While It Lasts

by Paige Rion

  Get a grip.

  “Well, Rachel, why don’t you let me buy you a drink to make up for bumping into that pretty little nose of yours.” He reached out and lightly tapped the end of her nose.

  His touch jolted straight through her, a shot straight to her toes. She inhaled a sharp breath, then shook it off.

  “Sure,” she said, breathless. “But maybe I should be the one buying you the drink, considering it was my fault.”

  Don’t even think of it,” he said, stepping toward the bar. He ordered a beer for himself, then glanced at her. “What’ll you take?”

  “Red wine is fine,” she said, trying for a smile. Her nerves made it impossible.

  He ordered her a glass of wine, and then handed it to her as he took a sip of his beer.

  Rachel eyed him over her glass, wondering whether most loan sharks drank beer by the bottle. It seemed they should be more the whiskey-on-the-rocks type.

  “So what brings you to Horseshoe alone? You’re young, beautiful, and you don’t look like a die-hard gambler.”

  Rachel swallowed. This was her opening. “Uh, no. I’m not, I...” she started, but suddenly everything she might have said vanished.

  “You’re not alone, then? And here I thought I was lucky to catch a woman like you without a man trailing after her. Is there one lurking around here somewhere?” His dimples flashed and his gaze moved over her face, surveying her with interest.

  “No. There’s no boyfriend, and I didn’t come with a date. I just meant, no, I’m not a gambler. I was supposed to be meeting a friend, but she called and cancelled at the last minute.”

  His gaze rested on hers, as if he knew she were lying, as if he might call her out. She held her breath, waiting for his response and wondering why she hadn’t just come out and told him the truth.

  “I guess I could tell you it was her loss, my gain, but that would be kind of cheesy. Wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, overused.”

  He grimaced. “Damn.”

  Rachel laughed, relieved at the casual banter. She relaxed by a fraction. But she still had no confirmation this was the man she was looking for. “I told you my name, but you’ve yet to share yours. Is it a secret?”

  “I just like appearing mysterious. The ladies usually love it. Is it working?” He smiled.

  He was flirting with her. Who knew loan sharks liked to flirt?

  Rachel pursed her lips, as if she were considering it. “No. I don’t think so.”

  So far, everything about this man—purportedly the man collecting her mother’s debt—surprised her.

  He snapped his fingers. “Bested again, I guess. I’m Rex Greene.” He reached a hand out to her and she felt a surge of satisfaction. The name rang a bell. She had heard it somewhere before, and if she remembered correctly, it had come from her father.

  She shook his hand, ignoring the way her stomach somersaulted into her throat at the contact.

  What was she doing?

  “Let’s cut to the chase.” She looked him in the eye, trying not to let the startling green affect her. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

  He pursed his lips, as if deciding whether to tell her the truth, then tipped his bottle toward her. “I do. And I’m assuming since you asked me that, you know who I am, as well?”

  “You’re a loan shark. The one my mother owes a huge gambling debt to, and the one who holds the key to destroying my father’s name, his career, and my family with it.” She blurted it out at once. How’s that for an ice-breaker?

  She watched him carefully, calculating every blink, every labored breath, or angle of his head. But what she saw was pure, undiluted surprise.

  His eyes widened, and his mouth opened, but he hesitated before slowly responding. “Your mother’s debtor,” he said, as if asking her for confirmation. “And that’s why you’re here? To find me?”

  Rachel shrugged, “No. I told you, I was waiting for a friend.”

  She had no idea why she didn’t tell him the whole truth. This was her opening, but something held her back. Maybe it was the way he looked at her after admitting she knew who he was, but something kept her quiet, and she rolling with it, going on instinct.

  He shook his head and leaned one hip against the bar, raising his bottle to his lips. “Well, even though you weren’t looking for me, I have to say I’m glad you found me. What a pleasant coincidence. I knew the mayor had a daughter, but I had no idea she’d be this beautiful.”

