by Bromberg, K.
“Yes. No. Fuck!” My voice is sharp off the walls as the image his words evoke pisses me off even more. “I didn’t. I don’t.” My own reason wars against my rage. “Just fucking do it.”
“You sure?”
I think of the hundreds of reasons why I should back down. The fact that I want Vaughn to tell me her secrets herself. The need for her to. To know she values us enough to let me in further. The fact that Stuart digging into her past is a violation of her privacy when I’ve already done enough to hurt her.
And then I think of the one reason to find it all out: so I can help protect her.
“Yes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t argue with me,” I snap.
“No, sir.”
“I want to know everything there is about her. Anything that can be used to blackmail her, coerce her, all the way down to the size of her goddamn panties.”
Stuart is silent for a beat. “Okay . . .”
“Financials. Past, present.” My hand hurts from clenching so hard, but hell if it’s not Carter Preston’s neck I’m imagining it wrapped around.
“Even the no-go areas you held me back from before?” he asks.
“I need to know about her past,” I state, giving him the go-ahead to give me more information about one James Sanders.
The man we found who lives on the outskirts of Greenwich in a house he’s upside down in. And besides hoping his dick had rotted off for what he did to Vaughn’s sister, I didn’t allow myself to know much else.
“So either you want to royally fuck her over, or she’s the one.”
He could have sucker punched me and I wouldn’t have been so surprised by his words. “What the hell are you talking about?” I part laugh, part look around the room like a paranoid mess.
Stuart’s chuckle fills the line, and he was just added to my shit list. “I’ve never seen you like this before. You’re passionate about your clients—about getting what you need to win in court . . . but, Ryk, this is a whole next level.” I can all but hear him shrug. “That tells me she means something to you. Either you’re spooked and need to know her skeletons to make you shit or get off the pot when it comes to taking things further with her in the relationship department . . . or you’re not spooked and someone is fucking with her. In that case, have mercy on their souls.” His matter-of-fact tone resonates. The words he says with it even more so.
“Maybe the answer is that it’s a bit of both.” I don’t expect to give him an answer. That’s not my style. But he’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend, and I can’t take the words back.
And lucky for him he keeps his mouth shut, because his words reverberate loud and clear and knock loose truths I’m not sure I want to acknowledge. If I do care about Vaughn and she finds out I’ve ordered this invasion into her privacy, I’m the asshole who’s snooping. I’m the jerk who is suddenly a creep and is beyond reason. But if she never finds out because I charge in to save the day on a white horse behind the scenes, then isn’t the risk worth it?
I’ve already done enough to fuck with her. I’ve already screwed up. It’s my job to try to make it right the best I can—and this is the only way I can think to do that. To protect her. To make sure no one else can come after her if Preston sets his bullshit in motion.
“Just get me what I want, Stu.”
His laugh fills the line. “Sure thing. But, uh . . . do we need to have a talk about how committing a felony would ruin your law career?”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then maybe you should stop thinking about murdering whoever the fuck it is you’re thinking about hurting.”
“Nah. I’m finding great pleasure in using my imagination.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“Thanks.”
When I hang up the phone, my eyes veer to the door Vaughn walked out of the last time I saw her, and my thoughts come back to her as well.
What the hell does Carter Preston have on her?
Revealing who she really is and messing with her livelihood, I get. The fear of social services finding out and her losing the chance to adopt Lucy, I completely understand. But what in the hell is she not telling me about her uncle?
She’s a grown woman. He can’t intimidate or manipulate her now. I get that the chains of a past like that are strong and the thought of him could be debilitating, but there’s something else going on.
Something else that has her spooked.
If only I could get her to talk to me.
If only I could get her to trust me again.
If only I could win her back.
Way to fuck things up, Lockhart.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Vaughn
“It was a good night,” I agree with Melissa. It’s well after two in the morning as our heels click on the concrete floor of the long hallway that leads to Apropos’s exit.
Large tips always help to make it a good night.
Hands not grabbing your ass make it even better.
I glance down at my Wicked Ways phone and notice a text from the new client, Noah, and I slow down to read it. I received all the information you sent my way. I’d prefer to meet face-to-face before we proceed. I like to know who I’m doing business with.
With a sigh and a shake of my head, I slip my phone back into my purse. The last thing I want to do right now is don my Madam Vee getup and meet with a client who is already proving to be high maintenance before he even goes on his first date.
“You okay?” Melissa asks with concerned eyes, and I realize I’ve stopped walking and that she’s done the same in turn.
“Yeah. It was just a text. A bill collector,” I lie. “It’s just been a rough couple of weeks.”
“But I thought you had a man now,” she says and snaps her fingers in a Z shape.
“Ha. Hence the rough couple of weeks.” I laugh, all while hating the notion that she thinks I’d let a man pay my bills for me.
“Does he treat you right?”
I nod. “Yes. Of course. It’s just . . . complicated,” I murmur and roll my eyes in jest.
