Still, it wouldn’t hurt forever and once she got back to the ranch, there would be so much to do she wouldn’t have time to think about it. To think about him and what he’d meant to her, what they’d found together here.
She would get over this. She was strong.
“What’s going on between you and Van?”
The sound of Lucas’s voice was abrupt after the sudden silence, almost making her jump. “There’s nothing going on.” She didn’t want to talk about it and definitely not to him.
“There’s something,” he disagreed. “You’re looking like somebody died and Van was grumpy as fuck. What happened?” He paused, and suddenly the note in his voice was all threat. “He didn’t hurt you or anything?”
She turned from the view of the city to stare at Lucas’s perfect profile. “Who? Van?”
“Of course Van.”
“No,” she snapped, anger stirring in the emptiness inside her. “He didn’t.” At least he hadn’t physically. Emotionally? That was a different story. “What the hell do you care anyway?”
“Because if he did,” Lucas went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, “I’ll kill him.”
“Yeah, thanks for the support.” Her tone was acid. “But I’m only sad to be going home, nothing else.” She turned to look out the window again, hoping he wouldn’t see the truth. “And as for Van … I’ve got no idea what he’s so annoyed about.”
“What about de Santis? Has all that been handled then?”
Chloe kept her gaze on the city passing by. “Yes,” she said, because it was the easiest answer to give. “That’s all over now.”
Lucas said nothing to that, and for another couple of minutes silence reigned.
Then his phone buzzed, and he cursed.
She glanced at him.
He had one hand on the wheel, the other holding his phone, and he was glancing down at the screen, a frown on his face. “Make up your fucking mind,” he muttered.
Something inside her tensed. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he put the phone down and hauled on the wheel, turning the car around in a screech of tires.
Chloe blinked. “Where are we going?”
“Back,” he said cryptically.
“Back where?”
“You’ll see.”
Her heart began to speed up. Was there another problem? Was it the footage going out? What?
She stared sharply at Lucas, but that hard, intent look that he’d had when he’d rescued her earlier that day wasn’t there. No, now he merely looked pissed off, which had to mean nothing too serious was going down, right? Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part.
“Is there a problem?” she asked sharply
“No.”
“Lucas—” Chloe began.
“Chill,” he murmured, before she could finish. “It’s not dangerous, okay? We’re going to Rockefeller Center.”
Surprise made her blink. “What?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. That’s just where I was told to go.
“So … we’re not going to the airport?”
“No.”
Chloe struggled to process what was going on. “Who told you that?”
He gave her another of those piercing glances. “It’s a surprise.”
A surprise? What the hell did that mean? “Are you not allowed to tell me or something?”
Lucas only shrugged again, refusing to answer any more questions and falling silent.
Great. He’d told her to chill, but how was she supposed to chill when he wouldn’t tell her what on earth was going on?
They headed back into Manhattan, the traffic beginning to build up, and she had a weird sense of deja vu as the streets began to get familiar. Well, of course they did. She’d come here a couple of nights ago, in the taxi with Van.
Her gut clenched at the reminder, her throat constricting.
She didn’t want to be here, not where she’d been with him. Where she’d kissed him. Where everything had gone wrong.
Yet Lucas pulled the car up to the curb all the same, keeping the engine running as he turned to her. “Out, Chloe. Someone’s going to be meeting you.”
“Who?”
“Get out and you’ll see.”
“Lucas—”
“Come on.” He glanced down at his watch. “I’ve got other shit to do.”
“But what about the airport?”
“Fucked if I know. Are you going to get out or what?”
Well and why the hell not? Wasn’t like there was anyone champing at the bit to see her in Wyoming. And besides, if there had been any real danger, Lucas wouldn’t be telling her to get out, she was pretty sure of that.
Chloe lifted her bag, preparing to open the door, and suddenly became conscious of the weight of it dragging her down. Ah, the snow globe. She’d been going to leave it behind then had decided against it.
An impulse took her and she didn’t question it, unzipping the bag and pulling out the little globe, a tiny replica of the building towering above her with an even tinier rink in front. She shook it, a flurry of white flakes obscuring the tiny skaters on the rink.
Why was she taking this with her? Did she really need another reminder of a man’s empty promises? Wasn’t the ache in her heart reminder enough?
Lucas frowned. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a snow globe.” She let out a breath. “But I don’t need it anymore. Here.” She reached over, placing it in Lucas’s lap. “You can have it.”
“What?” Surprise crossed his ridiculously handsome face. “But I don’t—”
“Thanks Lucas,” she said, opening the car door. “I’ll see you ’round sometime.” Then she got out, slamming the door behind her, cutting off his protests.
People streamed by her. It was cold but not sleeting the way it had been the night before, though there was the bite of snow in the air.
She looked up at the building towering above her, the bag on her shoulder feeling light as a feather, and somehow her heart feeling lighter too. As if giving away the snow globe had gotten rid of a few things that had been weighing her down.
“Miss Tate?” someone behind her said.
She turned around to find a man wearing a jacket with the ice rink logo on it standing behind her. “Yes?”