  She narrowed her eyes, finding it odd that he would refer to her father—by his profession, no less—and not her mother. Then again, her father paid the bills. Still, something about their encounter seemed off.

  When she said nothing, he continued. “Do you date much, Rachel?”

  “Some,” she said, completely lying. Again. To say she dated a lot was an understatement of maximum proportions.

  “Why do I have a feeling you know your way around the dating scene pretty well?”

  She shrugged, which made him laugh and sent a flare of irritation up her spine.

  “Regardless, you’re an attractive woman. Men are probably hitting on you all the time and trying to get you to notice them...” He leaned against the bar, arms crossed casually over his body, looking both smug and confident, something Rachel found hugely appealing, despite his arrogance.

  “Maybe,” she said again.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, which is handy for me.”

  “And why is that?” She grinned.

  “Because I’m a man in need of some advice. And I have a feeling you’re just the woman to give it.”

  “Okay, then. Try me,” Rachel said, taking a sip of her wine, keeping her gaze steady.

  “See, there’s this girl. She’s gorgeous, certainly seems charming, and she has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Hair the color of spun gold.” He stepped closer and ran a hand down a lock of her hair. “And the softest I’ve ever felt. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. Or so she says.”

  “Uh-huh,” she murmured, while her pulse leapt in her throat.

  “But the thing is, I just met her. And I’m afraid of being too forward. I don’t want to appear too bold, or too desperate. Especially since I have a feeling she doesn’t think very highly of me. But I really want to ask her out.” He moved an inch closer, until less than a foot separated them, and she could feel the soft velvet of his breath on her skin. “What do you think? Should I chance it? Or would that be considered inappropriate under the circumstances?”

  Rachel swallowed. You are not attracted to him. You cannot be attracted to him.

  “I think you’re safe,” she whispered.

  What? What was she saying? He was the enemy.

  “Would she say yes? Because I know I might seem like a confident man, but I don’t know if my ego or my heart could take it if she turned me down.”

  Heat curled in her belly at the warmth in his gaze. She screamed at herself, warning bells sounding, even as the words slipped from her lips. “Yes. She would say yes.”

  With that, Rex grabbed her hand once more and turned it over, bringing her palm to his mouth and kissing it with a soft brush of the lips. Somehow the gesture was completely disarming, and Rachel had to work at breathing. The thumping of her pulse in her ears drowned out the voice screaming at her through the fog in her head.

  “Great. How about tomorrow night? Give me your number.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She took it with shaky hands and began to enter her cell number, fighting the urge to quickly scroll through it to look for her father’s. Something told her she’d find it there. She handed it back to him, and he inspected it, then smiled, mesmerizing her with a flash of pearly whites. She sensed he was getting ready to leave and she had yet to actually address the problem at hand.

  “Well, this evening turned out better than I could’ve hoped. I’ll call you.” With a wink, he turned and panic seized Rachel’s body. Her heart beat wildly and her lungs constricted, but someth
ing kept her rooted to her spot by the bar. Something kept her from calling out.

  She stared after him, and the moment he disappeared from sight, she turned away and downed the glass of wine.

  Holy crap. What just happened?

  She blew it. She completely and utterly blew it. She had her chance to confront him, to try and bargain with her family’s debt. She even told him she knew who he was, for heaven’s sake. But then she let those blasted green eyes and all that coal-black hair mess with her head.

  She bit her lip, wondering how she could screw up so badly. She never let men get to her. She was always in control. But just as the thought pierced through her consciousness, an idea sparked.

  Control...

  He asked her out, acted as though he was attracted to her. If he really was interested in her, and he wasn’t just putting on a show, then she had more control now than ever.

  Oh, yes.

  Rex Greene would get what he wanted. Not only would she go out with him, she would make him fall in love with her. That’s how she would win this. That’s what would make him relieve her family’s debt.

