by Jane Henry
I’d make everything up to her, and that started now. I would show her how sorry I was without uttering a word. I pushed the tip of my tongue firmly, dividing her slit through the fabric, spurred on by her little moans and gasps as I teased and suckled. I wanted her so primed that when I licked her bare, she’d come undone.
She gasped for air and whispered a broken, “Ethan.”
Forgive me, I thought, pulling down the sweet pale satin. Her hips rose, helping me strip her, as I tugged her panties slowly down the length of her legs. I lifted one foot, then the other, before I parted her legs and lowered myself down to her pussy. Holding her ass in my hands, I drew my tongue lazily along her slit. Her whole body stilled, and she stopped breathing, but her fingers wove through my hair. Rocking my tongue back and forth in a steady tempo, I squeezed her ass cheeks in my hands, then drew my tongue along her clit with the barest whisper of a touch, until her body tightened, her breath hitched, then she hissed out a breath, her back bowed as her climax ripped through her. I rode her sweet and steady, letting her take pleasure in this, until she fell back on the couch, panting. I kissed first one thigh, then the other, before I pulled her panties back up and righted her skirt.
“Yeah?” I whispered, leaning down and giving her a hug. I held her for only a second before she let me go.
“You have to leave.” She pulled away, turning her face from me, and I knew I had to respect this resistance if we were going to accomplish anything at all. There would be a fine line between give and take between us. With effort, I pushed myself off her, but before I did, I brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. I stood, and she swung her legs around, straightening her skirt. Her hair clung to her cheeks, her pupils dilated, her clothes rumpled and cheeks a gorgeous shade of deep pink. It took everything in me not to take this further.
“You... sure you don’t need me to call a doctor?” I asked, still tasting her on my lips. I ignored how my cock stirred.
“God, no,” she said, looking away. “It’s just a few scrapes. I won’t even notice it tomorrow.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Just be careful.”
“I’m fine, Ethan,” she lied, her wavering voice giving her away, and her voice was barely a whisper when she begged me. “Please go now. You’ve had your moment of heroism. You’ve… apologized for your behavior today. And seen for yourself that no one’s followed me home. You’ve seen my humble abode. Seriously, now it’s time for you to go.”
Her eyes went from heated to reserved once more and I suspected she regretted her moment of weakness. I was okay with that. I knew what I wanted. And I knew it would take time.
“Go, Ethan,” she whispered.
“I didn’t come here to see where you lived or any shit like that.”
Her eyes flamed then, no longer pleading, but angry. It would take a hell of a lot more to earn her forgiveness, this I knew. “Go.”
“Fine,” I huffed, then turned to her. “Can I at least help you to your room or something? I mean, what are you gonna do, crawl to bed?” Christ.
“What exactly are you trying to accomplish here? I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. If you think for a minute, you’ll ingratiate yourself—”
“God, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re right. It’s time for me to go. You’ve got my number?” She shook her head. I pulled out my cell phone. “Yours?”
She gave me her number, and I programmed her into my phone, then dialed.
Adorably, she picked it up when it rang. “Hello?”
“There,” I said into the speaker. “Now you have mine. Have a good night, Haven. Oh, and one more thing? You do not leave this place by yourself tomorrow. I’ll send a car to get you in the morning.”
Her eyes met mine across the room. Huffing out a breath, her gaze was anything but angry, as if she was pleased with my request but had to save face by resisting. “Can you do me a favor and grab my heels before you go?”
“Fuck no. I’m trashing those.”
She hung up the phone and glared. “You will not!”
“Stop me,” I said, opening her door. “You deserve better than those anyway.” I’d get her another pair. I slammed the door behind her, grabbed the shoes still tipped haphazardly on the walkway, and tossed them in a nearby barrel. Hell, she deserved better than me.
When I got back to the penthouse, they were all waiting for me. Sabrina had fallen asleep with her head on Anson’s shoulder, Caelan sat in an overstuffed chair with his book open, Walker was playing a game on his tablet. Xavier sat in the chair he sat in the very first day I’d met him, a drink in his hand, his tie loosened. They all looked up to me when I entered, and Sabrina blinked herself awake.
“We have to talk,” Xavier said, his jaw clenched as the door to the foyer opened. For the umpteenth time that night, I ran a hand through my hair, then nodded my head.
“Hell yeah, we do.” I sat down on the couch next to Walker and slumped in the chair. “It’s time you know what I did to Haven Wright.”
I’d own it. Then I’d make it better.
