Dirty Silver (The Dirty Suburbs Book 7)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  I don’t kiss their daughters.

  And that wasn’t an innocent kiss. It was a hard, commanding, potent kiss. It was an I’m-going-to-fuck-you-until-your-body-form-grooves-in-my-mattress kiss. So wrong. So inappropriate.

  Fuck, Eva…

  I just have to keep my distance from her until I get her back to Reyfield safe and sound in the morning. That’s why I’m here at the gym. It’s dangerous for me to be in my penthouse alone with her right now.

  The gym at the Silver Metal Brokers building in the Financial District of Manhattan is state-of-the-art. The best treadmills and elliptical trainers money can buy. Every type of strength training equipment on the market. And the most qualified personal trainers, too. Anyway, to me, the greatest thing about this gym is that I’m one of the few people who have 24-hour access to the facilities.

  That’s why I grow increasingly irritated when I hear the heavy slap of footsteps against the floor 20 minutes into my workout. I peer over my shoulder and find Chuck Humphries, our senior in-house legal counsel, padding into the room. He has a towel slung over his shoulders and his trademark shit-eating grin swallowing up his face. He’s the image of a cocky lawyer. The brushed-back hair slick from too much product, the over-the-top sports cars that draw the worst kind of attention and that entitled-white-guy vibe that gets under my skin.

  “What’s up, Boss?” he shoots in his deep Bostonian accent. His stride slows next to the shoulder press machine and he folds his arms over his chest. His enormous biceps bulge, straining the seams of his extra-snug T-shirt.

  I grunt in response without looking at him. I just keep punching that damn bag as if it’ll solve all of my problems.

  “We’re friends, aren’t we?” He shrugs, giving me a smarmy one-sided grin. “Don’t shut me out. If you’re here at this time of the day, something is definitely wrong. So tell me – business problems or lady problems?” His teeth are so fucking white. I’m not a dental health professional but all that bleach must be bad for the enamels.

  The bag swings away on impact with my angry fist. My eyes cut back to him. Slimy as fuck. We’re definitely not friends. And he’s not exactly the type of guy I’d spit out all my deepest emotions to but he is a lawyer – my lawyer, technically – which means that he’s got to keep his mouth shut. Attorney-client privilege, right?

  “It’s some sick combination of both,” I mumble under my breath as he sinks onto the shoulder press bench and makes the necessary adjustments to the machine.

  “Come on,” he prods, “Spill.”

  I shoot him a look. “Y’know – you enjoy girl talk a little too much for a guy.”

  He throws his head back and spits out a gleeful roar. “Are you questioning my manhood, Boss? Because if you saw the fine little chica I brought home with me from the bar last night, you’d be singing a whole different tune.”

  Am I questioning his manhood? Not at all. I’m sure that the guy’s gay. Spends way too much time, effort and money overcompensating, like he’s trying to prove something. It’s ruining his finances. I know – I ran a credit check on him last month. I just wish he’d get out of the damn closet and put the tortured women of Manhattan out of their misery. I had to fire two of the admin assistants a few weeks ago for getting into a catfight over him.

  “Anyway, if it’s even tangentially related to the business, then as legal counsel, it’s my job to stick my nose into it.” He smirks. The heavy clunk of metal hitting metal fills the room as he operates the weight machine with ease.

  He’s right. As much as I hate to admit it, I do need to get some of this off of my chest before my ribcage explodes from the stress. So I start at the top, explaining that I went to an auction to meet with a potential client. I detail my horror at seeing my best friend’s daughter standing on the auction block. I leave out the part about how my entire body grew hot with lust, seeing her in that insanely tiny outfit and instead, jump to the piece where I paid a million dollars to get her out of that mess.

  Humphries stares at me with arched brows and bulging eyes. “Holy shit,” he mutters low on his breath as he abandons his weight training, giving me all of his attention.

  I’d expected a much more intelligent response from him. Didn’t he go to Harvard or something? “Not helpful, Humphries,” I grouse, shaking my head.

  He holds a hand out defensively in front of him and speaks quickly. “Look – as counsel for the company, I’ve gotta keep my distance from this one, Boss. We can’t have this conversation. Let’s just pretend we never had this talk, okay?”

  I narrow my eyes at him, irritated. Two minutes ago, he made the perfect argument for why I should bare my soul to him and now he’s backpedaling. Fucking lawyers!

  “Human trafficking is a felony, my friend. You need your own personal attorney for that. Don’t go dragging the business into the middle of it.”

  Scrubbing my hand down my sweaty face, I realize that he’s right. “Shit…”

  “And you’d better get a lawyer who’s good, but low profile,” he advises, “You don’t want this getting into the press.”

  Tension crawls into my muscles as the magnitude of the incoming shit storm starts to become clear. “Got any recommendations?” I ask.

