Wanted

by J. Kenner

  And what a sight he was.

  Whereas Cole might be sex on wheels, Evan Black was the slow burn of sin and seduction--and tonight he was in rare form. He must have come straight from the hospital, because he was still in a tux, and although he was clearly overdressed, he appeared perfectly at ease. Whether in a tux or jeans, where Evan was concerned, it was the man that mattered, not the garment.

  He had the kind of chiseled good looks that would have gotten him plucked from obscurity in the Golden Age of Hollywood, and the kind of confidence and bearing that would have made him a box-office draw. A small scar intersected his left brow, giving the angel's face a hint of the devil.

  He both came from money and had made his own fortune, and it showed in the way he held himself, the way he looked around a room, managing to take control of it with nothing more than a glance.

  His eyes were as gray as a wolf's and his hair was the color of cherrywood, a deep brown that hinted at golds and reds when the light hit it just right. He wore it long in the back so that it brushed his collar, and the natural waves gave it the quality of a mane--which only enhanced the impression that there was a wildness clinging to the man.

  Wild or not, I wanted to get close. I wanted to thrust my fingers into his hair and feel the locks on my skin. I imagined his hair was soft, but that's the only part of him that was. Everything else was edged with steel, the hard planes of his face and body hinting at a dangerous core beneath that beauty.

  I didn't know whether the danger was real or an illusion. And right then, I didn't care.

  I wanted the touch, the thrill.

  That desperate need to fly I'd been feeling all night? So help me, I wanted to fly right into Evan's arms.

  I needed the rush. I craved the thrill.

  I wanted the man.

  And it was just too damn bad that he didn't want me, too.

  two

  I'd known Evan Black for almost eight years, and yet I didn't really know the man at all.

  I'd just turned sixteen when I first saw him during the sweltering heat of a summer that marked so many firsts in my life. The first summer I spent entirely in Chicago. The first summer away from my parents. The first time I fucked a guy. Because that's what it was. Not a sweet teenage romance. It was release, pure and simple. Release and escape and oblivion.

  And damned if I hadn't needed oblivion, because that was also the first summer without my sister, who was back in California, six feet beneath the sun-soaked earth.

  I'd been lost after her death. My parents--wracked with their own grief--had tried to pull me close, to help and soothe me. But I wriggled away, too burdened with loss to cleave to them the way I wanted. Too heavy with guilt to believe I had any right to their help or affection.

  It was Jahn who'd rescued me from that small corner of hell. He'd appeared at the front door of our La Jolla house the first Friday of summer break, and immediately steered my mother into the dark paneled office that was forbidden to me. When they'd emerged twenty minutes later there were fresh tears in my mother's eyes, but she'd managed a cheery smile for me. "Go pack your carry-on," she'd said. "You're going to Chicago with Uncle Jahn."

  I'd taken three tank tops, my swimsuit, a dress, a pair of jeans, and the shorts I'd worn on the plane. I'd expected to stay a weekend. Instead, I'd stayed the entire summer.

  At the time, Jahn was living primarily in his waterfront house in Kenilworth, a jaw-droppingly affluent Chicago suburb. For two solid weeks, I'd done nothing but sit under the gazebo and stare out at Lake Michigan. Not my usual M.O.--during past visits, I'd taken out the Jet Ski or skateboarded in the street or taken off on a borrowed bike down Sheridan Road with Flynn, the boy I would later fuck who lived two doors down and had as much of a wild streak as I did. When I was twelve, I'd even rigged a zip line from the attic bedroom all the way to the far side of the pool, and I'd eagerly tested it out, much to the consternation of my mother who had screamed and cursed once she saw me whipping through the air to land, cannonball style, in the water.

  Grace had squealed at me from her chaise lounge throne, accusing me of ruining her hardback copy of Pride and Prejudice. My mother had ordered me to spend the rest of the day in my room. And Uncle Jahn had remained completely silent, but as I passed him, I thought I saw the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, along with something that might have been respect.

  I saw none of that the summer of my sixteenth year. Instead, all I saw was worry.

