The Nightingale Trilogy: An Alpha Billionaire Romantic Suspense

by Cynthia Dane

  She grabbed her phone off the table and opened her satchel to put it away. Time for another neurotic check. Wallet. Tampons. Change. Old cell phone. Key…

  Wait.

  Key?

  Nala started pulling things out of her satchel, piling them on the table while Vincent continued to eat their curry. He watched her with mild interest, but once Nala emptied the whole contents of her satchel and still couldn’t find the spare key to Vincent’s loft, her stomach somersaulted into her throat.

  “What is it?” Vincent sounded way too lackadaisical.

  “Your key… the key you gave me to your loft isn’t in here…” Nala turned her satchel upside down and hoped the key would come falling out. “What the fuck!”

  “Don’t worry about it. It was tiny and you didn’t have a key ring on it yet.” Why was he shrugging? Didn’t he understand what a big deal this was? “I’ll get another one made for you.”

  “You better change your locks too!”

  “I will. Do you know what the odds are of someone even knowing where it goes, let alone trying to break into my house?”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re rich. You should get your locks changed.”

  “I will. Sheesh.”

  They left shortly after, Nala still uptight enough to question whether or not Vincent should be driving, let alone down Burnside at night. He reminded her that he had two sips of her beer and usually drove more intoxicated than that thanks to all the contact highs one got wandering through downtown Portland on a regular basis. “Most of my clients come in high as shit now,” he explained, starting his car. “It’s like going to the Netherlands for a ton of people here.”

  This time they actually entered his loft after pulling into his parking space. Nala clung to Vincent’s arm to keep her body steady. She wasn’t drunk, but she was tipsy enough that walking up in those boots made life more uncomfortable.

  Like brother and sister they took turns showering, the hot water refreshing Nala so she no longer thought of the night or tottered about on tipsy legs. She suddenly had the munchies and came out to find Vincent heating up leftovers in the kitchen to snack on.

  It was too late to watch TV or see what it was like playing video games with this guy. Instead, Nala announced she was going to bed, not sticking around to see what Vincent had to say about that as she went upstairs and curled up in his bed.

  She faced away from his side, but she still smelled remnants of that cologne and the way he naturally smelled. Is it so bad? Not according to her addled brain.

  Within the half hour, Vincent climbed in next to her, turning off every light before lying down with a heavy sigh. They were both quiet the first five minutes. Perhaps Vincent thought that Nala was already asleep, but in truth, she stared at the dark windows, trying her damndest to not think of what happened earlier that night.

  She didn’t protest when Vincent’s arm looped around her midsection and drew her into his embrace. Why didn’t she protest? Because this is the safest I’ve felt all day. How dangerous was it that the only way she could feel safe now was in some man’s arms?

  Not just any man’s. Vincent Lane’s.

  “I’m sorry about today,” he muttered into her ear. Rumbles of desire took her over, and it was all she could do to keep from turning farther into his arms. “I wish I could make things easier.”

  You already do. Nala ran her fingers along his arm, feeling the hairs growing from his skin. She touched his wrist, where he was always fiddling with something. I couldn’t do this without you. She clamped her mouth shut before she accidentally said it out loud.

  “If there’s anything I can do…”

  Nala thought of how she felt that night… before discovering Hawk outside their assigned room. Aroused. Powerful. Like she was in control of her own destiny and half the world by extension. If only it really worked that way.

  She turned over, feeling Vincent’s body move slightly away from her to accommodate her movements. “You’re already doing it.”

  He held her tighter, letting her retreat deep against him, feeling his strength, his heat, the aura emanating from his heart as it beat against her cheek.

  Vincent began with a kiss to her head, fingers massaging the back of her neck until she was lulled into serenity. Then he kissed her nose, pushing her away far enough to bury his hand beneath her shirt and feel the bottom of her breasts. Nala whimpered, but did not protest once more. She looped one leg over his and felt him press forward, lips on hers and fingers pinching her nipple.

