Reckless Kiss (The Reckless Duet Book 1)

by Alexis Anne

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Just like that?” I always wondered about the people who said the just knew but now that I was seeing it for myself I almost understood it.

  She smiled. “Kind of. Being married to Brian was exciting. I went into news because I wanted exciting. To travel the world and be there at the heart of history unfolding. When Brian swept into my world it was like moving from the shadows into the sun for the very first time. It was warm and thrilling and I was the center of his universe. Shit like that is intoxicating. But for every up there’s a down.”

  “For every high there’s a low.”

  She nodded. “The downside to falling in love with someone bigger than life is that when you’re not the center of their universe, you’re nothing at all. And when you spend too much time near them, you burn. In the end, loving Brain was exhausting. It took everything I had and left me with very little for myself. Since the divorce I learned a lot about myself. I love producing but I don’t want the drama or the constant attention. I like quiet nights at home in my sweats. I like having genuine friends who I can be myself around.”

  “And Jeffry is a very down to earth guy,” I supplied when her voice dropped away. “Genuine, funny, sincere, all the reasons I value him as a friend. Although I’m not attracted to him.” The vision of Jeffry in red lingerie popped back into my head and I shuddered.

  She blinked several times. There were tears in her eyes. “He’s sweet and tender and so smart, and yes, I’m very attracted to him so there is a bit of a difference between my relationship and your relationship with him, but I think we’re looking for the same things.”

  “Indeed we are. I spend all day with stars. I prefer my Sundays to be spent with you bunch of crazies.”

  “So why the dating service, Leo? If you want genuine, down to earth friendships, why do you avoid relationships and stick to one-night-stands?”

  “They’re not one-night-stands. That implies quick and meaningless. No, I don’t ‘date’ these women and no, I have no interest in developing a lasting relationship with any of them, but they are not meaningless. Not to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, resting her hand gently on top of mine, “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was just curious why a guy who cares so much about others, who goes to so much trouble,” she waved her hand at the party still going on behind us, “to nurture his friendships, doesn’t want the closest, most intimate relationship of them all.”

  The words most intimate immediately brought up a vision of Esme. I still couldn’t quite explain my reaction to her. I’d been with so many vulnerable women over the years, so many who needed the same things Esme had asked for, but none of them affected me like she had. Perhaps because she was so much more open to me, so connected.

  Most intimate.

  “There is someone,” Hope murmured. “Who?”

  “I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about.”

  “Leo, you should see your face. You are absolutely lost to someone. Who is she?”

  Was it true? Was I lost to Esme? Wonderful timing on my part if that was the case. The one woman who didn’t want me in her life at all.

  But then again, if I was going to lose myself to someone I might as well get really fucking lost.

  “She’s a dream, Hope. Nothing but a dream.”

  Chapter 12

  I was stuck in a meeting I wasn’t paying attention to. The conference table was absolutely packed with agents. Marie stood at the front of the room going over figures and projections for salary caps and how it would affect trading practices. Baseball, football, basketball, soccer, none of them were all that different when it came to money. That was why I often preferred the excitement of working with my other clients. The tennis stars, the swimmers, track and field. It took more creativity on my part to find them the right endorsements, negotiate the best terms.

  Which was why I’d essentially tuned-out my boss and had chosen to stare out the giant windows.

  So much money moved through our world. Most of the time I stayed focused on the job, on the individual lives it affected, but every so often I took off the blinders and let it sink in. The millions upon millions of dollars we negotiated each year. The things that could be done with that kind of money.

  I was one to talk. I earned a hefty income thanks to these athletes. But most of it sat in the bank and in investments. I bought my house with cash, but I intentionally chose a modest one. I drove a very nice car, but nothing extravagant. I ate well, drank well, and clothed myself in whatever my heart desired.

  But the rest? I hoarded it.

  And my athletes? Some were as diligent as me while others burned through their cash at lightning speed. It occurred to me that several of those athletes that had a heavy hand for expensive cars and homes had suddenly made some rather large purchases in the last couple of weeks. It happened one by one, but now that I was sitting here looking back, it was a lot all at once.

  All football players.

  An idea I really didn’t like started to niggle at the back of my mind. I let it settle and dig while I waited for the meeting to adjourn and the room to empty.

  “I take it you have something on your mind?” Marie asked, closing the door behind the last straggler.

  “Bolton just bought a Lamborghini.”

  “So what’s new?” she chuckled. “It’s his third.”

  “Exactly. He can’t afford it.”

  I had her attention now. “What are you thinking?”

  “Ramirez just bought that mansion on the beach, Tesco the yacht, and Roscoe has been taking private jets all over kingdom come. He’s been at every race, awards show, and special event in the last month.”

  She sat. Hard. “I thought it was strange that Roper bought his wife, mistress, and son new cars this week. The man has been cash strapped for the last two years.”

  I nodded, not wanting to say what I was thinking. Hoping Marie would do it for me.

  “A lot of our clients have suddenly come into some good fortune that we don’t know anything about.”

