by Jane Henry
“My conclusion? Luis knows something about the Bianchi family—maybe he saw or heard something he shouldn’t have—and was punished for his knowledge by being framed for rape. There’s a reason they’ve kept him alive, though, because anyone who actually raped a Bianchi would’ve had his throat cut before he’d ever set foot in a courtroom. He shared what he knew with your brother,” she said, her gaze coming to mine before returning to Xavier. “His death wasn’t accidental, but a show of power to Luis, another threat, if you will, to keep his mouth shut.”
“We need to get to Luis,” Caelan interjected. “We need information from him.”
Haven nodded slowly. “He isn’t my client, so my hands are tied there.”
“We’ll find a way,” Anson said with conviction, eyes meeting mine. Anson was our master thief, and he found a way to do anything he fucking wanted. I manipulated people; he manipulated things. Together, we’d get what we needed.
Haven nodded and got to her feet, wincing slightly. What the fuck was that about? Was she in pain? “I will see what I can find and come back to the rest of you with what I know, and we’ll have to take it from there.”
Anson shook his head. “You think that’s safe?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how powerful the Bianchi family is? They catch wind you’re digging around, and you’re next. You know that, don’t you?”
Her eyes widened, and I wanted to pull her into me, tell her it would be okay. I’d protect her. How? I hadn’t a fucking clue, but I’d find a way.
The Bianchi family stopped at nothing to get what they wanted. They’d come after Sabrina a few months prior without even thinking about it, when they suspected she had information that incriminated them. Anson had saved her life, and we’d brought her to safety. Walker had pulled some seriously impressive hacking to make the Bianchis think all the evidence they’d suspected Sabrina possessed about her father’s connection to them was destroyed. But now they were back on our radar, threatening someone else I cared about.
I’d had enough. Fuck her anger, and fuck what the others thought. I’d screwed her over. My brother was dead, and for the first time tonight, I now knew who to blame. I’d be damned if I let her walk into the lion’s den.
“Meeting’s over,” I said, getting to my feet. “We know enough for now. We’ll look into what we need to,” I said, with a nod to Walker. “And Anson’s right. We need to make sure you’re safe, Haven.”
Her eyes flamed at me, her jaw clenching, and her hands curled into fists. There was a world of things she wanted to say to me but couldn’t, but hell if her defiance didn’t turn me on at the same time it made me want to spank her ass.
Xavier stood, inhaling a deep breath, before he exhaled and faced Haven. “Thank you for telling us what you know, Ms. Wright. We all have to think more on this before we meet again.” He turned to me and jerked his chin up. “Ethan will see you home.” I owed the asshole one. “Just make sure you get your ass back here so we can have a talk.”
It was really shocking how much I risked my ass for the prick.
Sabrina stood and led Haven with me to the elevator. “It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to seeing you again,” she said.
Haven nodded and faced the room. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch with what I know.” She turned to me, a fake smile on her face. “And there’s no need for me to have an escort.”
Ha. Cute.
“I didn’t ask,” I said, and without another word, grabbed her hand and pulled her into the foyer.
“Take your hands off of me,” she hissed, as the doors to the elevator slid open and I slid my keycard in. I released her hand and turned to face her.
“I was an asshole earlier, Haven,” I said. “Not gonna lie. I know I was, and I’m sorry.”
I waited for her to snap back or say something cutting, but her mouth simply dropped open before she shut it again and turned away from me. She said nothing in reply and didn’t look like she was planning on saying anything, either. We rode the elevator in silence for a moment before I continued.
“But if we’re in this together, I’m not gonna let you do stupid shit. Going home alone? When we know people might be watching you even as we speak? Classifies as stupid shit.” She literally turned her whole body away from me and crossed her arms, like a three-year-old having a tantrum. I shrugged. She had every right to be pissed at me. Didn’t mean I’d find out her client had connections to the Bianchi family, then let her walk out into the night alone, for fuck’s sake.