He smiled, professional and pleasant. “I was asked to come and meet you, and take you to the rink.”
The rink? What the hell was going on?
Chloe eyed him. “Why?”
The man’s smile didn’t budge. “If you’ll come this way?”
Okay, so whoever was behind this was doing their damnedest to make it a surprise. And she guessed she had nothing to lose by going along with it.
She lifted a shoulder. “Okay.”
The man beamed. “Follow me, please.” Then he turned and began to move through the crowds of people in the direction of the ice rink.
Chloe followed along after him, her heartbeat suddenly sounding loud in her head. Whatever was going on, it couldn’t be all that sinister if it involved one of the ice rink employees, right?
The man led her down the steps but not to the ticket office. Instead, he took her to a glassed-in area, where there was a sign that said VIP igloo and lots of velvet ropes cordoning things off. Inside the igloo someone took her bag, while someone else handed her a pair of skates, ushering her to sit down while they assisted her with putting them on.
As she pulled on the laces, she looked around, trying to see what this was all about, but there was no one else in the VIP area and, weirdly, the rink seemed empty too. There weren’t any people even clustered around it.
How odd.
When she’d finished with her skates, the man who’d first greeted her came back, showing her to a special door that led outside to the rink.
“What’s happening?” she asked as he opened the door for her. “Where’s everyone else?”
The man smiled. “It’s just you, Miss
Tate. You and the gentleman.”
The gentleman? What gentleman?
But then the man was urging her out and so she went, shivering as she came out into the cold, frosty air.
It was empty, the ice white and smooth and perfect.
Well, nearly empty.
Down one end, standing on the ice, was a very tall man in a long black overcoat. Watching her.
Her breath caught in her throat, her vision blurring as stupid instant tears welled up, and she found herself unable to move. But it was okay because he was moving toward her, gliding over the ice with the easy, fluid grace with which he did everything.
Van slid to a stop in front of her, his expression fierce, his eyes molten gold. “You came.” The familiar deep rumble of his voice made her catch her breath.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Y-Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would.” His gaze roved her face as if memorizing it. “So I told Lucas not to tell you it was me. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Chloe blinked her tears away hard. “I’m not really up to surprises right now, so you’d better tell me what this is all about. And fast.”
That intent, burning look in his eyes didn’t even flicker. “There are some things I need to say and you don’t have to listen. But”—slowly, he held out his hands—“I’d like it if you would. Will you skate with me?”
She didn’t know why this was happening, why he’d had her brought here when he’d told her he was sending her away, but one thing she did know. There was something in his face that was desperate, and she couldn’t find it in herself to refuse.
So she said nothing, merely put her hands into his.
His gaze flared, suddenly brilliant, and then his long, warm fingers were interlaced with hers and she was being drawn out onto the ice.
He began to skate backward, holding onto her hands, his gaze pinned to hers.
She let herself be pulled along. “Where’s everyone else?”
“There is no one else. It’s just you and me.”
Her heartbeat was going wild, his touch sending it galloping around inside her chest like a runaway horse, and there was no sound but for the scrape of their skates on the ice.
“I need to tell you that I made a mistake, Chloe,” Van said at last. “I shouldn’t have sent you away.”
Oh. One of those ridiculous tears escaped and she almost stumbled on the ice, his strong grip the only thing stopping her skates from going out from under her. “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice almost as unsteady as her feet. “I thought you couldn’t give me what I wanted. That the mission would always come first.”
He was silent a moment, gliding backward, but he didn’t look away from her. “I know. I was wrong.”
All the breath went out of her and she found she’d stopped skating, his momentum the only thing keeping them moving across the ice. “Why?” she asked at last, staring at him, conscious of nothing but the deep amber glow in his eyes and the feel of his fingers wrapped around hers. “What changed your mind?”
“You left me that letter, about de Santis and Dad. And I read it. And I sat there waiting for the shock to hit, but it didn’t. It was like I already knew. Dad was so … flawed. And it made me realize that I was still holding myself to his standards, still trying to be the man he wanted me to be. But then he wasn’t perfect, so why was I still trying?”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded scraped raw and thready, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“And then I realized something else,” he went on, his fingers tightening around hers, the cold air moving softly over her face as they glided across the ice. “All this time I’ve been trying to make Sofia’s life mean something, because I fired the bullet that killed her. Because Dad brought me up to be the perfect heir, the protector of the legacy. But sitting there, denying what I felt for you wasn’t honoring her memory. It was only protecting a legacy created by a deeply flawed man. It was also protecting me.”
Van pulled her closer gently, still gliding backward, effortlessly controlling their momentum. “You’re not a mission, pretty thing, and you’re not a responsibility. And telling you that you were, that I couldn’t put you first, was just another excuse to keep myself safe. Because I’m shit scared. I’m in love with you, Chloe Tate, and I’ve been trying to use every excuse under the sun to not admit it.” He was so warm, so strong, holding her as if he never wanted to let her go. “I can’t be perfect and I can’t ever atone for what I did. Christ, I was never good enough for Dad, and I’m sure as hell not good enough for you. But the only way I can think of to make Sofia’s life mean anything at all, to leave Dad’s legacy well and truly behind, is to tell you that I love you.”
