by S. L. Scott
I hold the cold pack to my jaw. “Thank you. Everybody is so close . . .”
“We all hang out. Bennett’s single.” She catches herself, and says, “Well, was? I’m not sure what to say. I’m sorry. I don’t want to intrude. I know how delicate these things are.”
“It’s okay.” Knowing what I’m about to confess, I leave it ambiguous. “We’re figuring things out.”
Grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, she hands me one. She’s sharp and reads right through me. “I set up his kitchen the same as mine.” With a laugh, she adds, “Before I started the foundation, I had a little free time on my hands, and you know a bachelor isn’t going to get this stuff done.”
“The foundation sounds like a lot of work. Do you do it all?”
“It’s a lot of good work, good for the soul work. And no, I couldn’t possibly do it all. I have a dedicated team of five along with volunteers. Singer volunteers part time. She works in publishing the rest of the time. She loves to read.”
“I love to read too.” I think about my books in the Paris apartment and how much those little novels brought me joy. Buying them felt more rebellious than any designer dress I bought on Kurt’s dime and meant the world to me. “My mother really loved to read, and she passed her passion down to me. I started a collection in Paris.”
Mentioning my mom causes me to reach for my neck, sick to my stomach that I left before getting the necklace. She must sense my sadness. “I’m sorry you had to leave your books behind.”
“They aren’t valuable, but they were a nice place to escape.”
Rubbing my arm, she says, “I’m so glad you have that connection to your mother. That’s a treasure you can carry in your heart.”
“Are you close to your mother?”
“My mother was queen, so we didn’t get to do a lot together when I was growing up.”
She speaks of being royal as if she grew up in the suburbs and everyone relates. I love that she’s unpretentious.
“Let me ask you something. My clothes were washed and folded magically. Would you know anything about that?”
“Not magic. Great amenities. There’s a dry cleaner on the street level who did us a favor. There’s also a spa on the fifth floor. Singer and I are headed down later for facials. Would you like to join us?”
I glance at Bennett, unsure what to say. “He says it’s not safe for me to leave.”
“In the building should be fine. You’ll never be more secure than you are here. Even the windows are bulletproof.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
Bennett replies, “It means it will take more than a few rounds to break the glass.”
“So bulletproof really means it’s bullet resistant?”
“Basically, it will give you enough time to get out.”
Singer walks around the island toward the men. “Is it safe for Winter to go to the spa today?”
I don’t know why Bennett gets this look in his eyes like sugar just invaded his veins, but it’s adorably annoying. All three of them look back at me, then Hutton says, “That shouldn’t be an issue.” He glances at me. “Are you comfortable talking to us, or is there something we can do for you?”
They’re so careful, treating me with kid gloves.
I hate it.
It makes me feel weak.
I love it.
It makes me feel like they care.
Sitting in a chair, I sit straight and hold the arms. A smile forms on Bennett’s face, and he says, “I know you feel like this is an interrogation, but it’s really not.”
Hutton rests his forearms on his knees and clasps his hands together. “But we do need substantial detail to put security in place as well for us to decide what move to make.”
Ally comes to the far end of the couch from them and sits near me. Patting my arm, she says, “It will be okay. I promise.”
A knock on the door pulls their attention away, and I breathe again. Bennett goes to answer it. Singer comes around followed by the men we rode from the airport with yesterday. With a bag in her hand, Singer says, “The stuff we ordered—clothes, flip-flops, sneakers, some makeup, and toiletries—arrived.”
Ally stands and peeks inside. “Great.” Then she sits back down. “We can get you anything else you need.”
“Thank you. I hate burdening you.”
“No burden at all,” Singer replies.
Lars and Aaron are reintroduced, the lead security team members. Aaron says, “I’ll be taking notes for Mr. Everest and for our team, Ms. Nobleman.”
He’s not asking, but I say, “Fine,” anyway.
Bennett’s brother says, “Are we ready to get started?”
“I’m ready. Might as well get it over with.” I’m not ready at all, but here we go.
Singer goes into the kitchen. I hear the faucet and then see her lean against the island, sipping water.
“Who were those guys in Paris working for?” Hutton asks.
My eyes leave the safety of Singer’s and come back to the group in front of me, and then I pick at the cuticle of my ring finger. Once I say it out loud, there’s no taking it back. It will be out there . . . my life more at risk than it ever was before. But if it will keep them safe, I’m willing to make the sacrifice.
I suck in a hard breath and slowly exhale his name with it. “They worked for Kurt.” I don’t have to see them to feel the weight of their intense stares. “Kurt McCoy.”
Silence carries through the air, and I look up, their gazes distancing as they process the name I’ve injected into their universe. They turn to each other, leaving me out of the private conversation held by their eyes.
A glass shatters, startling me. Looking toward the kitchen, Singer stands, her mouth open, a million emotions flickering through her eyes and contorting her face into horror.
