by Tara Leigh
And I couldn’t afford to become an addict.
I pulled away, raking my gaze over Nixie’s pinkened, swollen lips. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, pupils still dilated. With a ragged sigh, I rested my forehead against hers. “Nixie, if I do this, if we do this, I’d be no better than Derrick. Using you for my own ends.”
Who invited the jackass with the moral compass?
Nixie’s breath hiccupped, but she remained quiet and the jackass kept talking. “I can’t stay here with you and not fuck you. I just can’t. But I need to know you’ll stay here. I don’t want you wandering off in the middle of the night. You’re safe here. I need to know that you’re safe.”
She swallowed heavily, her eyes holding mine captive. “Under one condition.”
“You want to negotiate now?” My lips twisted, my eyes searching her face for clues. What more could Nixie possibly ask of me? What more could I give?
“Lie with me. Just for a little while. Just until I fall asleep.”
Me. Nixie. In bed, together. No, no, no. Not that. I took a deep breath, considering the alternatives. Imagining what it would be like to hold Nixie in my arms for even a little while longer. “Under one condition.”
Her laugh tickled my nerve endings. “What?”
“That question you vetoed. Why Derrick is coming after you now, a year before your trust fund vests. I want an answer.”
Nixie lifted her head and slid off my lap to stand in front of me, her expression unreadable. “Come,” she held out her hand. “I’ll tell you if you lie with me.”
I stood, allowing myself to be led into the bedroom. This was usually a place I felt confident, completely in control. How many women had I fucked in this very bed? Sex was like a science for me, each body a new experiment. My ability to achieve the desired results was never in doubt. Quivering, shaking, squealing, bliss—I always delivered.
But now, as Nixie turned her back to me, pulling a lacy concoction through her shirtsleeves and letting it fall to the floor by her bare feet with the cutest pink-tipped toes I’d ever seen, my control was hanging by a thread. “Nixie,” I groaned.
She swiveled, golden eyes burning bright. “Yes?”
“Not sure if this is a good idea.” I was a man, not a statue—although my cock was so damn hard it was in danger of cracking off.
“You want an answer?”
“Yes.”
She brought her hands to the button at the top of her jeans, the zipper a sharp whine splitting my fevered thoughts. And then the denim was sliding along her toned thighs. I saw a flash of the same lace as her bra, a tiny triangle in the place I wanted to press my mouth and breathe deep. Then inches and inches of glowing skin. She left her jeans in a puddle on the floor and crossed my path to slip beneath the sheets, holding one edge up. “You coming?”
A devil in an angel’s body.
I kicked off my shoes, but nothing else. Every muscle in my body was rigid, buzzing with energy desperate to be released. “Yeah,” I said, slipping into bed. Her head was on the pillow, face turned toward mine. “No. I can’t look at you without kissing you. And Nixie, if I start kissing you, I’m not going to be able to stop.”
She blinked, her tongue peeking out to swipe across a soft pout. “What if I don’t want you to stop?” she whispered.
“And when I leave, when I get out of this bed in the morning, what are you going to want then?”
She thought for a minute. “I would want you to miss me. And to come back.”
The last woman I’d made any sort of commitment to was Eva, and look how well that had turned out.
I wanted Nixie, but what kind of track record did I have? Could I promise not to hurt her? I shook my head slowly, forcing a harsh truth from my mouth. “Like I said, you deserve so much better than what I have to offer right now.” My hand tightened into a fist beneath the pillow as her lower lip quivered. “Turn around, Nixie. I mean it.”
She relented, her hair sliding against my neck, smelling of caramel. Barely an inch separated our bodies, both of us running so hot it was a wonder the bed didn’t spontaneously combust. Unable to stop myself, I lifted my free hand and rested it on Nixie’s hip, giving the delicate bone a gentle squeeze. “I’m here, though. Tell me.”
She blew out a sigh, her ribcage rising and falling beneath my forearm. “Under the terms of my parents’ will, I gain my inheritance by fulfilling one of two possible conditions.”