  I nodded again.

  “Shit.” She pushed out of the chair so hard it bounced off the wall behind us. “What the hell?”

  “Is this what happened in Nashville?” I had no proof, but Brown’s sudden acquisition of the Renegades and now this . . . it felt connected.

  “No. Not exactly.” She paced in front of the windows. Back and forth several times before she stopped and turned to me. “These players are all on different teams.”

  “But they’re all football players.”

  She made a face and kept pacing. “In Nashville it was just the team.” She stopped. “At first.”

  “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

  She fidgeted with her clothes, then sighed. “Just before it all blew up and the franchise was shut down, there were rumors it had begun to spread. That players were paid off for some reason. I never knew why.”

  That’s what didn’t make sense. “Why now? Why at all?”

  “I don’t know,” she murmured. “But we better find out or we’re all going down this time.”

  I was confused.

  Confused by Esme’s odd behavior

  Confused by my football player’s sudden good fortunes.

  Confused by my entire fucking life.

  Marie and I spent the entirety of the day trying to piece details together. There was what we knew: five of our athletes had recently made big purchases despite no new contracts or endorsements. None of them had any reasonable explanation for the money. There was what we suspected: Edmund Brown was behind the pocket padding.

  Why?

  We didn’t know.

  But I did know someone who might.

  I practically ran into the dimly lit reception at the university. The fundraiser was already in full swing. Tables covered in white linens and votive candles dotted the room. Buffets filled with steaming food lined the walls. From here I could spot
four bars, all with lines. At the opposite end of the room there was a screen showing all the latest genetics research being done by Jeffry’s department. In front of it stood an empty podium. Later there would be speeches, but for now there was food and celebration.

  I scanned the room looking for my friends as I slipped into the nearest line for a drink. They were sitting at one of the reserved tables near the podium. Everyone was there and I was prepared for the usual teasing about being late.

  “Hello, Leo.”

  I didn’t need to turn to know the sultry voice belonged to Esme.

  “Good evening, Esme. You look lovely.” Fuck me, she looked gorgeous. A strapless black gauzy number, sky-high heels, hair styled off to one side so her elegant shoulder was on display—mocking me, begging me to caress and suckle it—and of course, those damned red lips.

  “Thank you.”

  I’d hoped she’d be here tonight. There was a good chance since she worked with Jeffry but I wasn’t sure and I’d been too busy to ask. My hope was one part selfish, any time I got to see her was a good time, but also one part business. If anyone knew whether Edmund Brown might be connected to illegal activity in football, it would be Esme.

  I swallowed down the desire to put my hands on her. “Are we allowed to know each other here?” I very intentionally scanned the crowd.

  Yes, I was giving her a hard time, but, truth be told, my ego was bruised. I didn’t understand her brush off at the party or the look of fear in her eyes. She hadn’t reached out afterward to explain, either.

  She glanced down at her toes. “We should be safe here.”

  “What does that mean, Esme?”

  She looked up at me. “It means there are eyes everywhere but at work I’m typically safe, but not always. It’s best if you don’t act like you know me intimately, for our both our sakes.”

  Safe.

  My bruised ego took a hike, replaced completely by a fierce protectiveness. “Esme?”

  “Not here,” she whispered, then looked up at me with a brilliant smile. “Tonight we’re friends.”

  I nodded, emotions I’d rather not name taking hold.

  “You look a little rumpled,” she murmured.

  I fixed my tie and ran my fingers through my hair. “Yes, well, work was something today.”

  “A client giving you a hard time?” she teased, her eyes dancing in the candlelight.

  “More like five of them.”

  All the teasing evaporated. Her mouth puckered, brow furrowing. “Football players?”

  My skin pricked. “Indeed.”

  She nodded once and stepped forward with me as the line moved. We were only one away from the promise of alcoholic relief. “You’ll get to see some of my research tonight.”

  Now my scalp pricked. Esme was smart and if she was changing the subject, it was for a reason.

  She knew.

  “I look forward to being utterly confused by the presentation.”

  She kept her eyes on the bar. “Somehow I believe that you’re exaggerating. Genetics isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but you’re smart and if you hang around a bunch of geneticists all the time I bet you’ve picked up a few things.”

  “I’ve picked up a few things,” I agreed, “however I’ve been to these events before. They go well above and beyond my comprehension. I’ll follow along for approximately one minute, and then be totally lost.”

  “Then why do you come?”

  It was a valid question. What was someone like me doing at a party like this? Someone who barely even understood what the night was about. “I support my friends. And this is a fundraiser, is it not?” I pulled out my wallet and waved it through the air. “I understand money.”

  The couple in front of us cleared out of the way and the bartender looked at us expectantly. “After you.” I held out my hand, indicating that Esme should order first.

  “Basil Hayden’s on the rocks.”

  “Make it two,” I said. I leaned closer. “I thought you didn’t drink bourbon?”

  She flushed, took the glass, stepped away. “I’m sorry about that. There are things—complicated things—about my life that are hard to explain.”

