Ruthless Pride (Dynasties: Seven Sins Book 1)

by Naima Simone

  “Are you cold?” he asked, already slipping out of his tuxedo jacket. The relief coursing through her that he’d misperceived the source of that shiver stripped her of her voice. But Joshua didn’t need her answer. He shifted closer and draped the garment over her shoulders. Immediately, his delicious sandalwood-and-rain scent enveloped her, surrounded her as effectively as if it were his arms warming her instead of his jacket.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, mentally wincing at the hoarseness of her tone.

  He nodded. A valet approached them, and Joshua handed him a slip of paper. After the young man strode away, Joshua returned his regard to her, sliding his hands into his pants pockets. “You’re ending the evening before it’s over?” he rumbled. “Did Christopher Harrison say or do something to make you uncomfortable enough to leave?”

  “No,” she said, adding a sharp head shake for emphasis. “He was fine. I’m just...tired. And I have a forty-five-minute ride ahead of me. So I’m getting a head start.”

  “You’re driving?”

  “Althea arranged a car service for me.”

  He didn’t reply, but the full, sensual curves of his mouth tightened at the corners. He’d had a similar reaction to her editor in chief’s name earlier today. As if he resented the sound of it.

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the museum. “From what I saw, you seemed to be having a good time.”

  And by “good time” she meant the statuesque, gorgeous redhead he’d been seated next to at dinner. The ear whisperer. When she’d left the reception area for the coat check, Sophie had been unable to not take note of Joshua. And he’d stood on the rim of the dance floor, the other woman plastered to his side closer than ninety-nine was to a hundred. God, she sounded bitchy to her own self.

  “Were you watching me, Sophie?” he murmured, that dark-as-sin voice dipping lower, stroking her skin in a smoky caress.

  “Were you watching me, Joshua?” she volleyed back, just as quietly.

  They stared at one another, the challenge they’d lobbied between them vibrating. The air thickened, taut with the tension emanating from their bodies.

  “Come home with me.”

  The request edged with demand struck her in the chest. She locked her knees, but that only prevented her from falling onto her ass. It didn’t prevent her mentally wheeling and sprawling in shock. She blinked up at him, felt her eyes widening, and her lips parted on a gasp she couldn’t contain.

  “What?” she breathed.

  “Come home with me,” he repeated in that slightly impatient tone that hummed with notes of frustration, anger and even surprise. But not directed at her. Through her rapidly ebbing surprise, she suspected all that emotion was aimed at himself. “I’ll take you back to Falling Brook, but come home with me first. We need a place where we can talk openly...privately.”

  “About what?” she questioned, her heart racing for and nestling in her throat.

  “About business that is just between us,” he replied, purposefully vague, she suspected. Here, in front of the Guggenheim and anyone walking the Manhattan streets, he wouldn’t be more specific than that.

  She studied him, her grip tight on her sequined clutch. Alone with Joshua. For possibly hours. Her mind—and common sense—balked. Absolutely not. The last time they’d been together, within feet of Main Street, he’d shown her the real purpose of her mouth. To mate with his. What would happen without the chance of prying eyes catching them? Without the constraints of being in public? He would probably be able to maintain his intimidating control, but her? She wouldn’t advise any Vegas high rollers place bets on her. This man was proving to be her weakness, the chink in her professional and personal armor, and getting close enough to let him chip away more was lunacy.

  Yet... She stared into his eyes. And almost glanced away from the coolness there. But at the last second, she looked deeper. And caught the shadows of need, of...loneliness. Both echoed within her, and something inside her reacted to them. Reached for them. For him.

  Instinctively, she stepped back and away from him. To protect herself. But not from him. Herself. It’d been this same longing to soothe, to please, to be loved that had led her down the wrong path before. With Laurence, she’d been blind. But now, her eyes were wide-open to who and what Joshua was. And if she traveled this road, she would have only herself to blame for the catastrophic results to her career, her integrity, her heart. And God, she harbored zero doubts he would decimate her heart, leaving not even ashes behind.