Seeming to catch herself, she bends down. “I’m sorry, Bennett.” She grabs at the broken glass and then jerks back, losing her balance. Everyone jumps to their feet and rushes to her. Blood drips down the side of her hand. “Damn it.”
Ally and Bennett are helping her to her feet while I stand off to the side. They help her to the sink where she places her hand under running water. While I stand there, not wanting to intrude, Singer asks Bennett, “Do you have a bandage I can use until I get a better look at it?”
Bennett rushes past me and then returns with a first-aid kit that he spreads open on the counter. While he tends to her, she steals a look at me, a tear weaving down her cheek and dropping to her chest.
I move in slowly. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head and then looks at Aaron. “I need Ethan.” From her reaction, something tells me this is about more than a cut on her hand.
He replies, “I texted him.”
“Thank you.” Her voice is frail, unlike the vibrant woman I met earlier. “I’ll meet him upstairs.” She looks at Bennett when he stands back to his full height after bandaging her. “I’m sorry about the glass. I’ll clean—”
“No,” I say, moving in closer. “I’ll clean it.”
Hutton directs us away from the area while Ally walks by me, and says, “Don’t worry. I’ll clean it.”
Singer says, “I’m sorry,” again to Bennett as he walks with her toward the hall leading to the door.
His voice is low, his concern etched into his forehead. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she whispers. “I need to see him first, and then I’ll send him down.”
“I understand. Aaron, go with her.”
Ally stands near Hutton with a roll of paper towels. “I’ll be up in a minute, Sing.”
Clearly shaken, she nods her reply.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, hoping she feels better. I don’t know why, but my gut tells me something is seriously wrong.
23
Winter
It’s been an hour since Singer left, wounded by my admission. When Ethan showed up, I left the brothers by themselves. What did that i
nterrogation last? One question. One confession. One minute before everything changed, shifting the warm welcome.
It’s been quiet for a while. I’m not sure if contemplation is happening or everyone has left, but I stay in Bennett’s room. I’m glad I kept on his clothes. There’s more room to make mistakes and grow from them inside.
I push through the urge to run and avoid conflict or remain waiting in the master bedroom, especially since I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. I head toward the living room, not sure how many Everests I’ll find.
Bennett stands from where he was sitting on the couch and drags his palms down the front of his jeans as his favorite song plays. “Hi,” he says, his hand going up.
“Hi. How’s Singer?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” His eyes begin to narrow like he’s struggling to read me. I relate.
“For causing her pain.”
“You didn’t, Winter.”
I tap the tip of my shoe on the wood and clutch my hands in front of me. “I did.” I look away. “I don’t know how or why, but I’ve been feeling guilty this whole time, Bennett. This is her home. Would it be better for her, for all of you, if I leave?”
“No.” His voice is quieter, not commanding the same attention as his frame. “Talk to me. Fill in the missing pieces. I sent them home so it could just be us. Us talking. You and me. Me and you. Please, Winter, explain how you’re caught up in this mess that could cost me my life, my brothers’ lives. Singer’s and Ally’s.”
My chin can’t hold its strength against this man. It hits my chest, and I whisper, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your apology, damn it. I want answers.”
Stubbornness braces my spine, and I look up at him, ready to tear into anyone who attempts to attack me. But I can’t. Not him. “It’s a domino effect, and I’m the one who knocked the first one down. If I had never gone to work for the McCoys, I would have never met Kurt. My role in this mess is the reason you were almost taken or killed.”
“You saved me, Winter. What about that? You risked your life to help me. That doesn’t matter to you?”
“It does because you matter to me.” My lashes are wet from tears and I hate that I can’t have this conversation without crying. Frustration, anger at myself, and the pain I’ve caused him and his family fill my lids until the tears topple over. I’ve carried this burden on my own for so long that to finally share it is so horribly painful. But the shame that comes with my admission is almost crippling.
“I may not have given the order, but I’m to blame, Bennett.”
“Sit down.” His tone is firm, leaving me no wiggle room.
I owe him answers. Now’s the time, so I sit on the couch. “You can ask me anything. I won’t lie to you.”
He sits back down, a line digging deep between his brows. “See? Here I thought we were already past that.”
“We are,” I start, but stammer over a few breaths. “I just thought—”
“Allies. We said allies, Winter. Being on the same side, the same team, being allies means we stick together, and we don’t lie to each other. I gave you time to yourself in the bedroom because I thought you needed it not because I thought we were over. Fuck, we’ve barely begun.”
“I didn’t doubt us. I doubted myself.” Allies with him is so different than when Kurt demanded it of me.
“Because you doubted me and my reaction to something. You don’t have to read into my expression. If you’re unsure of something when it comes to us, or me, all you have to do is ask.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No. Why would I be?” he answers solemnly.
“The situation with Singer.”
“You didn’t cause that, and it’s being handled. But I need to know your ties to Kurt McCoy.”
“I worked for him.”
It doesn’t take but a split second for him to put the pieces together. “He’s a competitor of Nobleman’s.” Scrubbing his hand over his face, he sighs. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
He leans back. “This is what you hint at but don’t say. You feel you betrayed your family by working for the competition?”