  She kept shrinking away from me. I followed her. “Try me. You might find I’m shockingly understanding. I do work with athletes, if you recall.”

  Her gaze darted around the room and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was scared. “That’s part of the problem,” she muttered. “I like you, Leo. A lot. Too much.”

  I liked that fact but not the warning that was hidden beneath it. “I like you too, Esme. Too much.”

  She eyed me warily. “You wouldn’t like me if you really knew me. If you knew me you’d learn being near me is dangerous. Save us both a lot of trouble and heartache, and walk away right now.”

  “No.”

  I heard her words, knew there was a coded meaning laced inside them, but I couldn’t hear or comprehend any of that because of the fire coursing through my veins.

  “Stupid man,” she muttered. “Go sit down. Don’t talk to me again tonight.” Then she spun and stormed back to her table on the opposite side of the stage from Jeffry’s table.

  Learn things you wish you hadn’t.

  Dangerous.

  Trouble and heartache.

  It was damn hard to think straight but I forced my brain to work anyway. How could Esme possibly be dangerous? She was a tiny thing. Sweet and quiet . . . except when she was in my bed. But dangerous? Never.

  Like a robot I finally succumbed to Esme’s commands. I returned to the table and never looked back. I engaged in conversation, smiled, wrote a nice fat check, but inside I’d gone numb.

  Until Jeffry poked me in the ribs. “Watch this part.”

  The presentation had been going for a good ten minutes, not that I’d seen any of it. When I looked up, the screen flashed to a picture of Jeffry and his team in the lab. The narrator detailed their work on the genetic code, their groundbreaking work creating programs to extrapolate missing DNA.

  And then there was Esme. In the field. An excavation. She was so different in shorts and a t-shirt, her hair swept back in a simple ponytail, no makeup. Several more pictures of her with some very high tech equipment, another with a trowel pointing at bones in the dirt, and then finally in her lab with the skeleton laid out like a primetime forensics show.

  “Dr. Brown teamed up with the Gloria Elba Genetics Research Team to sequence the DNA from multiple ancient skeletons to create the worlds’ first interactive genetic map of human migration.”

  A map of the world came to life in three dimensions. It showed the moving and mixing of different groups from thousands of years back, all the way up to the twentieth century.

  “Her work is just beginning, but as you can see there is already incredible new information coming from her research.”

  I couldn’t help it. My gaze drifted across the room to her. She was sitting very still, looking up at the screen with her hands folded in her lap. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous or excited. Her expression gave nothing away. The only sign she was tense came in the way she held her shoulders.

  The presentation ended and everyone clapped. That’s when she turned and looked right over at me. There wasn’t much to her expression. It was so carefully blank. But I wanted her to need something from me so I raised my hands and clapped just for her. She didn’t move but I saw the change, the fire that ignited, the loneliness that burned inside her.

  I watched and waited after that, knowing she’d eventually go to the restroom. When she finally excused herself I followed. Except she didn’t turn into the women’s restroom as I expected. Instead she continued ahead to the stairs. The only sign she knew I was following her was the way she hesitated at the door, the way she glanced back without actually looking over her shoulder.

  It was an invitation I was not about to refuse.

  I made sure the hallway was empty before I followed her up one, two flights of stairs, down a dark linoleum hallwa
y with display cases, and into a door marked Department of Anthropology.

  “Turn off the lights,” she called as she disappeared inside the third door on the right.

  I flicked the overhead lights off and turned the key she’d left in the door. I hesitated outside her office just long enough to read her nameplate and smile.

  “Close the door.” She was already standing at her office window, looking down at the parking lot. “I had a feeling you’d follow me.”

  “Who’s watching you, Esme?” I sat in the chair opposite her desk to ward off any sexual advances she might make. I wanted inside her. I wanted inside her desperately, but not before I had some answers.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I care about you.” I glanced around her office. It was filled with books and photographs, diplomas and awards, but her desk was shockingly tidy.

  She followed my gaze. “I like to have plenty of space to spread out when I work. I clear it every night before I leave.”

  “Who’s watching you?” I repeated.

  “I’m not who you think I am,” she whispered.

  “I don’t think you’re anything.” Lies. She was my Esme. Needy, pliant, reactive, Esme. She was mine and whatever secrets she held were mine as well.

  “You think I’m sweet. Naïve even. You think I’m innocent.”

  “You’re wrong about that.” I stood in front of her, whispered my knuckles over the curve of her waist. “Sweet, yes. And maybe I had illusions about your naiveté, but you erased those when you begged me to fuck you in your father’s house. I’ve known from the moment you smiled at me with your red lips that you were anything but innocent.” I ran my thumb over her lower lip, tugged it just a bit, enough to send my overactive fantasies into motion yet again.

  Her breasts rose over the top of her black strapless dress as she panted. “And will you fuck me here? On my desk?”

  Oh how I wanted to do many dark things to her here. I wanted her spread out on that desk but I also wanted her on her knees, giving me that red ring I wanted so desperately.