  "We all miss her," he said to me one afternoon. "But you can't mourn forever. She wouldn't want you to. Take the bike. Go into the village. Go to the park. Drag Flynn to a movie." He cupped my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. "I lost one niece, Lina. Not two."

  "Angie," I corrected, making up my mind right then and there to kick Lina soundly to the curb. Lina was the girl I used to be. The one who'd always felt larger than life, and who'd needed to feel the rush of the world around her all the time. Who'd been too alive to be calm or careful. Who'd been a damn stupid fool who smoked cigarettes behind the school and snuck out to dance clubs. A little idiot who made out with boys because she wanted the thrill, and who rode on the back of their motorcycles for the exact same reason. Lina was the girl who'd almost been suspended from high school just one week into her freshman year.

  And Lina was the reason that my sister was dead.

  I'd lived in Lina's skin all my life, but I didn't want to be that girl anymore.

  "Angie," I repeated, firmly cementing the first brick of the wall I was building around myself. Then I'd stood up and gone inside.

  Uncle Jahn hadn't bothered me for the rest of that day or the next, though I knew he was worried and confused. When Saturday morning came, he told me that he was having some students from the graduate-level finance seminar he taught as an adjunct over for burgers by the pool, and I was welcome to join them. My call.

  I'm not sure what compelled me to emerge from the dark cave of my room that afternoon, all I know is that I came down in my ratty cutoffs with Uncle Jahn's ancient Rolling Stones T-shirt over my bikini top. I thought I'd stay for an hour. Have a burger. Remind myself not to sneak a beer, because that was the kind of thing Lina would do, not Angie.

  But when I actually got down to the pool deck, all thoughts of beer and burgers evaporated, replaced by pure, decadent, desperate lust. And not the teenage crush kind, either. No, I saw Evan Black shirtless and in swim trunks that clung in a way that made my sixteen-year-old hormones light up. His wet hair was swept back from his face, and he was brandishing a metal spatula as he stood by the grill, laughing with two other guys, who I later learned were his best friends, Cole August and Tyler Sharp.

  All three seemed younger than the other four students who also populated the lush backyard. I later learned that I was right. The others were in their last year of grad school, whereas Evan was still an undergrad who'd been given special dispensation to take the class. And Tyler and Cole weren't even enrolled at Northwestern. Tyler was a freshman at Loyola. Cole was a year older than Tyler, and had just come back from some sort of art internship in Rome. They'd come with Evan who, along with the others, made up the whole of that summer's seminar class in finance.

  Together, Cole, Tyler, and Evan were a smorgasbord of hotness that even my reasonably inexperienced eyes were more than capable of appreciating. But Evan was the only one that I wanted to take a bite out of.

  I heard my uncle call my name, and the three of them turned to look in my direction. I stopped breathing as Evan's gaze swept toward me, his expression never changing as he looked me over and then, oh-so casually, went back to flipping burgers.

  I'm not sure what sort of movie I'd had running subliminally in my head. Something wild and romantic, I guess, because the moment he turned away, I felt a hot wave of disappointment wash over me. And that, of course, was immediately replaced by mortification. Could he tell what I was thinking? Was he going to think of me now as Jahn's gawkish niece? The one with the schoolgirl crush?

&
nbsp; Holy crap, the idea was horrifying.

  "Hey, Angie," Jahn called, his words jerking my posture straight as effectively as a string pulling a marionette. "You joining us for burgers?"

  "I--" My words had stuck in my throat, and I knew I couldn't stay there. I needed space. Hell, I needed air. "I--I think I'm coming down with something." I blurted the words, then turned and ran back into the house, certain that my burning cheeks were a fire hazard.

  I tried to concentrate on television. On a book. On screwing around on the Internet. But nothing held my attention. My mind was too full of Evan, and in the end I went to bed early. Not because I was truly sick, but because I wanted the pleasure of the dark. The thrill of sliding my hand down my belly and under the band of my underwear, then touching myself with my eyes closed as I imagined that it was Evan's fingers upon me. His fingers, his tongue, every decadent inch of him.

