by Julie James
She looked out at the golf course. “After hearing everything she said, I just . . . started walking. All the way home, twenty blocks. By the time I got to our apartment, I had blisters on my feet, so I took off the shoes to walk up the two flights of stairs. When I opened the front door, Brody was sitting on the couch, reading the Wall Street Journal like it was just a regular Sunday afternoon. His mouth fell open when he saw me standing there, barefoot and in my wedding dress. But then he smiled and said, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?’”
“Please tell me you chucked the shoes right at the dickhead.”
That got a small smile out of her. “Believe me, I was tempted. But at that point, I was just done. So I simply told him to pack a suitcase and get out.”
There were lots of things Vaughn wanted to say in response to that story. But in the end, it boiled down to one thing. “Your ex is an asshole.”
“Yep. And I’m the fool who somehow missed that.”
He cocked his head, thinking that was an interesting thing to say. “In the FBI, we have this mantra: ‘Trust but verify.’ It means always corroborate what someone is telling you, no matter how believable they seem.”
“‘Trust but verify.’ I like that,” she said. “Too bad I hadn’t heard that mantra three years ago.”
Vaughn turned to face her. “The point is, we’re trained professionals. Every agent brags about his instincts, his ability to read people and know when someone is lying. Yet, still, we get that corroboration whenever possible. Because we’re only human—sometimes, we put our faith in the wrong person. And you’re only human, too, Sidney.” He gave her a nudge. “Even if it kills you to admit it.”
“Just a little.” She cocked her head, studying him. “What’s going on? You’re suddenly being so . . . nice.”
“It’s really sweet, Sinclair, how you manage to say that with such surprise.”
She laughed. “Sorry.” Then her cell phone chimed from inside her purse. She checked it. “Isabelle says they’re pulling into the driveway now.”
• • •
A FEW MINUTES later, the group was seated in the main ballroom, at a rectangular table that had been set up for the tasting. Vaughn sat on Sidney’s left, to her right was Douglas, the events manager.
On the opposite side of the table, Isabelle mulled over the appetizer options spread before them. “Okay, so far we’ve got the caprese cups, sage-and-sausage-stuffed mushrooms, mini crab cakes, and coconut shrimp—which means we need two more appetizers. What do you think about the bacon-wrapped scallops?” She turned to Simon, who sat next to her.
“If it was up to me, I’d wrap this entire dinner in bacon.” Simon looked at Vaughn. “Back me up here, best man.”
“Absolutely. Nothing says ‘party’ like cured meat.”
As the rest of the group chattered away, Sidney found herself tuning them out, their voices fading. Being here, in this room, brought back memories of her own tasting, for which she and Brody had flown in from New York. It had been a whirlwind of a weekend, and she’d noticed at the time that Brody had seemed somewhat stressed and anxious to get back home. He’d told her he was just overwhelmed at work, but knowing what she did now, she realized that he’d likely been hurrying to get back to her.
I’m the woman who’s been fucking your fiancé.
We did it in your shower, on your kitchen counter—in your bed, too.
“Sid, what do you think about the butternut squash croustades? Do you like those or the spring rolls better?”
But the best was the time we did it against the wall in the alley outside your apartment, while you were upstairs making dinner for him on his birthday.
“Sid?”
She blinked and saw everyone looking at her. “Sorry. I just was . . .” She took a breath, gathering herself. “I vote for the croustades.” Across the table, Isabelle looked at her with concern, and Sidney could also feel Vaughn’s eyes on her.
She ignored both of them.
“So? What’s next?” she asked, eagerly rubbing her hands together. “Salad course, right?”
Determined not to let any more unwelcome memories slip in, Sidney made sure she was on top of her game for the rest of the tasting—even remaining unfazed when there was an awkward moment during the entrée course.
“So that’s the beef tenderloin and the salmon for the meat-eaters, and the potato tikki cakes as a vegetarian alternative.” Douglas jotted down the selections. He smiled, pointing the pen between Isabelle and Sidney. “Funny, you two chose the exact same entrees.”
As soon as the words came out, he looked at Sidney with a chagrined expression. “I shouldn’t have said—”
“Great minds think alike,” Sidney said, cutting him off and tipping her wineglass to Isabelle.
Later, in the parking lot as they said their good-byes, Isabelle pulled Sidney aside. “I’m so sorry that was awkward for you, Sidney.” She looked contrite. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”
Sidney was a big girl—if she hadn’t wanted to come today, she would’ve simply said no. “How many times do you plan to get married, Isabelle?”
“Um . . . just once, I hope.”
“Exactly. And I don’t want to miss any of it.” With their father only tangentially involved in their lives, it was basically just the two of them—the way it had been for a long time.
Isabelle squeezed her tight in a big hug. “Have I ever told you how glad I am that you’re back from New York?” Then the two of them headed back over to join the men, who were talking by Simon’s car.