  Worst-case scenario? If he wasn’t genuinely interested in her, even after she worked her magic, that meant he had some sort of ulterior motive for wanting to date her. Who knew the reason? It could be to gather more ammunition to blackmail her family. To get to her father, somehow. Or simply ensure he got paid. And in that case, she would simply play him until she found out what he really wanted.

  Rachel placed her empty glass on the counter and smiled. Maybe their encounter didn’t go as planned. But maybe it was better this way, because now she had a plan.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Colton McCabe unlocked the door to his apartment and dropped the keys on the side table, then stretched his arms. All in all, not a bad day’s work. Not bad at all, he thought, as he pictured the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty that was Rachel Beaumont.

  If that wasn’t a pleasant surprise, he didn’t know what was. Talk about having a breakthrough fall into your lap.

  He shrugged off his coat and hung it on one of the large hooks next to the door, and then took a cursory glance around. Everything appeared as it should be. It’s not that he lived his life expecting someone to be lurking around every corner, but after spending five years in the military and four with the federal bureau, you had a natural tendency to constantly survey your surroundings, even if you didn’t know it.

  He moved into his office and opened the top drawer of the small oak desk, pulling out the small black phone. He hit the #1 contact and waited as it rung. When the familiar voice answered, he smiled.

  “McCabe, what is it?”

  Colton turned and leaned back against the desk, the hard edge of the wood cutting into the back of his legs. “You’ll never believe this. The Beaumont girl came to see me today.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line, before his boss asked, “What does she want?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. She’s heard the rumors, and her father’s reinforced this gambling story with her mother, which was a bit of a surprise to me. She didn’t say what she was after, though I’m sure it’s something. Her being at the casino wasn’t a coincidence. I think she’s hell-bent on trying to save her family or something. Maybe get info on Rex. I don’t know...” He paused, mulling over his evening. “According to one of the bartenders, she had been there an hour before I ran into her. Apparently, she was asking about where one would go to get some cash to play with.”

  “So, she thinks you’re a loan shark and her mother owes you. But you think she has information.”

  That was the thing about his boss: He always knew exactly what you were getting at without needing to say it. Then again, that’s what made any man in this profession good at his job. In many ways, it was a required skillset.

  Colton grinned. “Of course she does. Even if she doesn’t know it. She’s confident, maybe to a fault. She thinks I’m interested in her, so it’ll be easy to play her and get access to the information we really need. She seemed more than pleased to give me her number. Looks like she and I are about to get to know each other intimately.”

  “Are you going to tell her your cover story? About working with her father?”

  Colton shrugged. “I’ll just let her keep thinking her family owes me. If she feels indebted, threatened by me, maybe that will work to my advantage. And if not, then I’ll explain that I actually am a supporter of the mayor’s. I’m an honorable man who runs a charity organization. I’ll play it by ear.”

  “Sounds like you have it all under control. Wrap this up. Just be careful. You never know her angle or what she might know.”

  The thought that Rachel may have been lying to him, and she didn’t really believe the whole bogus story about her mother gambling, had already crossed his mind. Regardless, it didn’t really matter what she believed. One lie versus the other didn’t make much difference, as long as she didn’t know who he really was. And there was no way in hell she knew that. No one in Callaway did.

  Smiling to himself, Colton said, “Got it. But so far, she seems clueless.”

  * * *

  Rachel woke with a bounce to her step. For the first time since the rumors started about her mother, she felt in control, a little less like the rug of her life might be pulled out from under her. All thanks to her plan to alleviate their debt and get them back on the track to success.

  Some would say it wasn’t her job to fix her mother’s problems and save her father’s job, but she would argue otherwise. After all, they had status and position in this town. But only their family knew how her father had lost so much on investments in the past few years, how they had out-spent trust funds and used up all their monetary assets. And if her father lost his job, they’d be done. Being born into an old bloodline that carried respect in their small town would only carry them so far. And when you grew up, as Rachel had, privileged, wanting for nothing, a sense of contentedness wrapped around you like a cocoon. You felt untouchable, unscathed by the financial woes of your peers.