  “Come with me, Sophie,” he murmured, holding out a hand to her as the valet pulled to the curb in a sleek black sports car that even her limited knowledge identified as an Aston Martin.

  She stared at that palm with fascination, yearning and trepidation. Yes, she wanted him—what was the point in lying about the plain, bald-faced truth? But her body didn’t rule her. Not anymore. If he intended to discuss her help on the paternity issue, they definitely couldn’t do it out here on the sidewalk where anyone could overhear. And, her inner reporter chimed in, if he went off the record with her before, maybe he would agree to going back on and be willing to let her get that interview he’d denied her for the original story. Her deadline for the follow-up article was fast approaching.

  And maybe she was just trying to justify her reasons for unwisely accepting his invite.

  “Okay,” she said quietly, slipping her hand over his and locking down the shiver that wanted to ripple through her as his fingers wrapped around hers. “But just for a couple of hours.”

  He nodded, his intense perusal scanning her face, then dipping down her body before returning to her eyes. Without a word, he escorted her to his waiting car. Within moments, she was tucked against the sinfully luxurious leather seat with Joshua behind the wheel. When he pulled away from the curb and merged with the moderate traffic, she couldn’t help but admire the expert manner in how he handled the vehicle. A begrudging but warm throb settled just under her navel. If the man wielded such control over this four-thousand-pound rocket, how much would he exert in other places? Or... What would he look like if he loosened the reins on it?

  Not my business, she informed herself with a mental sneer. Turning her attention to her phone, she called the car service back and canceled her ride. Then she settled back against the seat for the forty-five-minute ride back to Falling Brook. Other than asking her if the air was too cold and if she was comfortable, they barely uttered a word. But it didn’t matter. The screaming tension crowded into the car with them did most of the speaking.

  By the time he guided the car into the underground parking lot of a tall brick apartment building, she practically vibrated with the strain of fighting the desire coiled so tight within her and pretending as if he didn’t affect her. Business. This was about the article. About their side investigation. She could keep it professional, because that was who she was.

  Pep talk delivered, she didn’t wait for him to round the car and open the door, but pushed it open herself and exited. He wouldn’t open doors for his colleagues at Black Crescent, so he shouldn’t for her, either.

  Coward. You just don’t want him any closer than necessary.

  She flipped her inner know-it-all the finger.

  And if she stiffened but didn’t shift away from the broad hand he settled at the small of her back, well... She just didn’t want to be rude.

  Joshua led her to an elevator, and soon they were alighting from it into a huge apartment that could’ve fit her whole childhood home inside. She couldn’t trap the gasp that escaped from her. Just as the charity event had exposed her to another level of wealth and luxury, so did his place.

  Gleaming and pristine floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unhindered and gorgeous view of Falling Brook and beyond. A king surveying his kingdom. The impression whispered through her head, and she had to agree.
Shaking her head, she moved farther into the foyer, taking in the rest of his space. An open floor plan that allowed each room to flow seamlessly into the next. A sunken living room, freestanding fireplace, dining room with a table large enough to fit a large family with no trouble, a large kitchen with a floating island, beautiful oak cabinets and what appeared to be stainless steel, state-of-the-art appliances. Because why not? Although, something told her he most likely used the double-door refrigerator for takeout instead of cooking with the wide six-burner stove and oven.

  Beyond her stretched a dim but deep hallway, and just off the living room stretched a railless staircase to an upper level. Expensive-looking but comfortable furniture filled the vast space, but there was something missing.

  Art.

  No paintings decorating the cream-colored, freestanding walls. No sculptures that people often staged on tables or in the wide foyer. Not even a knickknack on an end table. The absence glared at her, and she glanced sharply at Joshua, who remained standing next to her, watching her survey his private sanctuary.

  “Let me take this for you.” He settled his hands on her shoulders and his jacket that she still wore. Though it was undoubtedly made of the finest wool, it should’ve disintegrated under the heat from his palms. Grinding her teeth against the inappropriate response, she nodded. “Would you like a drink?” he asked, opening a door behind them and hanging up the jacket and her wrap.

