had choked me until all I could do was walk away.
That was the past. I had my second chance, and this time I wasn't walking away. I pulled up one of the wine barrel stools and sat.
"Tell me."
Chapter Eight
Evers
She twisted the ring in one direction, then another, before she looked up with a sheepish expression on her face. "I don't even know if this is important. I could be making something out of nothing, but you asked if anything weird had happened."
"I did. Has something weird happened?" I'd asked, but I hadn't expected an answer.
Summer shouldn't be a target. She had nothing to do with whatever her father and mine were wrapped up in. She barely saw Smokey Winters. He wasn't exactly an attentive parent.
"It's probably nothing, but a few weeks ago somebody tried to break
into my building. They broke the lock on the back entrance that the super uses. Tried to get up the elevator, but the security is pretty good—"
She broke off, probably remembering all the times I'd bypassed it without any trouble. "Or maybe it's not."
"Did they get into your place?" I asked adrenaline spiking up my spine, sharp and cold.
"No, but I've been getting weird calls. Hang-ups from unknown numbers. I figured it was telemarketers or a wrong number. And there's this client—"
"You have a new client?" She couldn't have a new client. I would know. Knox would have put it in the report.
"No. I turned him down. He, uh, he creeped me out."
I abandoned the stool and moved closer. Summer shrank back. Slow, I reminded myself. Take it slow.
Holding my ground, I said, "He creeped you out? How? Did he touch you? Did he—"
"No. We only spoke over the phone. I didn't meet him in person. He claimed he wasn't local, said he traveled a lot, and one of my other clients recommended me, but when I asked more questions, his answers didn't fit."
"Do you have any information on him? Age, where he's from?"
"Some. I can send you the file. I asked some general questions. He said he was early fifties. He had an accent. He claimed he was Greek, but I had a friend in high school whose father was born in Greece, and this guy didn't sound like him at all."
"You turned him down?" She nodded. "Have you heard from him since?"
"No. I told him I was too busy, that I wasn't taking on new clients, and he said that was fine and hung up. I wouldn't even mention it, but there was something about the conversation that felt off. He asked personal questions. He mentioned my family—"
"Get me the file. I'll check into it." She had good instincts. I'd bet she was right, and that call had not been from a prospective client. Fuck.
"And you're absolutely sure you don't know where your father is. If you're protecting him, I understand, but—"
"I don't know, Evers. I don't know where he is. If I did…" Her voice faded away.
"I know he's your dad," I said softly, "I know you want to protect him. But this is over your head. He's not safe out there. And if you get involved, neither are you. If you hear from him—"
"I'll tell you. I already said I would. I have to get back to work." She straightened and moved to walk past me.
I blocked her, and she stopped abruptly, taking a step back to keep distance between us.
Every step she took from me drove the need to touch her higher. It clawed at me, demanding I close the few feet separating us. Demanding I take her back. Make her mine again. I saw myself reach out, pull her into my arms. That would be too far, and I knew it.
"We need to talk," I started.
The fire in her blue eyes flickered out, leaving them cold and hard. "No, we don't. We had a thing. It's over. Now we both have jobs to do. Let's just stay focused and we'll get through this. Our main concern is Cynthia."
"Forget Cynthia," I shot out, "I don't care—"
"I do. She's my client, and this is my job. It means something to me and I'm not going to mess it up because of you. Get out of my way. I have to get to the stationery shop before they close, or I won't get the invitations out in time."
"I'll go with you."
"No, you won't." Summer's eyes were sparking fire again. I'd take her furious over cold any day. She propped a hand on the jut of her hip. Her round breasts strained against her dress. Keeping my distance was killing me.
"It's bad enough that you're here," she said, temper spilling over. "I don't want to see you any more than I have to."
Her voice choked a little on the last words and I felt sick. That was me. I'd done that, fucked things up so badly she just wanted to get away from me.
All I wanted was to get closer.
"Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable when I felt anything but, "until we figure out what's going on with your dad, I don't want you out there by yourself. You're safe on the property, but outside the gates—"
Summer scowled up at me, gritting her teeth. "Then find someone else. Anyone but you."
"Griffen will go with you,” I said grudgingly.
"Fine."
Hating the idea, but knowing Griffen would keep her safe, I stalked back to the control room so I could send my partner out to watch over my girl.
I could feel the frustration coming off me in waves. I couldn't watch over her. She wouldn't let me explain. I was backed into a corner, and the only thing on my side was time.
I'd wasted enough of it with Summer already. Too much time. Screwing around. Not being honest. Treating what we had like it was a game. Like it didn't matter.
Just as I reached the door to the control room, my phone went off in a series of high-pitched alerts.