I had a whole lot of shit to make up for, and if there was any way I could make amends, it would be like this. Keeping her safe, whether she cooperated or not.
The doors slid open, and she marched ahead of me, but it was kinda pathetic in those ridiculous heels of hers. I’d hail a taxi. Easier than getting one from our fleet of cars. She pushed through the entryway door, though, seemingly intent to leave me in the dust. With her being handicapped in a shitty pair of shoes and me being at least eight inches taller than she was, matching her stride was easy.
“More work to do tonight, Ms. Wright?” Anger began to simmer just below the surface. She’d just told me my brother had been killed in prison, and I’d already apologized. All I wanted to do was make sure she got the fuck home all right.
“Haven,” I barked out, as I stepped in front of her. “Stop.”
She looked up at me and crossed her arms on her chest. A fine trace of perspiration dotted her forehead, and her hair stuck to her forehead, her top clung to her like plastic wrap, all jumbled and wrinkled. I wanted to smooth it out with the flat of my hand, then use the same hand to smack some sense into her luscious ass. The taxi I hailed pull up to the curb.
“That’s our ride,” I said, confirming it with the driver. “Get in.”
Without a word she slid in and scooted as far away from me as she could, so much so it was almost comical. I rolled my eyes heavenward, then made eye contact with the driver, a young guy with a ball cap on backward and curly hair peeking out from under it. His brows rose, and he mouthed something to me. I didn’t catch the whole gist of it, but definitely noted the word doghouse.
Hell, yeah, I was in the doghouse. Jesus, I was in the fucking kennel.
He blew out a breath and shook his head. “Where to?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to Haven.
She looked from him to me and then straight ahead. “25928 Cobblestone Terrace, Harlem,” she said. The driver blinked, then nodded and turned back around, pulling into the busy street.
“Glad you called for a ride,” he said. “There was a shooting there last week. Bet you know about it, though, seein’ as you live there?”
She nodded and looked out the window. “Glad your man here’s escortin’ you, too.”
She opened her mouth as if to correct him, then slammed it shut and apparently decided not to speak to him.
“Not a lotta men’ll guard women these days,” he said. “You know, chivalry is a lost art.”
Haven inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, then turned to face the driver. “Do a lot of taxi drivers insert themselves into personal relationships?” Then her cheeks pinked as if she suddenly realized what she’d just said. I bit back a grin, when it became clear to me that she’d called what we have a relationship.
Mentally thanking the driver, I shook my head. “Not in a relationship, man. And I think the lady would prefer to keep things to herself.” He met my eyes in the rearview mirror, and there was kinship there. He’d given me an in with her, and I appreciated it.
We drove in silence, and I wondered how I would approach things with her. I was the one sent in to read people, to understand how best we could manipulate a situation to bring us to where we needed to be. I didn’t know how I was supposed to actually handle this kinda shit for real.
We finally pulled into her neighborhood, and I was a little taken aback by what we saw. He wasn't exaggerating. This place was a shit hole.
I handed the driver money, then pushed m
yself out of the air-conditioned car into the humid night air. God, it was hot as hell out, one of those rare nights in New York where the humidity didn’t lessen when the sun set.
“Ethan, please,” she said, coming around to my side of the cab. “I really don’t need you here with me.”
"Do you want us to help you get Max out of prison?”
She nodded her head and blew out an exasperated breath. “Of course, I do. Don’t be ridiculous,” she sputtered, fumbling in her bag for her keys.
“Then I come with you. For Christ’s sake, I just want to make sure you’re not followed or some such shit. And anyway, listen to me. I said I was sorry. Are we gonna make up and put this behind us so we can do what we need to, or what?”
She was starting to really get on my nerves. A cluster of teenagers smoking cigarettes stood to the left of the door, smoke billowing out in front of us. One pushed the other and they hooted and guffawed, and none even attempted to stop as we neared. She ignored the catcalls as we walked past, and her cheeks once more bloomed with embarrassment. My blood boiled, and I wanted to kick their asses. Behind one entryway, a couple groped in the door with no regard to who saw them.