“I heard a rumor that an e-mail went out to people about the bachelor party,” Simon was saying.
“Sure did,” Vaughn said.
“On a scale of one to ten, how worried do I need to be about whatever you have planned?”
Vaughn dismissed this with a wave. “Pfft. Like a two.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Your idea of a two or mine?”
“I guess you’ll find out.”
Seeing Isabelle and Sidney approaching, Simon smiled. “Everything okay?”
“Yep, we’re good,” Isabelle said. Both she and Simon said their good-byes, climbed into his car, and the two of them were off.
Sidney leaned against her own car, watching as Simon and her sister pulled away. When they were gone, she exhaled and looked around at the picturesque wide green lawn and the elegant white mansion.
“Is it tough being here?” Vaughn asked, moving to stand next to her against the car.
She debated whether to answer that. “It brings back some memories I’d rather not think about.”
He nodded. They stood there for a moment, and then he looked at her. “How many of those dresses do you have, anyway?”
“Why? What’s wrong with my dresses?”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with them.” His eyes traveled over her. “Not at all.” He seemed to debate something for a moment, then he moved and put his hands on each side of Sidney, trapping her against the car.
She eyed her position. “What are you doing?”
He bent his head, his words low and smooth. “Let’s just say, I know a really good way to get you thinking about something other than those unwanted memories.”
“You’re shameless,” Sidney said. Although her pulse had already begun to quicken, having him this close.
His devilish smile was his answer.
• • •
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Sidney dug her fingers into the smooth gray suede of Vaughn’s sectional couch as he pumped hard into her from behind.
“Tilt your hips back. Take me deeper,” he said in a guttural voice.
She angled her hips toward him, and moaned at the exquisite feel of having him so hard and thick inside her.
“Good . . . just like that, baby. Christ, I could fuck you forever,
” he rasped.
Bracing her hands against the couch, she thrust back against him. Yes, she needed this after today. Right then, there was no thinking about the past, no worrying about the future—just wild, raw sex that made her feel good. She and Vaughn had started kissing in the stairwell of his apartment building, and by the time they’d gotten inside his loft, they’d both been so turned on they’d hadn’t even bothered to remove their clothes. Instead, he’d just bent her forward over the couch, pushed up her skirt and yanked down her underwear, and thrust deep into her with his own jeans unzipped around his hips.
She closed her eyes and gave into the sinfully erotic sensations washing over her. “Touch me,” she murmured, needing his hands on her.
“Stand up,” he said huskily, pausing to help guide her up. When she was partially upright, with his cock still buried inside her, he reached around and shoved down the sleeves of her dress. Next, he pulled down the cups of her bra. “Let me see those gorgeous breasts.”
Her nipples tightened instantly in anticipation as she clenched between her legs. He slid one hand lower, to her clit. She gasped as he began to tease her, using his fingers to spread her open. When he slowly began thrusting inside her once again, she moaned so loud she feared the neighbors would hear. The feeling was so exquisitely incredible, all she could do was grip the back of the couch and hold on for the ride.
“Give me your mouth,” he said, in a grit-edged growl.
She turned her head, her lips parting as his mouth took hers in a searing kiss, his tongue swirling around hers. She rocked her hips and started coming, a slow build that peaked so hard she cried out against him. Her legs quivered, but he held her, supporting her until she was steady on her feet once again.
She opened her eyes and saw that he was looking at her with a warm, wicked gaze.
“Again?” he asked.
Criminy.
Nineteen
VAUGHN CAME OUT of the bathroom and found Sidney propped up against the pillows on his bed, looking at something on her phone.
“Already checking e-mail?” he teased. Not that it bothered him—the woman ran a four-billion-dollar private equity fund. Safe to say she was going to have to check her messages on weekends.
“Mmm,” she said distractedly.
Vaughn pulled on his boxer briefs and jeans. “Everything okay?”
She peered up at him, frowning. “What does it mean if a guy e-mails you four times in one day, and then waits a week before e-mailing again? Is he busy at work, or is he playing games?”
Vaughn stared at her. “You’re e-mailing another guy? My God, woman, the condom’s still warm in the wastebasket.”
She gave him a look. Ha, ha. “I wasn’t e-mailing another guy, I was checking for work messages. I just happened to see this other e-mail, too.” She got out of bed and strutted by him, to where her underwear lay on the floor. “And don’t act as though you’re offended. Remember, you’re”—she dropped her voice, imitating him—“‘always upfront about not looking for a long-term commitment. But if you want a good time, then I’m your man, baby.’”
He grabbed her dress off the corner of the television, where it had landed after he’d impatiently tossed it over his shoulder during round two. “Still, there’s an etiquette to these things, Sinclair. Try to respect that.” He held out her dress, then playfully moved it away when she reached for it. When she glared, he grinned and handed it over for real.
She looked around for her bra and spotted it on the nightstand, laying under his pistol.