"What's that?" Summer asked from behind me.
I swung open the door, and a cacophony of shrill beeps flooded out. Before Summer could ask again, I ushered her into the room. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
Griffen told her, "Perimeter alarm. Someone tampering with the gates."
I don't know what else he said. I was headed for the gym at a brisk jog. I walked in to find Cynthia flat on her back on a yoga mat, one leg extended into the air, her half-naked trainer leaning into it, stretching her hamstring and glutes, looking like he was about to do a lot more than that.
"We have an issue with the gate. I need Cynthia in the control room now."
Cynthia could be headstrong and a diva, but she was smart. Viggo moved and she rolled to her feet with grace, snagging a towel off the stack by the door as she hustled down the hall.
The control room doubled as a safe room. It wasn't as robust as the safe room attached to the master suite, but it would do the job. Cynthia preceded me into the room and came to an abrupt halt when she caught a glimpse of the scene on the center monitor.
Clint Perry stood at the wrought iron gates barring entry to Rycroft Castle. A bouquet of roses in one hand, he pressed the intercom button with the other, repeatedly, breaking only to shake the gates until they rattled.
I'd learned from experience that most actors, particularly leading men, looked a lot smaller in person than they did on the screen. Clint was the exception.
He was known for playing oversized, broody action stars. In person, he was even more oversized than on screen, with wide shoulders, hulking biceps, and thighs that looked like tree trunks. If he'd been drinking or using, it hadn't affected his workouts.
He was missing the brooding frown his fans knew so well. His eyes were desperate. Broken. A part of me, a part I ignored, wanted to hit the button to open the gates, to let the poor guy see the woman he loved.
Project much?
Unlike Clint, I hadn't cheated on Summer. I hadn't so much as looked at another woman since the day I picked her up at her client's party over a year before.
Some of the accusations against Clint Perry—his relapse, drug use, attempted harassment—were unproven. His infidelity was a matter of public record. Literally, considering he'd been caught screwing a starlet on a public beach. His mug shot had been a meme for a while.
"I'll go out and talk to him," I said to Griffen. "I'd rather not call the police and alert the press if I don't have to."
"Isn't he violating the restraining order?" Cynthia asked, her voice shaking. Summer stepped closer and put her arm around her employer, giving her one of Summer's trademark tight hugs.
I wasn't going to think about how much I missed those hugs. Such a simple thing until they were gone.
"He is," I affirmed. "He's not allowed to come within 300 yards of you, your vehicle, or your place of residence. I'll go talk to him, see if he can be reasoned with before we have to take this a step further."
"Be careful, Evers. If he's been drinking, he's not stable. He's not usually violent but…"
Cynthia squeezed her eyes shut and trailed off. I'd assumed she and Clint were just another Hollywood marriage. That she would divorce him and mov
e on. I wondered if I'd underestimated her. If beneath that perfect façade, she hid a broken heart.
"You three stay here. Don't open the door until I come back."
"Got it, boss," Griffen answered, rising to follow me to the door. "Be careful out there," he said in a low voice.
"Always." He shut the door behind me, the flick of deadbolts loud in the quiet hallway.
Locking them in the control room was probably an overreaction, but I wasn't taking any chances. Not with my client, and absolutely not with Summer.
I left my weapon in my holster as I jogged down the long driveway to the gates. I hoped I wouldn't need it, but it was good to know it was there. When he caught sight of me, Clint stepped away from the button on the intercom, coming to the center of the gates, the bouquet in his hand.
"Clint Perry," I said coldly, "are you aware that you're breaking the terms of Cynthia's restraining order?"
"I know," he said, sounding defeated and desperate, a dog who'd been kicked too many times and couldn't stop crawling back. "I just need to see her. I need to explain. She doesn't know. It was all lies, and she doesn't know. I never would have—"
"Except you did. Over and over. She doesn't want to hear it, man. She's trying to move on. She came all the way across the country for some peace and quiet, and if you really cared about her, you'd give her that."
"I just need to see her," he said again. The repetition, his desperation, made me think he was using or drunk, but his eyes were clear, his pupils normal. His voice was sad but steady.
He was a wreck. A mess. It was like looking in a mirror.
"Look, I feel for you," I said. "But that doesn't change what I have to do. Do you understand? Either you get off this property in the next two minutes or I call the police."
Clint Perry's eyes went wide, and he shook his head, backing away from the gate. "Don't do that. Look, man, we don't have to go there. Don't call the police."
"You're not leaving me much choice. The lady has a restraining order, which you are violating. She doesn't want you here. She's afraid, and every second you stay, you're making it worse. I'm counting. Two minutes, starting now."