  It was the gentlest thing he had ever done to her. Nala wrapped her hand around his neck, holding him to her, waiting for the real Vincent to erupt and take her as he always did.

  Except he never did. Because this was also the real Vincent, a man who could be as tender as he was rough with a woman he cared for.

  I’m the first woman he’s probably been this way toward since… Nala couldn’t think about it. Thinking about Desirée dragged up too many bad memories. Memories as old as her childhood. Memories as old as when she first met Vincent only a month ago.

  “Don’t worry, Nala. I’ll make sure you don’t think about anything else tonight.”

  She laughed against his lips. “Idiot. I’m going to be thinking about you.”

  “Is that bad?”

  Nala tightened her legs around him. “Not at all. Just make sure I’m only thinking good things about you, Mr. Lane.”

  “Ms. Nazarov, you flatter me.”

  “Mmhmm.” She muffled any further sounds against his mouth, inviting him to taste the inside of hers – and perhaps the back of her throat, where he had been only a few hours ago.

  But this wasn’t quick. This wasn’t powerful. This wasn’t even the slightest bit rough. This was everything on the opposite end of the spectrum. This was real lovemaking.

  The thought should have scared Nala. Yet as Vincent slowly undressed not only her but himself as well, she came to realize that, yes, this was exactly what she needed right now. She needed to feel his strong, protective body overtake hers, gently, but so assuredly that she would never have to worry about a thing again. Or at least for that night.

  I am doing the most dangerous thing possible. Snooping around Crow’s office, going up against possible assassination attempts and having her identity discovered was nothing compared to making love to Vincent, a man who had the power to completely uproot everything she ever thought about herself and what she wanted to achieve in her life.

  A blip of her heart realized that she was falling in love with him, and no matter how much she tried to quash it, she knew it was impossible. Nobody could stop love. Nobody could have stopped her from loving her parents, from adoring her big sister who always watched out for her… and now not even the force of the world could stop her cold heart from thawing under the heat of Vincent Lane’s body.

  “You’re…” It was the only thing Vincent said. By that point he was halfway inside her, taking his time, biding his time until she was completely ready to accept him. Once she was, however, she felt the sky split open and reveal a chasm of stars she had never seen before. Because I never bothered to look up before now. Tasha the romantic scientist would have told her that was because she had a different outlook on life. Not anymore.

  Nala held him close, feeling him roll gently into her over and over again. She was falling in love. She loved how rough he could be with her. She loved this tender side too. Vincent was learning exactly what she needed, and when. If that didn’t say something about the way he felt for her… but they were both the most unlikely people to ever admit it. That session in the car earlier was the first time Nala had cried in weeks. When was the last time Vincent cried?

  Crying out in ecstasy didn’t count. Yet that’s exactly what they both did when their climaxes came together, Nala reaching up to touch those blissful stars out of her reach.

  She wouldn’t be allowed to wrap her hand around one of those until what she set out to accomplish was over. She knew that, and y
et she wanted to race ahead of herself anyway.

  I love this man. It was one of the only times she would allow herself to think it without a drop of guilt or shame. She wondered if he thought the same way about her.

  Entry #13

  Last night, Nightingale cried in my arms. I saw the full extent of the fear she keeps buried within her, like I bury it within myself. Regardless of what happened at The Aviary, all I can feel is this immense need to protect Nightingale and make sure she never feels that fear again.

  Is this love? I don’t know. If it is, then it’s a very different kind of love than I have experienced before.

  I used to think that was a bad thing. Slowly, however, Nightingale is showing me that it doesn’t have to be. Maybe every love is different, and this is the kind of love we offer one another.

  Soon. I hope tomorrow. I’ll show her.

  Chapter 11

  “Get up, darling.” A knee nudged Nala’s hip. “Rise and shine. It’s a sunny and bleak Portland day, and you told me we could go on a date. Get up.”