  It was a bedtime fantasy that became a personal favorite, and one I repeated many nights over the next few years. Fortunately, I didn't repeat the squealing and running like a twit every time Evan came around. Fortunate because Jahn took a fatherly liking to them, and those three guys became a fixture at the house. And since I wasn't inclined to spend my summer hiding inside, I began to venture out. By August, I thought of Tyler and Cole like big brothers. As for Evan--no way would I ever feel brotherly toward him, but at least I could carry on a conversation without imagining his lips on mine.

  Jahn called them the Three Dog Knights, because the Three Musketeers wasn't original enough for guys as unique as them. "Besides," he'd joked one evening as he hooked an arm around my shoulder and grinned at the guys, "this way I have my knights and my princess."

  Evan focused those hypnotic gray eyes on me, obviously considering the comment. "Is that what you are?"

  I froze, stunned by the question. Grace had always been the princess to my jester. But now that she was dead, I'd slipped on the mantle even though it was an awkward, uncomfortable fit.

  He was watching me--his gaze holding steady on my face as I floundered for a reply, and for a moment I thought that he saw the girl beneath the facade and the family name. I thought that he saw me.

  Then he smiled, all casual and false, and the spell was broken. "It's just that in the stories, the princess is always dragonbait."

  I had no idea how I was supposed to respond to that, and my discomfort made my temper flare--and then explode when Tyler and Cole both guffawed and Evan shot them a cocky I've won this round grin.

  "Don't worry about me," I said coldly. "I won't ever be dragonbait."

  "No?" He looked me up and down, and it took every ounce of my self-control to stand still as his eyes raked over me. "I guess we'll see," he finally said, and then without another word, he turned around and walked away.

  I watched him leave, feeling itchy and unsatisfied. I wanted something--something big and wild. Something like the sizzle and pop that Evan's slow, heated gaze had made bubble up inside me.

  Something? Oh, please. How much bullshit was that? I knew exactly what I wanted--or more accurately, I knew who I wanted. And he'd just flat out left, as uninterested in me as I was enraptured by him.

  As I bit back a frown, I saw my uncle watching me with an odd expression, and for the first time I feared that he knew my secret: I had more than an innocent schoolgirl crush on Evan Black. And somehow, someway, I was going to do something about it.

  I released a long-suffering sigh, my eyes still fixed on the almost-magical image of Evan in his tux. I didn't know if I was charmingly optimistic or sadly pathetic. All I knew was that despite the years that had passed--and despite the lack of any interest on his part whatsoever--my fascination with Evan Black never waned.

  For just a moment, I allowed myself the luxury of a fantasy. His finger crooked under my chin. The gentle pressure as he lifted my face to look into his eyes. His touch would be gentle but firm. His scent masculine and heady. "Angie," he'd say. "Why the hell haven't we done this before?"

  I'd open my mouth to answer, but he'd cut me off with a kiss, hot and open and so desperately demanding that I would melt against him, our bodies fusing from the electricity zinging through me, all of it focused between my thighs, making me squirm. Making me need.

  "And there she is."

  I flinched, yanked from my reverie by the caramel masculine tones. I turned to smile at the two-hundred-plus pounds of perfectly proportioned male that made up Cole August. At first glance, he was intimidating as shit, despite being empirically gorgeous. All muscle and power and hard edges, with the kind of air that warned away anyone who might want to fuck with him. He'd been born and raised on Chicago's rather scary South Side, and the rawness of his heritage still clung to him despite the tailored suit and other trappings of success.

  His mixed-race background had blessed him with creamy dark skin that boasted a golden undertone, and his eyes flashed a deep ebony. It was in those eyes that you really saw the man. Massive and intense and just a bit menacing. But also fiercely loyal.

  He held out his arms and I went willingly into them. "How are you holding up there, Dragonbait?"

  "Not great." I sighed, his scent reminding me of Uncle Jahn, a musky male scent that probably came in a bottle but seemed to me to be part and parcel of those men I adored. "I'm glad you're here. I thought you were out of town."

  "We came back, of course." By we, I knew he meant himself and Tyler Sharp. "We had to be here for Jahn," Cole added. He pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. "And for you."