“We’re talking about a man here, aren’t we? They are as complicated as they are simple.”
“Very true,” I laugh, but the pang hits me just as hard as her words.
I miss him.
It’s been a little over three weeks since the Hamptons. Since I thought the stars were aligning and maybe—just maybe—there might be a little bit of happiness for me. Since the pool house and Carter Preston and the threats that could upend my world.
But I still miss Ryker.
And I’m not sure how I feel about that.
The fresh air hits us when Melissa pushes open the door to the parking lot. She stops momentarily as she steps out into the fluorescent light before humming under her breath. “Mmm-mmm-mmm. I’d take that man even if he had a three-inch dick.”
I laugh with her and then realize she’s actually talking about someone standing before her. For the briefest of moments I pause, afraid that Carter is waiting outside my work. But then the person speaks.
“Good morning.” Ryker’s gravelly baritone hits my ears and makes my stomach flutter.
Even after everything—the emotion, the doubt, the heartache—he still makes my stomach flutter.
When I step out from behind Melissa, Ryker’s standing there under the streetlight. He’s wearing dark jeans and a cream-colored henley with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. He’s holding a bunch of white daisies in his hand that look like he picked them in a field, but c’mon, we’re in Manhattan, so he must have bought them somewhere. But it’s the shy smile on his lips and the sincerity in his eyes when our gazes meet that causes that flutter to intensify.
I said we couldn’t do this. I told myself that the more space I put between us, the easier it would get. I thought I could walk away. But seeing him—wanting him . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to stick to my own words. Ryker Lockhart is just as potent to me as
the drugs that lured my sister.
“Hi.” His smile widens as he steps away from the sleek black sports car at his back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask cautiously, looking from him to Melissa and then back.
“You two go and have some fun now,” she says, lifting her eyebrows at me and then waving like a teenage girl to Ryker.
“Let me walk you to your car,” he says to Melissa, and her reaction—startled head, wide eyes, disbelieving smile—says it all.
“It’s just right here.” She points to a white crossover a few cars down. “But, uh—thanks.”
Ryker nods, and we watch in silence as she climbs into her car, starts it, and then pulls away from the curb.
It’s just the two of us now and the rest of the city still awake milling around us.
“Did you have a good shift?” Ryker asks as he takes a step toward me and holds out the flowers as if our last discussion never happened.
Maybe I want to pretend for a little bit that it didn’t happen either. Maybe I just want to enjoy the fact that he’s standing here waiting for me at two in the morning with flowers and a smile that warms me in ways I’m still not used to.
I’ll let myself forget for a bit. I’ll probably be mad at myself later for it—for giving in and seeming so wishy-washy—but for now I just want to feel like I did that night in the Hamptons when there was the taste of chocolate chip cookie dough on his lips and the cool chill of the granite sliding beneath my back. Carefree. In love. Loved.
“Vaughn?” Ryker’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I take the flowers from his outstretched hand. Not wanting him to see the flush in my cheeks, I bury my nose in them and breathe in the sweet scent. The flowers are so simple from a man who can afford the world, and I love that they are. “How was your shift?”
“It was long, but good.”
“What made it a good night?” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek for a few seconds more. “Good tips?”
“No.”
“Good customers?”
“No.”
“Then what?” he asks, that smile turning curious and his head angling to the side to emphasize the question.
I give in to the temptation to just accept that he’s here and I’m glad that he is.
“You being here.”
He stares at me for the briefest of seconds, and this time when he reaches out, he cups both of my cheeks and lowers his lips to brush against mine. Every part of me sags at the tenderness in the simple kiss—so brief, but packed with so much emotion.
“That’s a good answer.”
I lean back and look at him. The brandy color of his eyes. The mussed hair. The rough cut of his jaw with a day’s worth of shadow dusting it. “Why are you here?”
“Because I missed you,” he murmurs, and for the first time, I almost feel like we can do this. Like we can face whatever is out there together and make this work.
“So you stayed up late to walk me to my car?”
“If that’s what you want me to do, then yes . . . or”—he lifts his chin over his shoulder—“we can go for a drive.”
“To where? It’s two in the morning.” I laugh.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. His smile is lopsided and hopeful. “I know I’m supposed to give you space. I know I told you to take your time . . . but dammit, Vaughn, I missed you and wanted to see you.”
Swoon.
“I missed you too.” Our gazes hold, and all I can do is shake my head ever so subtly to tell him I’m not sure what to do but I’m glad he’s here right now.
“I think we should go out.”
“Right now?” I sputter a laugh.
“We’re in the city that never sleeps for a reason.” He shrugs like a little boy. “Why not?”
I think of my aching feet and how bone tired I am, but when he smiles, I already know that I’ll go.
“I don’t think we’ve ever been on a proper date.”
“You’re crazy.” I laugh and press my lips to his.
“I know.”
He starts to head toward his car, his fingers tangled with mine, and when I don’t walk with him so that our hands stretch between us, he turns back to stare at me.
“What?” he asks.