Her throat ached and either her heart had expanded or her ribs had closed up tight, because suddenly her chest was aching too. Letting go of his fingers, she slid her hands up his forearms to bring herself closer, keeping her gaze on the strong, intense lines of his face.
The air had gotten colder and it was full of snowflakes, white and fluffy, settling on his black hair and on the shoulders of his overcoat. She could feel them settle on her too, the cold breath of them against her cheek.
“You don’t need to be perfect, Sullivan Tate,” she forced out, her voice cracked and more than a little hoarse. “You only need to be exactly who you are. Who you always were. A protector. A defender. Honest and caring and trustworthy.” She looked up into his eyes, a deep, smoldering gold. “A good man. A better man than Noah ever was.”
* * *
He could feel the heat of her hands soaking through his overcoat and she was staring at him with all the wild passion that was part of her, as if every one of those things were true. And he found himself wishing with everything in him that they were.
But it was hard to accept. Especially after all the years spent punishing himself for not being the man he thought he had to be.
“I don’t know if that’s true,” he said at last, watching little flakes of snow settle on her hair. “I only know that I love you. That I need you. And that sending you away was the stupidest thing I ever did.”
A flame burned bright in her eyes and her mouth curved.
They were skating and it was snowing, and there were flakes in her black hair and everywhere, and she was smiling. She was fucking smiling, that wonderful, joyous, challenging smile. The one he’d seen that day on Shadow Peak, when she’d raced him home.
“Why did you bring me here, Van?”
He found his own mouth curving, giving her back that smile. “You really want to know? Because of that damn snow globe.” He began to slow down, bringing them to a stop in the center of the ice. “Because I thought you needed some better memories of this ice rink than as a reminder of Dad and all his empty promises.” Gently, he let her go, watching as her eyes widened. “You asked me if there was no footage, if there was no company, if it was just you and me, whether I would marry you. Well, I can’t get rid of the company and I can’t stop that footage from going up, but I can make sure it’s just you and me out here so…” He dropped down on one knee, ignoring the cold wetness of the ice soaking through the denim of his jeans. “Will you marry me, pretty?”
Her mouth opened, her eyes widening even further, and a flush had crept into her cheeks.
The snow fell around them, thick and heavy, blocking out all sound, enclosing them in a snow globe of their own.
“Yes,” she said, her voice clear and steady. “Yes, I damn well will.”
She was so beautiful. She was everything he’d ever wanted.
Van came to his feet in a surge, pulling her into his arms, kissing her, tasting the bite of snow and the sweet flavor that was all her.
That pain in his heart was still there and it probably always would be. But it was a good pain, he knew that now. It was a pain he could accept.
Because that pain was love.
EPILOGUE
Chloe stared at the envelope sitting next to the p
late of eggs and bacon that Van had made her for breakfast. They were going to eat then head out to the airport, take the corporate jet to Wyoming since she was needed back at the ranch. Plus, laying low out there seemed like a good idea since the media had been all up in their grille after the footage of their kiss had been leaked. And of course the news that they’d gotten engaged had only added fuel to the fire.
In fact, they’d been pretty much forced to stay in the Tate mansion by the cameras that kept being shoved in their faces every time they stepped outside. Not that Chloe minded being inside for once, not when she and Van were getting plenty of exercise. The kind of exercise you could do in bed. Or on the floor, or in the shower, or … anywhere really.
She shifted on her chair, wondering if he was still in the gym, and whether he’d like a visitor.
You’re stalling.
Yeah, okay. She was.
She looked down at the envelope. It had arrived that morning from the Tate family lawyers and she already knew what it was about. Van had told her. Apparently her father had left a letter for her after all. He’d given the lawyers instructions that it was to be sent to her a month after his death, but Van had argued that she needed it ASAP. Chloe herself hadn’t been sure she needed it ASAP, though she didn’t tell Van that. He’d managed to deal with one of Noah’s bombshells and so would she.
Reaching out, Chloe picked up the envelope and tore it open, extracting the letter inside it.
It wasn’t long.
My dearest Chloe, you may be wondering why you’re getting this fully a month after my death. Well, I thought you’d need time to grieve and to process everything. No doubt you’ve found out the truth about a great many things, none of which will be easy for you to hear.
Firstly, I couldn’t leave you a thing, sweetheart. Not given who your father is. I couldn’t let him use you and so I made sure you would be of no value to him. I’ve left instructions that the Tate ranch is to go to you should the de Santis threat be successfully neutralized. You always did like the horses.
Secondly, I’m sorry. I have done so many things in my life that I’m not proud of, but you should know that keeping you was never one of them. I know I lied to you, told you that I was your real father, but in my defense, I did have a very good reason. It’s actually very simple. It was because I very much wanted to be.
The Dangerous Billionaire Page 32