  Rachel was proof that a privileged life led to complacency. When she graduated high school, she had no real plan for her life. Used to following her father on his political journey, bouncing from the judge’s seat to the mayor’s office, most of her younger years were spent working on some form of campaign or another. Either that, or attending lavish parties, charity functions, and working hard to ensure that the Beaumont name constantly lived up to its reputation.

  Her role in the family had been clear from the start. Look good, smile pretty, and show your support. While her brothers had gone off to college, encouraged to pursue degrees in law and politics to continue the legacy, Rachel was left floundering. As of now, her only future was one intrinsically tied to that of her father. So, in short, what affected her parents and her family name affected her, more so than her brothers.

  But on that Sunday afternoon, Rachel was in control. She wouldn’t let anything get her down because she finally had a plan. The reminder from her father to keep an ear out for talk of her family played on her mind, so she decided to go into town for lunch.

  Pulling on her gray cashmere sweater dress, tights, and knee-high boots, she left her room and made her way down the winding staircase. She had already met her familial obligation to have breakfast with her parents, and then attend Sunday Mass, so the rest of the day was her own. Sunday in Callaway Cove meant a lot of the local shops and diners would be closed, leaving the selection down to one place, Mary’s, which would serve her purpose well. Anyone in town wanting a hot meal would go there, leaving the small restaurant packed, and bringing any town gossip under one roof.

  She’d walked past the kitchen toward the large closet off the foyer when her father appeared in the hallway. Still dressed in his navy suit, his hair styled, held in place by the pomade he used, he gestured to Rachel. “I wanted to have a family meeting.”

  She paused. He was wearing his “mayor face,” which meant he
wanted to talk politics, strategy for his campaign.

  “What? Now?” she asked.

  “Yes. Come in the dining room, please.”

  Sighing, Rachel followed him into their massive dining room, painted a pale blue, with ivory tray ceilings, and a crystal chandelier that had been her grandparents. Her father sat next to her mother and waited for Rachel to take a seat, which she did, but not without a scowl.

  He folded his hands on the table and said, “As you both know, elections will be this coming November, which means I have about eight months to prepare and make sure that support stays largely on my side of the fence. With the new...” He paused, his gaze flickering from her to her mother and back. “...rumors going around about our little family mishap with your mother’s gambling, I don’t think it’s too soon to start getting a campaign together. I believe Jordan Ashby will be running. That’s not confirmed, but if he is, we will need to campaign aggressively. It’s of the utmost importance that we are the model family now. Rachel.” His eyes met hers as he spoke. “With your brothers both away at school, you’ll be needed much more than usual. Your volunteer hours need to be increased, as well as your presence in the community. Now, more than ever, you’ll need to be at any and all functions that don’t demand solely my presence. If rumors escalate, we’ll do whatever we must to contain them. It’s the little things that can cause better men to lose elections.”

  Rachel sat poised, her back straight as a rod, her face placid. It took everything in her not to roll her eyes at him. She’d heard variations of the expression from him a million. That’s how better men lose elections.

  Reaching across the table, she took the pitcher of ice water and poured herself a glass. She had to remind herself to keep quiet. Not to say a word. It was for the best. Easier. Each of them had experienced what it was like to go against her father, even if it was simply a difference of opinion, and it was always unpleasant to say the least—not to mention fruitless. In the end, he always got his way.

  But inside her head, her thoughts drifted. If her mother really did have a problem, if it were a form of addiction, didn’t she need help? Didn’t she deserve some form of treatment for something that had obviously gotten her and the family into a host of trouble? And before she could stop herself, she asked, “Dad, don’t you think Mom should go to rehab or something? Or at least some kind of intensive therapy for addiction?” She shifted her gaze to her mother. “Trust me, I’m not judging. And I don’t want you to go anywhere, but you clearly have a prob—”