“The first condition being your twenty-fifth birthday.”
“Yes.”
I waited for Nixie to continue, giving her a slight nudge when she remained silent. “And the second?”
“Marriage.” I’d known what her answer would be before voicing my question, but the single word still hit hard.
My heart skipped a beat, picturing Nixie in a white dress with Derrick standing beside her, leering as he envisioned getting his hands on her money. There were few people in this world I despised more than those who took advantage of innocents. And that was what Nixie was. Or at least she had been, until that asshole stained her with his ugliness. “So even though he’s the reason you ran away, Derrick thought that if he found you, he could convince you to marry him?”
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Derrick only sees what he wants to see. He was there for me when I thought I’d lost everyone that mattered. He feels like I owe him.”
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to stay still when all I wanted to do was hunt the bastard down and rip his throat out. I heard her sniffle once, then twice. “Hey, no. He’s not worth your tears, Nixie. You don’t owe him a damn thing.”
“You don’t know—”
“I don’t have to. Marriage isn’t the means to an end. Or at least it shouldn’t be.” Even as the words left my mouth, I realized I was being a complete hypocrite. If it turned out that Mack Duncan’s company was the unicorn deal I thought it was, I would have no problem walking down the aisle if that’s what it took to get him to sell to me.
“I think you might be a closet romantic.”
I cringed. “There’s nothing about me that’s hiding in the closet.” Or romantic.
Her light chuckle was music to my ears. “That’s because your ego wouldn’t fit through the door.”
Muttering a curse, I wrapped my arm around Nixie and pulled her against me, planting the lightest of kisses on her neck. She started to roll over, and I tightened my hold. “Sleep, Nixie. I’m not going to be another disappointment in your life. I won’t hurt you. Ever.”
Once Nixie’s breaths became deep and even, I moved away from her, each inch more painful than the last. Closing the door to the bedroom behind me, I pulled my laptop from my bag. It would have been easier if I’d just gone back to my own apartment, but for reasons I didn’t want to examine further, I couldn’t bear to leave Nixie alone.
Half an hour later, I was sorting through the information compiled by my in-house investigator. If I was going to protect Nixie, I needed to know everything there was to know about her. And even more about Derrick Attwood.
With Nixie, my first instinct had been right. Nixie Rowland wasn’t her real name. One of my investigator’s emails contained dozens of links to Noelle Kennedy, the “Orphan of 9/11.” For a moment the words on my screen blurred, the room itself swaying. Nixie’s link to the terrorist bombing hit me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and I sat back in my chair, the air knocked out of my lungs. Our lives had both been shattered by the same tragedy. And in a way, the close connection between us made sense now.
Eventually, though, I gathered my wits together and continued plowing through my research. Most of the articles were centered on Nixie alone, but one, written in 2002, had focused on her life in the year since the attack. There was a picture of a cute redhead with braids and a missing tooth seated between a younger Derrick and a man who could have been a double for the guy who’d come barreling out of her apartment building. Rage swelled within my chest, obstructing my vision. I fought against it, needing t
o think clearly and strategically.
Once I finished searching through everything that mentioned Nixie, or rather, Noelle, I focused primarily on Derrick. Slightly younger than me, Derrick had chosen to stay with his father after his parents divorced. And they were obviously still close, as Derrick was listed as vice president of his father’s company. I gave a low whistle as I stared at a photo of the two men standing side by side on their corporate website. Nepotism was rarely a smart move, and Paul Attwood was about to regret the day he’d become the sole source of his son’s income.
If there was one thing life on Wall Street had taught me, it was that money was at the root of everything. Cutting off an adversary’s cash flow was like crushing his kneecaps. Short of beating Derrick to a bloody pulp—which, while tempting, was only temporary, the best way to destroy him was to lay waste to his bankroll. Which meant destroying the source of it—Paul Attwood’s company.
