“For what it’s worth, I appreciate your honesty, Jagger. Not a lot of people would have the guts to admit something like this.” The mid-century floor creaks as he rests a shoulder against the wall.
“Don’t hold this against Em. She’s a good person.” When I open the door, a wave of hot air almost knocks me down. It’s one of the hottest days on record.
“Of course not.” Tony plucks his T-shirt away from his chest.
I pause with one hand on the doorknob and turn to look at him. “She really likes you, you know?”
“Really? You think so?” His face lights up in a pleasant smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Please don’t hurt her. If you’re not interested in her the way she’s interested in you, please let her down easy.”
“Absolutely.” After blowing out a deep breath, he straightens. “I better go check on her. Have a good evening.”
“You too.” I pull the door shut behind me then pause on the top step of the porch to consider what just happened. My intuition says something is up with this guy. He’s done nothing wrong and always been nice, so why do I have a funny feeling that he’s pretending to be someone he isn’t?
Twelve
Jagger
At Cash’s house, Gage meets me at the front door. Lucy is tucked beneath his tattooed arm. She’s wearing a frilly pink sweater. I try not to giggle at the sight of the muscular man carrying a tiny Chihuahua. He sets her on the floor. Her excited yips echo through the large house as she runs in circles around my feet.
“Hi, sweet girl.” I give her head a quick pat. “Where did the sweater come from?”
“I picked it up today. Cash keeps the air conditioning so damn cold in here. The poor girl was shivering.” He crouches down to scratch behind her ears.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.” Gage scoops up Lucy, kisses the tip of her nose. “Come on, kiddo. Mom and Dad are going out tonight. It’s just the two of us.”
Watching the big man fawn over the little dog makes a smile stretch from one side of my face to the other. It seems like years, instead of months, since I sprinted away from Gage in the warehouse parking lot. Like Cash, Gage has two personalities—one light and one dark. Time and familiarity have given me an appreciation for both.
I watch the pair disappear in the direction of the kitchen, then kick off my shoes and run up the stairs. Inside the bedroom, Cash is standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his black silk necktie. I pause to drink in the sight of him. The ink of his tattoo curls above the collar of his black shirt. He runs a hand over his hair. His eyes catch my admiring gaze in the reflection. “Hey, babe.” My heart skips a beat as a smile curves his lips. He approaches, not stopping until we’re nose to nose. “I missed you.”
“You clean up well.” I lift on tiptoe to kiss him. “Nice tux.
“Thanks.” His hands smooth down my back. I’ve fantasized about this moment all day. Now that it’s here, I’m not disappointed. He smells like shower gel and shampoo, aftershave and masculine cologne. He smacks my rear end. “Go get dressed. You can tell me about your day on the way.” I’m so happy, I almost float into the dressing room.
I have no idea where we’re going. Cash refuses to give any hints. Judging by the floor-length gown he’s chosen for me to wear and his tuxedo, it must be somewhere fancy. When I try to guess, he only shakes his head and smiles.
Instead of heading into the city, he drives us to a nearby private airport. After he parks the car in a hangar, he takes my hand and draws it to his mouth. Shadows hide his eyes from me. The brush of his lips on my skin distracts me from the helicopter waiting on the tarmac. My insides twist at the sight of the whirring blades.
“We’re going in that?” I can’t hide the quiver in my voice.
“Yeah. Is that a problem?”
“No, not really. It’s just—is it safe?” My favorite professional basketball player was killed in a helicopter crash a month ago. Since then, this particular mode of travel has been stricken from my list of transportation options.
“Of course. You aren’t scared, are you?” The challenge in his words stirs my competitive nature.
“Yes. No. I’m fine.” I take a deep breath and smooth the front of the gown. The hem of the filmy blue fabric flutters around my ankles in the summer breeze. I can do this. Cash opens the cockpit door, helps me inside, and fastens the safety harness. Then he climbs into the pilot seat next to me. “You’re the pilot?”