  He scratches the side of his head and I can see the wheels turning. “You’re from Reyfield, right? Reyfield, Illinois?” He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweat pants.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He taps away at the screen. “Okay. I just sent you the coordinates of one of the best lawyers in that state. Daniel Trotten, he’s called. He’s licensed to practice in New York, too. Smart as a whip. Far more discreet than any big name Manhattan lawyer.”

  I check my phone to make sure I’ve received his text message. Daniel Trotten… I’ve heard that name before. He’s a partner at the firm where Eva’s brother, Prescott, works. If he’s the best, then I definitely want him on the job. I’ll just have to take extra precautions to make sure that Prescott doesn’t get wind of this whole situation.

  This shit is getting even more complicated by the second but despite the risks, I don’t regret what I did. It drives me crazy to think of what would have happened to Eva if I didn’t step in the way I did.

  I push another sigh as I grab my towel from the bench next to me and wipe off my face. I’m headed for the door. “Thanks, man,” I call out to Humphries as I march toward the exit. He may have just saved my hide. As much as I can’t stand the guy, I know that he’s an asset to my business. That’s why I keep him on the payroll.

  He calls out after me. “Good luck, Boss. Trust me, if anyone finds out about this, you’re gonna need it.”

  Chapter 9

  Evangeline

  My heart thumps in my chest as I wander out of the bedroom and down the hallway. A burst of sunlight spills in through the huge casement windows. I stare down at my bare legs. I’m wearing nothing but the T-shirt Raphael loaned me last night. I don’t have much else here. Aside from that crotchless bodysuit, of course.

  Anyway, it took me a moment to identify my surroundings when my eyes blinked open this morning. But as the events of the past 24 hours began to roll into my mind in waves, a strange mix of relief and dread filled my stomach.

  Raphael saved me at the auction and when I’d had an outburst in the middle of the night, he came into my room to comfort me. One thing led to another – oh let’s be real – I introduced one thing to another because I wanted his arms banded around me, I wanted his lips on me, I wanted even more than that.

  Who can blame me? The man is a strong dose of aphrodisiac hiding beneath layers of corded muscle and well-tailored fabric. Our age difference doesn’t make the tiniest bit of difference in the way I feel around him. I feel tingles and butterflies. And last night, I needed to know if his lips tasted as good as they look, especially after I felt his erection growing under the weight of my thighs.

  So, yeah – I made out hard-core with my dad’s best friend. Sue me.

  The guilt
rolls in as I make the slow procession to the kitchen. And as I approach the entrance, I know that he’s feeling remorse, too. He’s standing at the island, hands bracing the edge of the granite counter, shoulders hunched all the way up to his ears.

  I suck in a deep breath. I’ve never been one to shy away from an uncomfortable situation. I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. I might as well deal with this sooner. “Morning.” I spin my phone around in my hands, fidgeting in response to my nerves.

  He glances quickly in my direction, too quickly to really see me. “Morning.” And then his attention is back on the coffee cup sitting in front of him.

  I stand awkwardly in the doorframe, trying to think of what to say next.

  Tension is woven into his strained body language. I can see the stiffness in his muscles, even under the light fabric of the white athletic T-shirt covering his back. After a long moment, he pulls in a breath and shifts his body in my direction although his eyes don’t meet mine. “You must be hungry.”

  This sucks. I like it when he looks at me. I like the way my body feels under his sharp gaze. But the only thing in his eyes right now is shame.

  Ignoring my own guilt and disappointment, I step into the spacious kitchen. “I am.”

  “I’ve got bagels. Danishes. Fruit.” He gestures vaguely to a lavish spread sitting on the far edge of the counter.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  I head over to the mini-feast and set my phone down. I fill a plate high with butter-slathered bagels and croissants. I might as well indulge since my modeling career is effectively over. I pile grapefruit, watermelon and cantaloupe slices on the edge. I giggle softly when a croissant slides off the dish and falls into the pristine sink. Raphael doesn't acknowledge my quiet apology as I throw the pastry into a nearby trashcan. He just stands there with his military posture – stiff spine, tight expression – silently berating himself for last night.

  I turn to the espresso machine and my mind warps as I take in all the dials and buttons sitting on the face of the gleaming, brushed chrome contraption. Apparently, getting my caffeine fix will require a degree in astrophysics this morning.

  “Need a hand with that?” The gravel in his tone causes an instant buzz between the thighs. Good god, I’m getting wet again. I think I finally understand why panties were invented.

  Before I can speak, Raphael is standing behind me with a clean coffee cup in hand. I should probably move out of the way but I’m trapped between the granite counter where the coffee machine is sitting and the slab of marble under his T-shirt. He’s standing close. Too close. Too close to think or to breathe or to move.

  His throaty voice is low and effortlessly sexy. “Do you like yours black or with cream?”

  “Cream, please.” And now, I’m thinking about the cream spilling from my core. Jeez, girl. Get a hold of yourself.