“This is the entryway to my home, Mr. Warner,” she said. “Thank you for your completely unnecessary intrusion of personal space and professional deference. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be letting myself in. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow as soon as I get any new information or ideas.” She turned and stumbled. I reached for her elbow and steadied her. As soon as my hand touched her skin, the same electric vibe hummed between us. I ignored it, tamping down the anger and arousal that galloped through my veins, righting her.
She shook her head, her hair curling around her forehead and sticking to her damp skin, and tried to push me off, but then took a real stumble, sprawling onto the sidewalk. I reached for her, but I was too late. She fell, both hands skidding on the concrete, her skirt riding up, knees scraping on the walkway. Shit!
I got to my knees and picked her up. Jesus, she was a bloodied wreck.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Babe, you’re a mess. Give me the keys and I’ll help you in, and we’ll get you cleaned up.”
She shook her head, her eyes clouded with tears, but I reached for her chin when she tried to pull away.
We were done playing around with this.
“You listen to me,” I said evenly, my voice controlled, grip just tight enough that she was forced to meet my eyes. “There was a time when you did that. Remember, Haven?”
She nodded, wincing in pain. I couldn’t help but soften my approach. She was a good girl, deep down inside, and she hated me for what I’d done. Hell, I could hardly see her scratch her knees without wanting to make it better. Now I needed more, so much more. I needed her to know how sorry I was.
“Max Pederson sent you to us because we can help you. The Masters sent me here with you tonight because you and I have a past. This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to hand me your keys, and I’m going to bring you inside. I’ll help you get cleaned up, and then I’m going home. And tomorrow, we’ll deal with whatever else we need to. Understood?”
She swallowed hard, nodded, and reached for her keys. Still, I held her chin. “Stop fighting me, Haven. That does neither of us any favors.”
Her eyes dropped to her bag and she fumbled for her keys, retrieved them, and handed them to me. I released her chin, took her gently by the wrist, and helped her to her feet. “Step out of those goddamned shoes,” I half-growled. Hell if I’d let her fall again on my watch. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tried to wriggle out of the shoes, wincing in pain.
Knowing she was going to fight me but seriously not giving a shit, I braced myself for her indignation, dipped down, and hoisted her into my arms.
Predictably, she struggled against me. “Ethan. Oh for God’s sakes, you have to play the hero! Put me down.”
“No.” I walked a few steps to her entryway door and read the numbers. “One on the left?”
She sighed and nodded. It was a stark, chocolate-brown metal door, but she’d fixed a little wreath made of twisted branches on the outside. The door swung open, and I carried her in. Quickly, I scanned the room, and eyed a small loveseat in one corner of the room. I stepped over the entryway, shut the door behind me, and walked to the loveseat, gently lowering her down. “First aid supplies in the bathroom?”
“Seriously, Ethan, you really don’t have to—”
“First aid supplies in the bathroom?” I repeated, insistent.
She nodded. It was easy to find my way to the bathroom as I could practically walk the length of the entire apartment in four long strides. The walls were painted a stark white, and the carpeted hallways threadbare, but she’d done what she could to make it homey. A small, oval-shaped glass dish held shells in on a ledge in the bathroom, and the pretty, pale green towels matched. The entire place was impeccably neat and smelled fresh and clean. Anger roiled in my belly.
She deserved better than this.
I opened the cabinet beneath her sink and found a small basket of bandages and first aid supplies, smack dab next to a box of tampons. You’re invading her privacy, the voice in my head warned. I swallowed hard, knowing this had to be hard for her, to come from the penthouse where I lived and have me see her simple home. I grabbed the first aid kit, and walked back to her, oddly humbled.
“You okay?” I asked, my voice husky.
“Fine,” she whispered, turning her head away.
I ripped open a small antiseptic towelette and lifted her hand, placing the back of her hand in mine so I could clean her palm. I was as gentle as possible, and she still winced. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, more for what I’d done to her in the past, than the pain I couldn’t help causing now. She said nothing, and I could see she was fighting tears, but she didn’t want to give into them. “God, that must hurt.” I spoke as gently as I could. Something had come over me that was oddly unfamiliar, a sort of fierce yet tender need to make things better for her.