“When I was a twenty-one-year-old dumbass, I dated her. She was nineteen, and I seduced her. I was her first.” I shook my head. “She wasn’t mine.” I wasn’t sure why I shared this and yet it seemed relevant. “I was part of a major scam operation that promised a high-yield annuity, payable when they reached retirement age. Essentially, we swindled people out of their savings and retirement plans.” I wasn’t proud of this shit, preying on the innocent. There were some people who deserved what they got, but the Wrights didn’t fall into that category. “That’s how we met. Her parents had been targeted by the guy I worked for, and I came along for the ride. I won her trust, and that helped win her father’s trust, too. We got into her parent’s accounts. Got their money. I took her fucking virginity, and when the operation was done, I dumped her.”
I expected them to condemn me, at least Sabrina since the others knew I’d had a fucked-up history. Grifters always did. But she just looked at me with wide, sad eyes. Maybe she read repentance in my eyes. Maybe they all did.
“So she blames you for her parents’ losses?”
“She blames me for a helluva lot more than that, and she’s right to. I helped rob her parents blind. But she’s convinced I took advantage of her. Took her virginity as part of the plan. And it wasn’t. The truth is, I fell hard for her. Hurt like hell to walk away. And it made me take a good, long look at what I’d been doing.”
“Yeah, dude,” Walker interjected. “Did some digging while you were gone. She makes an okay salary for this area? But she pays a mortgage, and the mortgage ain’t hers, man. She lives in a tiny, shitty apartment.”
Jesus.
“Yeah.”
“That was in your past, Ethan,” Sabrina soothed. “I’m sure she’ll find it in her heart to forgive you, when she sees who you’ve become, how you’ve changed.”
Would she? And even if she did, how would I forgive myself?
Three
It was almost comical how much things could change from one day to the next, I thought, as I walked with the throng of early-morning commuters down Park Avenue to the fancy Art Deco building the Masters called home.
Yesterday, I’d been a harried defense attorney with multiple clients needing my time and attention. Today, I had called my boss and officially handed off all my other cases for the duration, so I could focus on getting Max free.
Yesterday, I’d seen my future stretching straight out before me to the horizon, and my past had been more or less behind me. Today, the past had become the present, and I found myself reliving the same mistakes I was sure I’d moved on from.
Was torture by Groundhog Day a thing?
It was safe to say I was just the tiniest bit cranky at this development, and the worst part was, I could only blame myself.
I’d woken up with Ethan Warner’s taste in my mouth and lingering dreams of him still dancing through my head. He’d been the one whose tongue had tasted lik
e the most potent whiskey, but I was the one who’d acted like I was out-of-my-mind drunk, letting him get to me, letting him waken the dormant craving for him that seemed to still live in my blood.
Before my eyes had even popped open this morning, I’d had to slide my hands down over my taut belly, beneath the hem of my damp panties, to touch myself, replaying every second of what Ethan had done to me last night. When I’d made myself come, his name had been on my lips.
It was inexcusable, really. What was that expression about doing the same things over again and expecting a different result? Apparently, insanity was my middle name.
But I wasn’t going to go quietly. No fucking way. The attraction was potent, that much was undeniable, but I was determined to fight it with every ounce of my willpower.
Ethan claimed he’d changed, though I’d seen no evidence, and I’d changed, too. Passion was no longer enough to win me over. Attraction and connection, sweet words of protection and a possessive attitude, weren’t enough either.
I wasn’t quite sure what would be.
One thing I did know was that nowadays, Haven Wright didn’t sit at home waiting for Mr. Warner to get his ass out of bed and come get her. So after swinging my legs over the bed and testing my feet, which seemed a tiny bit tender but otherwise fine, thank God, I took a quick shower, dried my hair, and slipped my glasses on. Then I’d thrown on a black and white print sheath dress that covered my scraped knees, completed my outfit with a teal cardigan in deference to the murky gray morning and lower temperature, and decided to walk myself to the Masters’ condo.
I wasn’t an idiot trying to take her life in her hands to prove a point. I got that there was some level of danger involved in being Max Pederson’s attorney, and that if I was being watched by the Bianchis, the danger had kicked up a notch the minute I contacted Sabrina Fowler, whose father had been a Bianchi pawn, too. But I had to weigh all of that very real danger against the idea of letting those assholes take my independence from me.
I lived in East Harlem, a little more than thirty blocks away, and I was used to walking way more than a mile and a half every day. Plus, these were well-traveled miles, during the morning rush hour. Miles I walked past the watchful eyes of Mrs. Molina at the bakery, and the heavyset guy at the newspaper stand. It was hardly a dark alley late at night.
I didn’t expect Ethan to see it that way, but then… I didn’t give a shit what Ethan thought.
And just in case, I’d stopped at Molinas’ to get everyone some conchas, my personal favorite sweet bread.
Far more important than my personal safety was how the hell we were going to keep Max safe while in prison. I’d already suggested requesting protective custody to remove him from the general population, but Max refused. Scared as he was, I think he knew that his best and only chance was to stick with Luis, who might have information that could set them both free.