  Raphael’s voice drops lower as his thick index finger hits a few buttons on the machine’s panel. “And do you like it sweet?”

  “I really like it sweet…” I nearly purr.

  His eyes zip to mine. I hear the restrained growl rumbling in his chest and I swallow thickly, trying to tamp down the heat engulfing my body. He looks away and presses another few buttons. Before long, he hands me a cup of sweet, creamy caffeine goodness.

  “Thank you,” comes out as barely a whisper. I carry my plate to the island and drop down into the stool across from him.

  I probably shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help it. He’s so damn handsome. I want to touch his chiseled face and press my lips to his salt and pepper stubble. I want to climb into his lap and feel his cock penetrating my heat. I’m so hungry for him. Doesn’t he feel the same way, too?

  When he finally allows himself to look at me, the answer is painted loud and clear in his expression. His eyes say he wants me but it’s his guilt holding him back.

  He’s such a good man.

  He could have me chained to this counter with peanut butter slathered on my nipples while he slurps strawberry jelly out of my belly button. He paid for that right when he signed that million-dollar check last night. Yet here he is struggling to keep me at arm’s length, all in the name of doing the right thing and respecting his friendship with my parents.

  His eyes flit over my chest and a pang of awareness resonates all through my body. “I ordered some clothes for you,” he tells me as he averts his eyes. “They should be delivered soon.”

  I nod wordlessly and take a bite of my food. A tense silence settles over us like a storm cloud. I want to tell him not to hate himself for what we did last night. I wanted it as much as he did, if not more. And feeling the ever-present electric charge between us, I’m primed all over again. Ready to take it all the way this time.

  “We should talk about last night,” he says finally.

  My eyes dash up to his face as I wait for his next words. Shit – he’s about to apologize.

  "Please, don't –" I begin to say. I know that technically, I should be filled with regret about what went on but my lust overpowers that. And goddammit, I want more.

  He holds out a hand in front of him like a shield, a nonverbal warning to keep my distance. "I need you to understand – I never had any intention of taking advantage of you –"

  “I know,” I spit out quickly.

  Wearing a pained look on his face, he continues. “I never planned on any of this. I never meant to do it. It just..."

  "…Happened?"

  He scrubs a large hand down his face. "Yeah. It just happened."

  I reach out and lay my fingers on his muscular arm. “Don’t feel bad about it…”

  "Evangeline!" he howls, putting space between us.

  Dude, I don't bite! Then, I glance down at the teeth marks on his arm. Oh right, I do...

  I pull on a smile despite the crushing disappointment in me. "It's nothing to feel guilty about. You didn't take advantage of me." My words do little to reassure him.

  He drops his head and a wayward lock of silver hair falls over his brow. "Shit – I can't believe...I was supposed to protect you and instead..."

  I stand from the stool and round the counter, getting closer to him. "Don't apologize." I want to tell him how much I enjoyed it. I want to tell him how long I've fantasized about it. “I wanted you to kiss me.”

  Actually, I wanted so much more than just a kiss. I wanted his mouth all over me, his fingers exploring my most private spaces, his cock pistoning in and out of me until pleasure was erupting inside of me like explosives. I still want that.

  “Such a child,” he mumbles under his breath as he backs away.

  It’s like a slap to the face. I physically recoil from the force of those three words.

  His movements are clipped with frustration. He shoves his fingers through his messy silver hair. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you want,” he spits out. “Adults know that.”

  The cord of self-control holding me together strains to the max. My voice goes sharp. “So denying how you feel, that’s the answer?”

  He glances up at me and the expression on his face is full of forced restraint. He grasps me by the shoulders. "Eva, listen to me. This isn't good. I fucked up. Don't you understand? I fucked up!" His eyes go even darker. “Plus, you’re a virgin. So that makes me the worst kind of predator.”

  I spit out an incredulous laugh. “A virgin?” So, he actually believed that crap I was pedaling at the auction last night. I kind of feel bad. “No, Raph. I’m not a virgin. I’m not some delicate petal.”

  Understanding dawns in Raphael’s eyes. But he’s not amused. “Eva…” he groans sombrely, urging me to take this seriously.

  My insides tighten and my heart feels like it's cracking apart. "So you want to just pretend it never happened?" The words feel wrong as they leave my mouth. I hate giving him the impression that I didn't absolutely love being with him in that way.

  He nods his head. "Yeah. Let's pretend it never happened." His hands drop from around me.


  I can’t stand the idea of just acting like what we want doesn’t matter. I’m a Millenial. Some might call us self-important but we take what we want. We don’t wait for permission.

  Just as I open my mouth to argue with him, my cellphone beeps and a text message flashes across my screen. It’s from Simon, reminding me about my debt. Fuck!

  I try to hide it, but Raphael must see the shiver that runs through me before I’m able to mask my fear.

  “Eva, what is it?”

  “Nothing.” I try to act nonchalant.