“I don’t feel it. I know I did, and they know I did.”
“Why did you go to work for the McCoys?”
“Because my father wouldn’t hire me after I spent years in school preparing for the job.”
Reaching over, he rests a hand on my leg. “They forced your hand. It’s a specialized field. You didn’t have much choice.”
“I can tell myself that all day long, but it won’t change my intentions.”
“And what were those?”
“To get insider information from McCoy.” I tap the toes of my shoes together. “Maybe in retribution as well.”
“I understand the feeling of revenge. People have hurt my family . . .” He glances in the direction of the door like he expects someone to round the corner. When his eyes return to me, he says, “The McCoys have hurt my family and others close to us.”
“I didn’t know.”
“We know you didn’t. I know you didn’t. But that he’s involved with anyone around us is a threat to all of us. Did Kurt hit you?”
“Yes,” I reply, wanting to bury my head into our happier times. As much as I hate confrontation and others being disappointed in me, it’s time to face the truth and end this nightmare.
“You worked for him to get back at your family and to steal information. I get that, but I sense there’s more to the story.”
Honesty. No matter how much it embarrasses me. “We dated,” I say, keeping my voice as low as possible.
He catches himself blankly staring at me, though I’m sure he has plenty of thoughts on the subject, and then stands. With his back to me and his arms crossed over his chest, he directs his attention out the window.
Rushing to fill the unbearable void between us, I add, “I thought he cared about me.”
He whips around, his face showing his astonishment. “Kurt McCoy? You thought a McCoy would love you how you deserve?”
“You don’t have to say it like that. I admit that I was naïve. I told you I’m a bad judge of character.”
“Winter?”
“Yes?”
“I’m mad now.” His voice is too calm to yell, his disposition not stiff or aggressive in stance.
“Are you holding it in?”
“Yes,” the word comes out on a strangled breath.
“I’m so sorry I’ve brought this awful back into your life. I would never purposely hurt you.”
Taking a deep breath and releasing a long exhale, he adds, “I’m not mad at you. What did you hope to gain when you went to work for him?”
“His operational plans,” I say, the words spilling from my mouth. “I thought I could get them and give them to my father.”
“What happened?”
“I’m betting you could answer that yourself.”
Bennett is a thoughtful man. He takes calculated risks, and maybe spontaneous ones, but it seems when it comes to business, he’s more on the analytical side. “He knew what you were doing, and you were the perfect prey.” Sitting down again, he rests his arms on his legs. “Let me guess. He blackmailed your dad with the information he got from you? Thus dividing you and your father even further.”
“And my brother. He despised me for the close relationship I had with my mother. He hates me even more now.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted. But honestly, from what you’ve said, getting that information for your father wouldn’t have changed things. As for the McCoys, they have no conscience or integrity.” Bennett walks to the edge of the hallway. He’s leaving? Just when I feel my heart start to shatter, he says, “The others need to know this information.”
“What should I do?”
“I want you to tell us everything you know, and then when it’s all said and done, we�
�re coming back here, and I’m going to make love to you.” His tilted smirk gives me comfort. “And if you’re a good girl, I’ll start face first.”
He comes to me, lifts my chin until my mouth closes, and then with a finger remaining on my skin, he kisses me. Our lips are still pressed together when he asks, “How does that sound?”
“A deal I can’t say no to.” After he steals my breath away with another sweet kiss, I sink into the place where I’m most happy—his world and him. Bennett. Bennett. Bennett. This time when our lips part, he walks back, holding his hand out and waiting for me to join him. “Come with me, Winter.”
All I have to do is take it.
The risk.
The opportunity.
The hand of the man who’s more than I deserve.
When I reach out, he takes it and kisses it. “I’ll protect you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
24
Winter
In the hall linking the two apartments, Bennett places his hand on a black pad, and the wall shifts in and then slides to the side. Panic rises inside, and I ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“To the penthouse.” He’s not nervous at all, but his hand tightens around mine to put me at ease. “There’s a lot of security in the building. Step back.” The wall slides closed, and he punches in a code that opens the door to the elevator.
When we step inside, I ask, “Could someone hurt you and still get in?”
“There are precautions in place. When my hand is on the pad, it checks the points of fingerprints, handprint, pulse, and hormones. Through temperature, it can decipher between panic, threats, and regular sweat.”
“How?”
“I’m not a science guy, but what I got out of the training is that we produce distinct levels of hormones in each situation.” That he answers my flurry of questions shows the trust he’s given me. I want to make him feel the same.
The door closes, and after he enters another code, I ask, “Did we only go up one floor?”
“Yes. We renovated last year and moved to the apartments under his.”
The door slides open, and we enter. “Oh, wow!” I’m not sure what else to say as we walk down a gallery covered in framed black and white photos. The walls are black but lead to a bright space surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. So much of it is similar to Bennett’s, but this place takes up the entire floor. “That is the most incredible view I’ve ever seen.”