  "Is Tyler hiding in the crowd somewhere?" I didn't mention that I'd already honed in on Evan.

  "He was right behind me. But he was snagged by a limber blonde thing who looked like she wanted to wrap herself around him."

  I had to laugh. Even at a funeral, Tyler was a girl-magnet.

  Cole grinned. "Yeah, well, don't hold it against her. I got the feeling she's been self-medicating her grief for hours."

  "I know how she feels."

  He looked hard at me, the humor all but erased from his face. "You need anything, you ask."

  I nodded, but stayed silent. The only thing I needed was to let myself go a little wild. To shake off the weight of my grief, cut loose, and get lost in an adrenaline haze. It would work--I knew damn well that was the best way to take the edge off the pain and loss I was feeling. But no matter what, I wasn't going to go there.

  Beside me, Cole called out a greeting to Tyler. I inched away from Cole and watched as the third of Jahn's knights approached. Where Cole was burly, Tyler was lean and athletic. He had the kind of good looks that could sneak up on a person, and the kind of charm that could make people do whatever Tyler wanted, and be absolutely certain it was their own idea all along.

  He reached out for my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Tell us what you need."

  "Nothing," I lied. "Just you two." I lifted a shoulder. "Really. It's better just having you guys here."

  "Where's Evan?" Tyler asked, and though the question was directed at Cole, I turned to look, too. But Evan had disappeared.

  "Well, shit. He was right beside me a minute ago." Cole glanced around. "Should be easy enough to spot. He's still in that damn monkey suit."

  "He didn't want to take the time to go change." Tyler's attention turned to me. "You've seen him, though, right?"

  "I--no," I admitted. "I mean, I've seen him across the room, but I haven't talked to him. Not yet."

  "Yeah?" Tyler's mouth curved down in a frown. "He texted me as he was leaving the dedication. Said he was coming straight here to make sure you were okay."

  "He did?" A lazy little ripple of pleasure crept up my back.

  "Yeah, he--wait. There he is. Evan." His voice carried across the room, and several heads turned toward us. I, however, saw only his face. His eyes. And I swear they were looking at me with the kind of wicked heat I'd fantasized about.

  I gasped, that sweet ripple of pleasure now moving to decidedly more interesting parts of my body. I glanced down at the floor, te
lling myself to get a grip. When I looked up, Evan was moving toward us in response to Tyler's insistent gesture. This time, however, I saw nothing in his eyes, leaving me to wonder if the ripples of heat existed only in my imagination.

  He came toward us with long, confident strides. The crowd shifted automatically as he walked, as if it was as natural to clear a path for this man as it was to defer to royalty.

  When he reached us, he didn't look at me. Not even a glance. Instead his attention was focused entirely on Tyler and Cole. His manner was brusque, his tone all business. "Everything okay in California?"

  "We'll talk later," Tyler said, "but it's all good, man."

  "Good," Evan said. He shifted his weight, as if he was about to drift away from our group.

  "I hear all those movie stars are raving about your burritos," I blurted. I didn't know about all the various business ventures that the three had their hands in, but I'd paid attention when they'd bought the California-based fast-food chain that I used to frequent during high school. The place had been in violation of so many health codes it's a wonder I survived my teenage years without succumbing to hepatitis, but the guys managed to not only clean the place up but actually expand it into a half dozen other states.

  Not that I gave a flip about burritos or California--I just wanted the warmth of Evan's eyes on me. Hell, I would have settled for the quick flash of a smile--I mean, both Cole and Tyler managed as much. But it wasn't their reaction I craved--it was Evan's. And all I got there was the chill of his indifference.

  It made no sense. My secret lust notwithstanding, I'd known Evan my entire adult life, and the conversation had always flowed easily. After all, I'd had a lot of practice at hiding my secrets.

  I told myself that he had business on his mind, but I didn't really believe it. His silence felt like a slight. Like he was intentionally avoiding looking at me. And, frankly, on this of all days, that kind of ticked me off.

  I was so intent on being irritated with Evan, that I didn't realize Kevin had approached until he stepped up next to me and tugged me firmly into his embrace.