“So who’s the guy?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
“What guy? Oh, right. Actually, he’s someone I went to high school with. He found me on Facebook, saw that I’d moved back to Chicago, and started e-mailing me,” she said.
Vaughn watched as she grabbed the strap of her bra and slowly, very cautiously, tried to slide it out without having to touch any part of his gun. He went over to the nightstand, picked up his gun and badge, and handed her the bra. “To answer your question, he’s not busy with work. He’s playing games.”
Letting her stew on that one, he headed out into the kitchen.
She came out of the bedroom a minute later, dress on and with her high heels dangling casually from one hand, her phone in the other hand. “You don’t know for sure that he’s playing games.”
Vaughn finished drinking the glass of water he’d poured himself. “Trust me, I know how guys think.” He poured a second glass of water for her. “When a guy e-mails or texts a bunch of times in a row and then goes radio silent for a few days, it’s a ploy to make you wonder whether he’s into you. Then, just when you’re starting to feel a little insecure about things, he makes contact, knowing that now you’ll be extra glad to hear from him.”
Sidney looked disgusted. “That’s so lame. And sneaky.” She looked at him, frowning. “Do you use these tricks?”
Please. “I don’t have to use tricks.” Starving from all the bedroom—and living room—activity, he pulled out a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.
“Ah, right. Because you’re the extra-Special Agent Vaughn Roberts.” She took a seat in the bar stool next to him.
He winked. “Special enough to get you naked. Twice.”
She considered this, while helping herself to a chip. “All right, tell me more.”
“More what?”
“About how single men think. How to spot the good guys from the players.”
Vaughn scoffed. “I’m not giving you tips on dating other guys.”
“Why not?”
“Because we just slept together. It’s . . . weird.”
She reached out and touched his hand, smiling ever-so-sweetly. “Aw, baby, don’t be like that. We’re friends, right?” Her eyes danced mischievously. “Isn’t that what you guys always say?”
Probably he’d best take the Fifth Amendment on that one. So he answered instead with a question of his own. “Don’t you think you’re being a little intense about all this dating stuff? I thought all you happily-ever-after types believe that when the time is right, Fate will send ‘the one’ your way.”
“Well, Fate needs to get a move on,” she said, dipping another chip into the jar of salsa. “I’m up against the clock here.”
“Please don’t start telling me about how your eggs have an expiration date.” He pointed to her abdomen. “I don’t need to be thinking about how there are fertile eggs in there right after we had sex.”
“You used condoms and I’m on the pill. You might be studly, Roberts, but even your guys can’t make it past all that. Besides, I wasn’t talking about my biological clock, I meant that I’m up against the clock with this wedding here. I promised myself I’d have a date by then.” She pointed with her tortilla chip. “So come on. Give me the straight skinny on the single, urban, thirtysomething man. How do I know if a guy’s in it for the sex?”
“That’s easy—all guys are in it for the sex. The real question is whether he’s open to something on top of the sex.”
“And that’s where my checklist comes in.” She took a bite of her chip, looking quite confident in this.
“I hate to break it to you, but any guy trying to play you will know how to get around that checklist. Players know all the right things to say. They’ll send you sweet text messages wishing you good-night or saying they just want to see how your day went—because they know those kinds of things make women think they’re good guys.”
“Wait—pause right there.” Sidney grabbed her phone and began typing.
Vaughn stared at her. “Are you taking notes?”
“Hell, yes. This is good stuff.” She read out loud as she typed. “‘No texts good-night.’ Got it.” She looked up. “What else?”
“Seriously, Sinclair. I was just inside you ten minutes ago.”
She reached out and touched his
hand, her smile sweet once again. “Aw, baby. And you know how special that was to me.”
Yep. Reveled in busting his balls.
Twenty
EARLY WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, Sidney paced in her office, using a Bluetooth headset so she could stretch her legs. For over an hour, she’d been on a call with Gabe Ramos, the headhunter she’d brought in to help find a new CEO for Vitamin Boutique—someone who would be aggressive about growth without sacrificing profits and earnings.
She turned to the final candidate on the list of three executives she’d forwarded earlier to Gabe for discussion. “What about Karen Wetzel?” she asked. Wetzel was the executive vice president and chief merchandising officer of Toys “R” Us, and, according to Gabe’s intel, was looking to spread her wings beyond a VP position.
“I heard PetSmart has been talking to her about their open CEO position,” Gabe said.
Sidney mused over that. Wetzel had more experience in the specialty retail industry than any of the other candidates and, on paper, had been her top choice. “Do we know if that’s a done deal?”
“I can find out,” Gabe said.
She nodded. “See if you can reach her today. Tell her I’d like to fly her out to Chicago if she’s still considering other opportunities.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Gabe promised.
After she wrapped up her call, Sidney headed out to grab a quick lunch with Isabelle, who was downtown for a post-surgical follow-up with her OB-GYN.