  “Sure.” She headed toward the living room, where a large and fully stocked bar stood next to the dark fireplace.

  “What would you—” His phone rang, cutting him off. He removed it from his pants pocket and glanced at the screen. “I need to take this. Help yourself, and I’ll be right back.” Pivoting, he headed toward the hallway, pressing the cell to his ear. “Joshua Lowell.”

  She stared after him for several moments as he disappeared into a room, shutting it quietly behind him. Only then did she move into the living room, releasing a heavy sigh.

  A scotch sounded really good right about now.

  Before long, she had a finger of the amber alcohol in a squat tumbler, and she raised it to her mouth for a slow, small sip. She hummed in appreciation at the full-bodied, smooth taste as it burned a path over her tongue and down her throat, settling a ball of warmth in her chest.

  “Wow, that’s good,” she muttered, taking and savoring another mouthful.

  Grasping the glass between her hands, she headed toward one of the windows and the magnificent and tranquil view. But there was a scattering of papers on the low chrome-and-glass table in front of the couch. How hadn’t she noticed it before? The haphazard pile contrasted so sharply with the pristine order of everything else in the room. Hell, the apartment.

  Unable to resist the lure it presented, she approached the table. Guilt crept inside her. Joshua hadn’t invited her here to snoop. Yet, she still peered down at the papers.

  A printout of names and notes written beside each in his heavy scrawl. Women’s names. Now, even if God himself came down and admonished her for breaking the eleventh commandment—thou shall not poke thy nose into thy neighbor’s business—she still wouldn’t have been able not to look.

  She recognized some of the names. A high-powered attorney who lived there in Falling Brook. A society darling known for her parties and benevolent efforts. A B-list actress one blockbuster away from catapulting onto the A-list. And about three other names she didn’t recognize. But each one had dates typed next to them. Then a handwritten note about whether Joshua had called, made contact and the result.

  No baby.

  Child but two years old. Not the right age.

  Has a little boy. Same age, wrong sex.

  Her grip on the glass of scotch tightened until her fingers twinged in protest. Joshua hadn’t been idle. This list bore that out. A list that apparently included the names of women he’d been intimate with in the last four years, if the earliest date was an indication. She wrestled down the hot flare of dark and unpleasant emotion that flashed to life in her chest and twisted her belly. Six women wasn’t a lot, but damn, she resented each one because they’d experienced the passion he’d very briefly unleashed on her. With grim effort, she refocused on the paper in front of her. Joshua had clearly been working on finding the woman who was supposed to have birthed his child.

  Shock and a softer, far more precarious emotion stirred behind her breastbone, melting into her veins like warm butter. Lifting her free hand, she rubbed the heel of her palm over her heart. Since her offer to Joshua on Wednesday to help research more about the DNA report, she’d done some digging. But she kept hitting dead ends.

  She wouldn’t stop investigating but... Could the DNA results have been mistaken? Either that or Joshua’s outrage at her accusation of being an absentee father had been genuine, and he really didn’t know he had a child out there. He hadn’t left these papers out for her benefit, because he couldn’t have predicted they would meet tonight. Briefly closing her eyes, she ran his past reactions in her head like a movie reel. The pain, anger and, yes, grief. Viewed in a different, more objective lens, she had only one conclusion.

  She believed him.

  “Snooping, Sophie?”

  Body jerking in surprise, she tugged her scrutiny from the table to meet Joshua’s hooded gaze. So absorbed in what she’d discovered, she hadn’t heard him enter the room. But he stood several feet away, head cocked to the side, studying her with an impenetrable expression. Didn’t matter, though. The anger emanated from him, sending the guilt in her belly into a tighter, faster tailspin.

  “Yes,” she admitted quietly. If her honesty startled him, he didn’t reveal it. That shuttered mask didn’t alter. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invaded your privacy.”