  She rolled over, warily opening her eyes to see half naked Vincent standing between her and the morning sunshine. Oh, go away. Not Vincent. The sun. Nala liked her days cloudy and drizzly with a side of wind. Life in Nevada was hard.

  “Don’t make me yank you out of this bed.” Vincent threatened to do that, hooking one hand beneath Nala’s arm and yanking her gently across the bed until she looked at the hardwood floors over the edge. “I am serious. I have breakfast cooking downstairs, damnit. Are you going to waste your life sleeping when you could be eating food I cooked?”

  Who is this annoying fucker and why is he bothering me? Nala shook him off and sat up, the long hair she tried to keep in a neat bun for sleep falling out all over the place. Half her hair fell down her side while the other twisted in snarls on top of her head. I must look the sight. If Vincent was frightened, he was clouded by his need to shove food down Nala’s throat.

  “Do we have to start so early?” Nala was up, barely. She dragged herself out of bed while Vincent jogged to the window and opened the sheer curtains all the way. Holy fucking hell! Nala nearly fell over again from the blinding rays of, well, hell. What right did the weather have being so damn nice today? Disgusting.

  “We’ve got a lot of nothing to do,” Vincent said. “Besides, it’s ten. It’s not early.”

  Nala woke up when he sauntered past the bed wearing nothing but those loose-fitting sweatpants. Hello, sexy. She scratched the back of her head and remembered the way he made love to her two nights ago. Last night he had gone to bed long before her, and was snoozing by the time Nala got out of the shower and joined him, curling up in his arms.

  “Speak for yourself, handsome.” Nala let out a morning burp and scratched her side. If she had any chance in hell surviving today, she would need a quick wash up in the shower.

  She came out, only a little refreshed, and descended the spiral staircase to find Vincent back in the kitchen, humming a nonsense tune while turning sizzling bacon and slapping toast on plates. The moment he saw Nala, he patted the counter lined with barstools. “Sit down and enjoy the tastes of Café Lane, Ms. Nazarov.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Nala slumped onto a stool and held her head up with one shaking hand. “I don’t know this Vincent. Where’s the guy who downs coffee and a bagel before driving to his office and getting catered there?” He had told her about it before.

  “Sometimes it’s entirely possible that a man gets a great night’s sleep and is looking forward to what is supposed to be a fun and relaxing day.” Half-naked Vincent – okay, so this aspect Nala was definitely into – deposited seasoned eggs onto a plate and served it to Nala. Every time he moved even slightly, his muscles flexed, and Nala woke up more. Good to know that I’m alive in there. She yawned, stabbing eggs with a fork and feeling dubious that they would be any good. She had never, ever seen Vincent cook anything outside of a toaster or microwave, and Nala trusted other people’s cooking about as much as she trusted Xavier Crow.

  “Shit, I guess you can cook. Somewhat.” Eggs fell unceremoniously from her mouth and littered her plate. “Thanks for this, by the way. Sorry. I’m totally not awake yet.”

  “No problem.” Vincent turned off the stove and rounded the counter, joining Nala on the other barstool. He reached over and landed a kiss on her cheek before digging into his breakfast. “I’m starving.”

  Nala touched her cheek, feeling the traces of his early morning kiss. What is happening? She barely saw him the day before since he was finishing up that project and getting ready to take time off. Is this left over from two days ago? Once Vincent got it in his head that Nala needed reassurances, he started going overboard. Not that Nala minded. She wasn’t… used to it from a man like him. Where was stoic Vincent? Where was heartbroken and mad at a grieving world Vincent? Okay, so she didn’t want him to always be that way… but this was such a 180 from how he usually was that Nala couldn’t help but wonder if she fell asleep in one world but woke up in another. Is my sister alive in this world? She would stay, if so.

  While they ate, Vincent attempted to make plans for the day. “Loose plans,” of course, since they were supposed to be relaxing. All he would tell her was that they had somewhere to be by eleven – but not to worry too much, because he had parking already handled.