“Sure.” He hands me a pair of noise cancelling headphones. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Oh my goodness,” I mutter and brace against the seat as the aircraft lifts off the ground. “A heads up would’ve been nice—or a valium.”
His laughter eases some of my anxiety. Turning my attention to the view beyond the windows, I try to relax. To the west, the setting sun streaks across the sky. The city of Indianapolis is spread out before us. I’m mesmerized by Cash’s command of the controls.
“When did you learn how to fly?” I ask.
“Is that your way of asking how much experience I’ve got?” He casts a devilish side glance in my direction. “Well, you can rest easy. I’ve been flying for years. I’m fully licensed.” His admission reminds me that I know very little about him. My surprise must show on my face because he frowns. “What’re you thinking?”
“You have to admit, being a pilot doesn’t fit your image.”
“And what’s that?”
“A tough guy. Gang banger. You know—a little wild.” I bite my lower lip to stem the flow of words before I say something less than complimentary.
“You think a guy from the hood can’t rise above his environment?”
I’m not sure if he’s baiting me or serious. Either way, the glower on his face warns of an impending argument. “No, that’s not what I’m saying.” But it is exactly what I meant. I draw in a breath and try to soften the statement. “You’re so confusing. Half the time you talk and act like a thug. The rest of the time, you have perfect speech and wear tuxedos from Ralph Lauren. I have no idea who you really are.”
He’s quiet for a long time. So long that I think he’s ignoring my observation. When he finally speaks, the muscle below his cheekbone ticks. “When you grow up like I did, you learn to be what people need you to be. In order to survive, you have to adapt and conform. I can play golf with the district attorney, and I can boost a car out of the parking lot afterward. It’s good to have options, baby girl. You, of all people, should understand that.”
I don’t have time to ask more questions. Cash trades information with the air traffic controller. The lights of Chicago and the blue waters of Lake Michigan come into view. My fingers dig into the armrests as he guides the helicopter onto a landing pad at the top of a building in the city center. We’re landing on a freaking skyscraper. I want to call Em and share this adventure with her. She’d be so curious about everything. A pang of unhappiness mars the excitement of the evening. I try to push it away, turning my attention to Cash.
Butterflies flit inside my stomach. He hops out of the aircraft, jogs around to my side, and opens the door. “This is unbelievable,” I say. The wind whips my hair. I lift a hand to hold it in place.
“I know, right?” The grin on his handsome face reeks of smug satisfaction. He clasps my fingers in his, tugging me to safety.
A grim-faced man escorts us into an elevator then downstairs to a waiting car. Within minutes, we’re weaving through traffic along Lakeshore Boulevard toward our unknown destination. After repairing my windblown hair in the limousine mirror, I gawk at the hustle and bustle of the Chicago streets. The city thrums with activity. My heartbeat accelerates. All my life, I’ve dreamed of doing exactly this. Visiting big cities. Wearing beautiful dresses. All with a handsome man at my side.
“You look beautiful tonight.” Cash’s deep voice reminds me of his presence. Not that I could ever forget him.
“Thanks.” I’m sure a goofy grin is plast
ered across my face. “This is so exciting. Can you tell me where we’re going yet?”
“We’re here,” he replies, nodding toward my window.
The limo pulls to the curb in front of four stories of elegant brick and limestone. Behind us, the tall buildings of downtown twinkle like Christmas trees. To my right, the waters of Lake Michigan lap at the shore. The driver exits to open the door for us.
Through the tall windows of the house, I can see couples in formalwear. “Is this some kind of party?”
“It’s a campaign fundraiser for a senate hopeful. A very exclusive gathering.” Cash smooths a hand along the length of his tie. “You’re about to rub shoulders with a very interesting crowd.”
“Really?” My eyebrows stretch upward.
“Yes, really.” His eyes grow warm as he chucks me beneath the chin. “Oh. I almost forgot.” Reaching into his inside breast pocket, he withdraws a black velvet box. He lifts the lid to reveal the blue diamond pendant from his secret store. The piece compliments my dress perfectly.
“It’s beautiful.” I lift my hair so he can drape it around my neck and fasten the clasp.