How else could I avenge Eli’s death? How else would I ever make things right?
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, as I bandaged first one hand, then gently doctored the other. “God, Haven. I’m so sorry.” She knew as well as I it was more than her injuries I apologized for, but she didn’t want an apology for what had happened nine years ago. She needed for me to prove I had changed, and I knew it.
Next, I tended her knees, treating them as gently as possible, and when I finished, I noticed her bare feet were an angry red, especially the little toe on each foot.
“What the hell happened to your feet?” I asked. I didn’t think she’d injured them in her fall.
“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.
Kneeling in front of her, I fixed her with a look meant to extract the truth. She huffed out a breath. “My shoes are too small for me. They’ve been killing me all day.”
“Those fuck-me red ones?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “They’re not fuck-me anything, asshole.” Somehow the bright green flash of her eyes behind her glasses was fucking adorable, and I needed to kiss her. “They’re respect me heels.”
I bit back a snarky retort as she pushed her hands on the couch to sit up straighter, then winced in pain.
“For God’s sake, take it easy.”
Her eyes once more filled with tears, and it was that final sign of pain from her that did me in. I wouldn’t take advantage of her. Fuck me, I wouldn’t. But God, I’d do what I could to make her forget it a while.
I took her ankle in my hand, kneeling in front of her, and gently slid my thumbs over the tender skin. “Does that hurt?”
“No,” she whispered, “my ankle’s fine. It’s just my... knees and palms.” I felt a little tremor run through her. Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in and brushed my lips against her soft skin.
“I’ll kiss it better,” I breathed. All of it. Her sadness. Her pain. The hurt I’
d inflicted.
When my lips touched her, a thrill ran down my spine. Her fingers raked through my hair, making my cock harden, a tendril of electric arousal zinging through my core.
Still holding her tight, I lowered my mouth to the valley between her breasts, and kissed her there, the sound of her swallowing making me close my eyes as I fucking worshipped her breasts with little kisses and suckles, moving my hands slowly up her sides.
I needed more. Her legs wrapped around my body as I moved in closer, wove my fingers around the back of her neck, and pulled her mouth to mine. When I kissed her, the past and present collided. I was no longer Ethan Warner, full-grown man and master manipulator, but the young kid whose life held no meaning outside the next swindle. Fuck that. My kiss went from tentative to flaming as I leaned her back on the couch, my tongue tracing along the edge of her full lips before I took her lower lip between my teeth. She gasped, and I climbed on the couch, careful not to hurt her.
I lowered my body to hers gently, kissing her with purpose, her taste addictive. She tasted sweet, like spun sugar and sunshine. Her hands moved up my sides and cradled the back of my head, pulling me closer. I didn’t question why she gave herself over like this. I could hardly form a thought. The next thing I knew, her wrists were pinned in my grip, and she no longer held me.
I would dominate this woman. I’d erase the memory of our past with the scorching present. I knew in that moment there would be no making her mine. She already was.
Her knees parted and bent, so slightly it was barely noticeable at first, but when her skirt had ridden up way too high, I could see the faintest trace of pale pink satin. In a daze, I lowered my mouth to her thigh and kissed her, the scent of her arousal wafting over me. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and suckled the sweet, warm skin.
She arched beneath me, as my hands slid upward, cupping her body in my palms. I kissed a trail up one leg, then the other, spurred on by the grip of her fingers in my hair, the little moans every touch of my mouth elicited, her scent and beauty. I kissed the very top of her thigh, then swiped my tongue along the edge of her skirt before I moved upward, yanking her skirt up. There was no manipulation in this. There was no conscious thought. I was stripped to fundamental need. I lowered my mouth to her satin-clad mound and kissed her, the warmth of my breath on her panties making me feel hazy and drunk. Her fingers tightened in my hair.