  He didn’t reply, his eyes narrowing further. Finally, he closed the short distance between them. But he didn’t approach her but headed to the bar and fixed a drink. Turning to face her moments later with a tumbler in hand, he continued to study her, slowly sipping.

  “Go ahead and ask,” he said, his tone as dark and smooth as the alcohol in his hand. “Don’t hold back. Isn’t that—” he waved the glass in the direction of the table and papers “—what you’re here for?”

  “Yes,” she replied. It was the reason. At least the least complicated and safer reason. And the only one she wanted to admit to. “From your notes, I’m assuming you didn’t find a woman with a child or if she did have one, not a child who was the correct age or gender.”

  He shook his head, tipping his drink up for another swallow. “No. None of them are behind the email you received or the DNA report. I’m not any closer to finding out the truth about whether or not I have a daughter.”

  “Is this list...complete?” She hated to ask—part of her didn’t want to know the answer. No. More specifically, didn’t want to know if there were more names. Not when a kernel of resentment and envy lodged just under her breastbone. But the question needed to be posed.

  Joshua stared at her for several seconds before tipping his head back and loosing a hard and loud crack of laughter. But no hilarity laced the jagged edges of it.

  “You’re asking if I have more pages with a longer list of names hidden somewhere?” he drawled.

  “Six women. Four years.” She shrugged. And fought back the hot blast of embarrassment from staining her cheeks. “It does seem a little on the thin side.”

  “When you’re a man in my position, you can’t afford to be reckless with women. Especially when your father was a whore.” He chuckled. “Come now, Sophie,” he mocked. “You didn’t come across that bit of information in all of your research?” Oh yes, she had. But her poker face must’ve been woefully inadequate because he arched a dark brow and downed the rest of the alcohol in his glass in one gulp. Setting the glass on the bar behind him, he cocked his head to the side, a razor-sharp half smile tilting the corner of his mouth. “Of course you di
d,” he murmured. “Well, don’t leave me in suspense. Tell me what you dug up on Vernon Lowell’s propensity for adultery.”

  “Joshua,” she whispered, her mind, her traitorous heart rebelling at engaging in this.

  Not for his father’s sake? No, Vernon had been the whore his son had called him. She didn’t want to go there for Joshua’s sake. Because underneath that taunting, I-don’t-give-a-damn tone, his pain echoed like a distant foghorn warning of upcoming danger.

  “Don’t stop now.” The smile sharpened. “Do tell.”

  Inhaling a breath, she held it. Then slowly released it. He wasn’t going to let this go. For some reason, he appeared in a masochistic mood, and was using her as his weapon of choice.

  “Vernon was known to have a...” She hesitated, searching those gold-flecked hazel eyes. “Roving eye,” she finished. Lamely.

  “He fucked anything in a skirt.” The bald, flat statement crashed between them like shattered glass. “That is what you were so diplomatically trying to say, correct? He was an unfaithful bastard who betrayed his marriage vows on a regular basis and didn’t care if his wife found out. And she did find out. My mother always knew when he found a new mistress. And we—Jake, Oliver and I—all knew because they weren’t quiet about arguing over it.”

  Surprise rippled through her. Vernon had married up when he’d wed his wife. Eve Evans-Janson had been a society daughter with a pedigree that dated past colonial times. Her connections had opened many doors for him. Most people would consider her rather plain in the beauty department, but Sophie had always thought her loveliness exceeded mere looks. From pictures and her own memories, she remembered the other woman carrying herself like a queen. Dignified. Proud. So why would a woman like her accept a husband who cheated so openly without care for her feelings?

  “Why would she—”

  “Put up with a man who not only couldn’t, but wouldn’t, keep it in his pants?” he finished in a derisive drawl. “Simple. Comfort. Money. Even though my father did whatever he wanted and refused to give her the one thing she desperately wanted—a daughter—she stayed with him because divorce was embarrassing. Reputation and the image of a perfect marriage and family were vital to her. So she looked the other way in public and cried and raged in private. And... Despite all his selfishness, she loved him. Desperately.”