I take him in—everything about him—and just smile as I warm from head to toe. “Nothing.”
The city may never sleep, but the streets are quieting down as we hum through the concrete jungle in silence. Ryker’s fingers are laced in mine, both our hands resting on my thigh as the gentle purr of the Maserati’s motor hums around us.
“You know, most dates start before everyone is asleep,” I tease as I look down at the bag in my lap. Curiosity has me wondering why he brought me a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt.
“Everything about us is far from normal, so why would we want to ruin it now?” He flashes me a smile before veering to the curb and parking. “Your feet good?”
“I’m beginning to be concerned that you brought me shoes. Please tell me we’re not hiking anywhere.”
“While I very much like the heels, I thought you might like to get out of them. And hiking? In Manhattan?” He rolls his eyes. “Nah. Maybe a little breaking and entering, though.”
“What?” I ask as he climbs out of the car and shuts the door with a thud, leaving me to figure out if he’s serious or not. When he opens the passenger-side door, I ask, “What do you mean, a little breaking and entering?”
He shuts the door behind me and then steps into me so that my back presses against it.
“Ryker?”
“Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips, and I can’t help but press a kiss to it. A ghost of a smile paints his lips in reaction as he takes my hands in his and then looks back up. “You and I . . . we’re far from typical. We’ve had a lot of shit happen between us from the get-go. I’ll never regret how I pushed you to get us here, but I regret many other things I’ve done. I put you, this”—he squeezes my hands—“us, in jeopardy, and I was wrong.”
“Ryk—”
“Please just let me finish.” His eyes are filled with so much honesty that it almost hurts for me to look at them. It’s the kind of honesty where you are opening yourself up to getting hurt. The kind where you’re stripped bare and completely transparent.
I don’t think a man has ever given that much of himself to me before, and I don’t know what to say other than, “Mmm-hmm.”
“I just wanted a night without distractions. One where it’s just you and me and we can pretend like . . . I don’t know. Like I haven’t fucked up a million times.”
“That would be nice.”
There’s something about him—about this moment—a man who has never come off as uncertain, but now he seems to be completely and utterly on shaky ground. My heart falls, in such a good way.
But just as quickly as I get a glimmer of his uncertainty, his expression changes, and a mischievous smile turns up his lips. “Do you trust me?”
I laugh, his playful question just that, but I don’t miss the small pang of hurt that he caused when he breached that trust at the pool house.
I shake it off, shove it down, and smile. “Should that question worry me?”
“C’mon.” He tugs on my hand, and I slide a glance his way when he wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me close.
Steam sneaks up from the subway grates on the streets, and trash cans are overflowing, but the soft hue of the streetlights above and the comforting noises of a sleepy city surround us.
“Hungry?” he asks when he veers into a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. My hand flies to my stomach as I suddenly realize I am. Within minutes, we are back on the street with a box of pizza and a bag complete with paper plates and napkins.
“Ryker, what are you—?”
“Shh,” he says and then presses a chaste kiss to my lips. When he steps back, his laughter rings out as he steers me around a column beneath the darkened shad
ows of the High Line. Running a little over two miles through the West Side of Manhattan, it’s an old train platform that has been repurposed into a park of sorts.
“Here. Hold this.” Ryker pushes the pizza my way when we come to what looks like a gate that’s been rolled down at one of the entrances. I take it from him as he squats down in the darkness and grabs the lock.
Breaking and entering.
“Ryker?”
“Keep your voice down, will you?”
“What are you doing?”
“You mean what are we doing?” I can hear the smile in his tone even though I can’t see his face. “We are picking a lock.”
“Ryker!” My voice is sterner this time, my whisper harsher. “This is illegal. We can’t do this.”
His laugh is a low chuckle as I hear metal on metal with whatever it is that he’s doing. “Stepdad number who-knows-what was a developer who built some of the condos about a quarter mile down the park from here.”
“Okay.” I stretch the word out as I try to figure out what that has to do with anything.
“After school I’d have to come here and wait for him to finish up before going home. Most times he’d just put me in his car and have the driver take me, since he was too busy to give me the time of day. While I’d wait, some of the construction crew would show me a thing or two.” I can hear the reminiscence in his voice. I can also hear the silent animosity over having a father figure who was anything but.
“Did you ever use these skills you learned?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny . . .”
“Ah, the rebellious rich kid who liked walking on the wrong side of the tracks.”
“Something like that.” There’s a clink and then the sudden sound of the metal gate rolling up. Ryker holds his hand out to me. “Come on.”
I look over my shoulder and hesitate. “Can’t we get in trouble for this?”
Without warning, Ryker tugs on my hand so that I’m flush against him, pizza almost tipping in my other hand just as his mouth meets mine.
Good God, the man can kiss.
It’s my only thought as his tongue slips between my lips and reminds me of everything about him that I’ve missed. The warmth of his body. The taste of his kiss. The scrape of his stubble against my jaw. The hum of vibration deep in his throat.