  “Dress warm,” he said, washing dishes in the sink while Nala went upstairs to freshen up and change. “We’ll be outside a lot of the day.”

  Oh, boy.

  All Nala could assume was another trip to some gardens. Bearing that in mind, she dressed in simple jeans and a T-shirt, layering with her thickest sweatshirt. Too bad for Vincent she pulled her hair back in a high ponytail.

  “Perfect.” He snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her midsection for a few seconds while kissing the side of her neck. “That’s absolutely perfect.”

  Vincent wandered to his dresser and started pulling out similar clothes for himself. Nala could only watch in awe, wondering what strange planet this was – besides Portland.

  By the time they were ready to go, they looked the similar pair. Except everything Vincent wore was of the highest quality, from his sturdy designer jeans to his super soft cotton T-shirt with pithy tech sayings Nala did not understand. He’s gone geek today. This was further proven when he pulled on a thick “Stanford Computer Science” sweatshirt styled with binary in the background. The dark red looked striking on him, and Nala had to hold herself back from sneaking into his arms and wishing he would pick her up. I’m awake, I guess.

  “Meet me in the car downstairs, darling,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom a final time. “We don’t want to be late.”

  “Late for what?” This was Nala’s tenth attempt at finding out what was going on. Alas, Vincent’s lips were sealed.

  His car was transformed from a business man’s no nonsense car to a young, hip thirty-year-old’s wheels. Nala buckled herself up the moment Vincent appeared at the driver’s side door and helped himself in. When the car started, Nala wondered if she should start making the signs of the cross or relax for once in her life.

  Then again, she really, really did not like surprises. Knowing her luck, Vincent was taking her to a cock fight, or, even worse, a nerd fight. What would that be anyway? A Magic the Gathering brawl?

  He braved morning traffic on Burnside, turning on the radio for the first time in Nala’s presence. Adult contemporary blared from the speakers, and Nala wondered what kind of music a man like Vincent Lane listened to. She half expected to find a Maroon 5 CD in the glove compartment. CDs? Pshaw. This man’s got Sirius radio.

  Traffic became more congested the farther west they went on Burnside. They were held up momentarily outside the big bookstore. Nala looked out the window and saw people coming in and out with large paper bags stuffed with books, looking pleased with themselves for supporting one of the biggest indie enterprises in America.

  Vincent caught her looking. “We c
an go there later, if you want. I’ve been thinking about stopping by to check for a few things.”

  Nala remained noncommittal. If Vincent wasn’t going to tell her what they were doing, then she wouldn’t be forthcoming about what she wanted to do. That’s against my best interests, come on. Nevertheless, she could be ridiculously stubborn like that.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, watching Vincent whip a sudden left near Providence Park. “Don’t you dare tell me.” People were cramming their cars into parking, jumping out wearing green and white scarves and carrying TIMBERS pennants like they were running toward the rapture and angels themselves were making an appearance. “You are way too nerdy for this shit.”

  “Nobody is too nerdy for soccer.” Vincent put up his parking permit sticker and hopped out before Nala had the chance to further protest.

  She thought back to that night they met, when she told that bartender she didn’t care for Ducks or Beavers. Only Timbers. Was this irony’s way of getting her in the ass? Not that Nala hated soccer or even sports by an extension… but her idea of a rip-roaring day did not have anything to do with soccer.

  Thanks to Vincent’s connections, they went straight to the front of the line, complete with drinks and some popcorn to get their day started. I can’t believe we are doing this. He had good seats. Not great, but it was apparent that not even this billionaire was buying boxes at sporting events. He seemed a lot more at home surrounded by people wearing war paint and waving their pennants in pride. Nala had no idea who the opposing team was. She didn’t recognize any of the chants. She barely knew the rules, but was determined to figure them out before resorting to asking Vincent, who booed the officials with the best of them. Who the fuck is this guy? Nala didn’t know if she was endeared or frightened. Ever since the other night… Vincent had changed right in front of her.