His fingertips graze my collarbone, making the hairs stand on the back of my neck. “It’s on loan from my store, so don’t grow too attached.”
“No promises.” I slide an index finger along the cool metal links. “I had no idea you were a political supporter.”
“I’m not, but the host’s wife is a federal judge, and that’s someone of interest to me. Also, the candidate is an old friend.” He threads his fingers through mine as we walk up the sidewalk.
“They sound really important.” My insecurities flare up. I’ve never been a guest at anything so posh. I hesitate. “Wait.” I cling to his hand with both of mine. “Do I look okay?”
“You look amazing.” With his little finger, he sweeps the hair away from my forehead.
“These people—they sound really important.”
“Nah, they’re just a bunch of criminals in nice clothes. Relax.” His easy smile eases my apprehension. “Your job is to drum up business by showing off that diamond around your gorgeous neck.” For a second, he slips into his casual slang before clearing his throat and straightening. “Here we go.”
This house is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Murals of cherubs and blue skies cover the ceilings. Everything is marble or gilded. The people chat about cars and yachts and problems with their stockbrokers. I hover at Cash’s elbow, drinking in the scene. A week ago, I would have laughed at the idea of attending an event like this.
“Good evening, Cash. Thanks for coming.” A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair approaches us.
“Good to see you, Arnaud.” Although Cash’s voice is pleasant, a subtle undercurrent of tension emanates from his body. “This is my date, Jagger Jones. Jagger this is Arnaud Brunelle, our host.”
“Nice to meet you.” I dip my head.
“Pleasure.” Arnaud’s gaze drifts over me like he’s calculating my value before returning to Cash. “I hope you’ve brought your checkbook tonight, Cash. Matthew needs every dime he can get.”
“You betcha.” Cash’s arm slips around my waist. His fingers tighten on my hip, but his outward demeanor remains relaxed.
“Ah, there’s George and his wife. If you’ll excuse me.” His attention flits to the couple behind us. “Enjoy your evening.”
Before I can draw a new breath, a second man approaches us. He’s tall but shorter than Cash with sleek brown hair and a charming, boy-next-door look. His smile widens at the sight of us. “Cash. You’re here. Great.”
“Matt. Hey, man.” The two men trade shoulder claps. Cash holds him at arm’s length to scrutinize his appearance. “Looking good, Hayward. You’ll make a fine senator.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your support.” Matt’s gaze drifts to me. “Who’s your lovely companion tonight?”
“This is Jagger. Jag, meet Matthew Hayward, soon to be our next senator.”
“Ah, yes. The illustrious Jagger. I’ve heard so much about you. Tell me, how did you manage to get a leash on this old dog?” Matt nudges Cash with an elbow.
He’s been talking about me to his friends. My heart skips a beat. “I don’t think anyone can truly own Cash, can they? From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty much untamable,” I reply.
Matt’s laughter booms across the room. “You’ve got that right.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “I think you might be the one to break him, though.”
A flash of heat sweeps up my neck to settle in my cheeks. Cash chuckles. His smile softens as he brushes the hair away from my face. “Don’t tease her too much, Matt. This kitty has very sharp claws.”
“Even better.” Matt winks at me then leans into Cash. His words are so quiet I have to strain to catch them. “Everything is set.” In a louder voice, he says, “Get out your checkbook, Delacorte. I’m expecting a healthy donation from you, tonight.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” As Matthew moves on to greet the next guests, the humor slides from Cash’s expression. A glimmer of his cunning alter ego breaks through his pleasant mask.
“What was that about?” I cast a glance toward Matthew.
Cash places a hand on my lower back, guiding me out of the entrance hall and toward the curving staircase. Everything in this home is gilded, including the spindles on the wrought iron banister. His palm is warm and enticing on my bare skin. “No more questions, little girl. For now, let’s enjoy the evening.”
We head straight for the dining room. The table stretches from one end of the room to the other. Centerpieces of pineapples and exotic flowers spill from gold chalices. A quick glance shows at least forty place settings. I swallow to ease some of the dryness in my mouth. Cash pulls out a chair for me before claiming the seat at my right.