Digging deeper into their past, I made note of every sliver of information concerning the Attwoods’ business interests. Looking for ways to destroy Derrick through his father and their company.
I rubbed my hands together, a fresh burst of energy heating my blood. It was time to bring out the big guns. RiskTaker was a company I kept on retainer, and they were worth every penny of the fortune I paid them each month. They vetted each potential acquisition that crossed my desk, and could unearth secrets that had been buried six feet under. I don’t know how they did it, and I didn’t want to know. But if there was a speck of dirt to be found within the Attwoods’ corporate affairs, RiskTaker would find it.
Wall Street was all about expectations. Exceed them and you were a success. Fall short and you were branded with a target during hunting season. With a few calls to the right people in the IRS or the SEC, possibly even a reporter on a slow news day—I could turn that speck into a mudslide.
In the meantime, my in-house investigator would focus on Derrick’s personal life. By the time I was through with the guy, he was going to wish he was dead. And if his father was collateral damage, so be it.
Nixie
When I woke up, I wasn’t surprised to discover Nash was gone. Sad and disappointed, but not surprised. Too restless to linger in bed, I slipped from the sheets to check on Kismet and see if I could make myself a cup of coffee. I’d been preoccupied with Nash when I explored the suite last night, but assumed that one of the fancy appliances in the kitchen brewed coffee, so long as I could figure out how to use it.
Kismet picked her head up when I came out of the bedroom, but promptly put it back down and closed her eyes. Too early for her, too.
I turned toward the kitchen in search of my morning dose of caffeine, but what I found was even better. Nash, flat on his back on the couch, an open laptop resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful, just lying there. No frown on his face, and those piercing green laser beams of his were shuttered. Tiptoeing over, I took advantage of the moment to study him further. Awake, Nash Knight was intense and intimidating. But asleep, his hard edges were slightly softer, that frantic energy about him turned down to a low hum rather than a crackling buzz. Wanting to keep this Nash around a little longer, I leaned over the back of the couch, gently picking up his Mac. As I lifted it from his chest, my thumb accidentally slid over the keypad, bringing the screen to life.
What I saw made me want to drop the thing right on his head.
“Good morning.” Nash’s sleepy drawl climbed up my spine and saved him from a concussion.
“What’s this?” I demanded, turning the screen to face him.
Confronted with the blown up image of me with the Attwoods, his sleepy smile died. “Looks to me like it’s you, nearly fifteen years ago.”
Wiseass. “I can see that. Why is it on your computer? Why are you prying into my life?” My indignation felt more like insulation, and I wrapped it around me, grateful for any protection from Nash I could find. I was falling for this man, falling fast and deep. Anything to slow my descent was helpful.
He tugged the laptop from my grasp and closed the screen with a snap. “I’m not prying, Nixie. It’s public information.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I answered your questions last night. Did you think I was lying? You needed to fact-check me?”
Nash swung his legs over the edge of the couch and sat up, scrubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. Unwelcome heat pulsed between my thighs. Was there ever a time of day that this man wasn’t sex on a stick? “That wasn’t what I was doing. Not at all.”
“Then what were you doing? Because from where I’m standing, it feels pretty creepy.”
Nash patted the couch cushion beside him. “Come sit with me.” I stared at him, dubious. He crooked a smile and gave another pat. “Come on. I won’t even negotiate the questions in advance.”
I stepped out from behind the couch, Nash’s eyes immediately dropping to my bare legs. Remembering that I hadn’t bothered to get dressed this morning, my cheeks colored. He brought his hands up into a T. “Time out. Can you please go put a pair of pants on?”
The naked want on his face was a gift. It was exactly how I felt every time looked at him, leveling—just slightly—what felt like a very unsteady playing field. “Be right back.” A minute later, I was sliding onto the couch in the worn jeans I’d had on yesterday, drawing my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. “Okay, go.”
“I haven’t been digging into you, per se. Derrick took advantage when you were young, and now he’s trying to bully you and steal from you. He thinks you’re all alone, Nixie. That there’s no one looking out for you. But he’s wrong. You have me. And he’s going to find out that I’m not someone he wants to pick a fight with.”
The little girl who had believed in fairy tales and happily ever afters wanted to swoon. Except I wasn’t that girl anymore, and hadn’t been in a very long time. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, really. But it’s not your battle to fight, Nash.”
“Believe it or not, this is what I do. I analyze companies for a living—and quite frankly, I’m damn good at it. Derrick has no assets of his own, and from what I can tell, his only source of income stems from his father and their company. I have the means to destroy it, and, in the process, destroy him.”
I looked at Nash as if he’d lost his mind. “You know, for a guy who said he’s not a white knight, you sure do have a hero complex. Whatever Derrick’s issues are now, his father took me in when I was a little girl with nothing and no one. Leave them alone. Both of them, and the company, too.”
“But Nixie—”
“No buts. I’m serious. My father helped build that company, and I won’t let you destroy it.”
“Derrick is going to come after you again.”
I lifted my chin. “Well, if he does, I’ll handle it.”
“How? You going to buy a steel turtleneck?”
“Very funny, Nash.”
“I’m dead serious. I mean it—I don’t think you’re taking his threat seriously enough.”
He was right, I knew. But Derrick was my problem, and I was going to fix it myself. “I’m not going into hiding, again, just because Derrick thinks I’m the answer to his money problems.”
I watched Nash roll his head from one side of his neck to the other, my fingers aching from the effort of not coming up behind him and massaging those muscles myself. Or strangling him. It was hard to decipher my emotions when it came to Nash. “Don’t think of it as hiding, then. Consider it a staycation.”
“A staycation?”
“Yeah. Movies, room service. There’s a pool and a gym. Why don’t you just lay low for a few days?”
“Because I have school and a job. A year ago, I gave up everything I knew because I was scared of Derrick. I’m not going to do that again, Nash. I’m just not.”
“Okay, fine.” He hooked an elbow over the frame of the couch. “Part of your staycation will involve one-on-one self-defense training.”
“One-on-one self—” I stopped myself before
I turned into a parrot. “From you?”
“I don’t just take apart companies, I take apart men, too.” Nash must have read the confusion in my face, because he clarified. “I fight.”
“Fight who?”
Nash shrugged. “Whoever wants to get into the ring with me.”
“The ring? What ring?”
“A boxing ring. Plenty of guys I work with like to fight on the side. Crunching numbers all day can get tedious. You can’t slaughter the competition if you don’t keep your killer instinct sharp.”
I shook my head. Did men ever outgrow the GI Joe phase of their childhood? “I don’t need to know any self-defense moves.”
“First of all, everyone should know a few basic moves to get themselves out of a bad spot.”
“I don’t—”
His eyes slid to my neck. “This is not a negotiation.” He stood up and shoved the couch, with me on it, and the cocktail table against the wall, then moved into the center of the room and looked at me expectantly.
I met Nash’s stare, but after a minute of unblinking silence the futility of my effort was obvious. This wasn’t a fight I would win, and it wasn’t exactly a bad idea either. “Fine.” I huffed an aggravated sigh that was mostly for show. “Let me put a bra on.”
He quirked one of his signature panty-dropping smiles that I felt to my core. “Not on my account, I hope.”
A minute later, I was back in the living room, the thin lace barrier between my skin and shirt practically pointless. “Are you going to teach me to kick your ass?”
“Few people on the planet are that good,” he said, not a trace of humor in his tone.
“I like your modesty.”
“Never heard of it. Anyway,” he clapped his hands together, “before we get started, is there anything I should know about your body? Previous injuries, anyplace you want to keep off limits?”
“Um,” I stuttered. A few hours ago I wanted Nash’s hands everywhere. It would be strange to dictate terms now. “I broke my arm when I was a kid, falling off the jungle gym at school, but it’s fine.”