I drift a fingertip over the gold-plated utensils. So many knives, forks, and spoons. Four drinking glasses of varying heights and sizes. I have no idea what they are for. When I was growing up, we ate sandwiches on paper plates and drank cola straight from the aluminum can.
“What’s wrong?” Cash leans toward me. The brush of his shoulder against my bare arm lights my nerve endings in a pleasant buzz.
“I don’t know which utensils to use.” Anxiety quivers in my voice.
“Who gives a shit.” Cash’s smile is reassuring. “But if you’re worried, just work your way from the outside to the inside with each course. The little fork and spoon above your plate are for dessert.” Beneath the table, his hand finds my thigh and gives a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be fine.”
“Everything is so fancy.” Even the fireplace at the end of the room is trimmed in gold leaf.
“Half this stuff is either stolen or purchased with blood money,” Cash says. “Our host, Arnaud, is one of the biggest drug smugglers in the country. The man at the end of the table—the one with the green bowtie? He spent four years in prison for manipulating the stock market. And the man across from him? He’s a smurf.”
I suppress a giggle. The man in question is at least six feet tall and well over 200 pounds. Nothing about him resembles a blue elf. I lift an eyebrow. “Stop. Are you playing with me?”
The dimples show in Cash’s cheeks. I love it when he smiles like that. His gaze drops to my mouth before returning to my eyes. My leg tingles beneath his touch. “Smurf. It’s a term for someone who launders money.”
“That’s weird. Do you have a smurf?”
“Maybe.” Mischief twinkles in his eyes. “If I told you, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”
The hum of conversation dwindles as the host stands, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Good evening, everyone. Thank you for coming tonight. As you all know, we’re here to honor our friend and colleague, Matthew Hayward. Matthew, we wish you a successful campaign. Friends, I hope you will open up your wallets and checkbooks tonight to help this deserving man in his race for a Senate seat.”
Glasses are raised. I take a tentative sip from my crysta
l flute. The sweet, bubbly liquid tickles my throat. “Mm. That’s really good.” I take a second sip.
“It should be. It’s nine thousand dollars a bottle,” Cash says. I almost choke. He pats my back until I can catch my breath. “I did the same thing the first time I heard the price.”
After the first course, the tension eases from my shoulders, and I begin to enjoy myself. Cash keeps his thigh pressed against mine, a constant reminder of my attraction to him. The rest of the meal passes without incident. Conversation is lively and varied. Between topics of sports and the economy, I catch snippets of useful information. The man on my left is a stockbroker, specializing in insider trading. Across from his wife is the godfather of the Brutini mafia.
After dinner, we move from the dining room into the adjoining library. Two stories of bookshelves stretch toward the ceiling. The smell of old leather and paper fills the air. A woman approaches us. Her red taffeta dress rustles like dry leaves in autumn. She lifts on tiptoe to press a kiss on Cash’s cheek. An unexpected wave of jealousy sweeps through me. I tighten my fingers on his elbow.
“Hello, baby,” she says, sweeping a gloved fingertip over his cheek to wipe away the smudge of her red lipstick.
“Antoinette.” Cash smiles down at her with unabated fondness. “It’s been too long.”
“Crap on a cracker. The boning in this bodice is about to cut me in two.” A grimace crinkles her forehead as she tugs on the neckline of her sleeveless gown where her ample bosom spills over the top. “Anyway, you didn’t return my calls yesterday. What’s up with that?”
“Guilty as charged.” Cash holds up his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Business is booming right now, and I’ve got my hands full with this one.”
Her attention turns to me. Bright blue eyes scrutinize every inch of my figure from the top of my head to the tips of my shoes. She holds out both hands to me, encased in elbow-length velvet gloves. “You must be Jagger. It’s about time we met. This one never shuts up about you. Jagger this. Jagger that. Jagger, Jagger, Jagger. If I didn’t know better, I’d think our boy has a crush on you.”
Absolute Trust Page 7