I knew I’d have to return to the prison, maybe as early as today, and I was determined to get Max to plead with Luis to let me be his attorney of record, or to at least pass me information through Max. I knew the man was frightened, but I couldn’t think of another way to get the information we needed, and getting it was more crucial than ever, now that I knew what had happened to Ethan’s brother.
My heart sank to the pavement as I remembered Ethan’s face last night. I couldn’t imagine the pain he’d gone through, losing the mirror image of himself. And I didn’t want to feel bad for him, but how could I not? Hearing the way he’d really grown up—a far cry from the suburban, middle class upbringing he’d invented for Tad Warner nine years ago—wrecked me.
My phone chirped from the side pocket of my briefcase, which I’d slung over my shoulder. I transferred the bakery bag to my free hand and dug the phone out, just in case it was important. Maybe something about Max. Or possibly, Ethan had figured out that I wasn’t waiting for him back at my apartment.
My heart thrummed with excitement that was as real as it was unwanted. Did I want to see what he did when I defied him? Hell, maybe so.
In the end, though, the message wasn’t about either of those things. It was a text from my dad, reminding me that their quarterly real estate taxes were due on the fifteenth, and though he hated to ask, would it be possible for me to help them out again?
I typed out a quick affirmative reply and shoved the phone back in my bag with a sigh.
We did this dance every week or two. I’d already been planning to pay the taxes, the same way I paid their monthly mortgage—I’d even put the money aside already—but my dad never liked to presume. I knew he hated that he had to rely on his only daughter to help them out every month when he’d scrimped and saved his entire life, so he’d never be dependent on anyone, but he had no choice. I was their late-in-life baby, born when my dad was already forty-eight. Now that he was in his seventies, various health problems kept him from holding down a job, and all the money he’d put away for retirement was currently lining someone else’s pocket.
Someone named Ethan Warner.
I’d needed that reminder this morning.
The doorman greeted me when I walked in and called upstairs to announce my arrival. I only heard his half of the conversation, but I had to stifle a smile.
“Yes, sir. Ms. Wright is here.” The doorman frowned. “I don’t know, sir. No, sir, she didn’t say. She seems to be alone, yes. Yes, sir, I know you did. Right. Shall I…” He glanced at me apprehensively, and I wasn’t sure if he was concerned for my safety or his own, as he ventured, “Shall I send her up, sir?”
Apparently, the answer was in the affirmative, and also apparent was the fact that Ethan was pissed.
Good.
Maybe Mr. Warner needed a little reminder that the world didn’t revolve around him.
By the time the elevator doors slid open on the penthouse level, I’d worked myself into a fine temper and I was glad to see Ethan standing in the foyer to greet me, despite the red flush to his face and the fire flickering in his blue eyes.
Bring it on, I thought to myself, and Ethan wasted no time doing just that.
“You. Are. An. Idiot,” he told me without preamble, coming forward to take me by the arm.
“Hey!” I protested, wrenching my elbow from his grasp. “Get your hands off me unless I ask you to put them there. Which I will not.”
“Oh, morning, Haven,” Sabrina said, walking up behind us while knotting a blue band in her thick, red curls. Anson followed on her heels, and when he put his arm around her waist, she leaned against him tiredly. Either she hadn’t noticed Ethan and I tussling, or she was so used to Neanderthals that she didn’t even pay attention to them anymore.
Maybe that was the right idea.
“Good morning,” I returned politely, ignoring the towering rage monster beside me. “Sleep well?”
“Mmm, long night here, actually,” Sabrina said with a sigh. Her eyes fell on the bakery bag I carried. “What’s that?”
“Oh, they’re conchas. From this little Guatemalan bakery I passed on my way here. Have you ever had them?”
“Did someone say conchas?” Walker demanded, coming into the hall. “Oh, hey Haven. You got here fast. Ethan only sent the car, like, ten minutes ago.”
Ethan inhaled through his nose, and I could almost feel him vibrating with rage. I’d never seen him in a temper before, but it seemed like I was about to.
He grabbed the bakery bag from my hand and shoved it at Walker’s chest. Walker caught it instinctively with both hands, like a baby.
“Hey, man, respect the pastries!” he complained.
Ethan didn’t seem to hear him, because he was too busy dragging me down the hall and into a little powder room. He flipped on the light and locked the door behind us.
“Explain yourself,” he demanded.
“Um, no. I don’t answer to you. And while we’re at it,” I told him, folding my arms over my chest while my briefcase banged uselessly into my side, “how about you stop dragging me all over the place
like a sack of potatoes?”
He took a step toward me, and I moved back a pace. My ass smacked into the cold stone of the vanity behind me, and still he kept coming until he was looming over me.
“Sacks of potatoes show more sense than you have this morning,” he informed me in a low, menacing voice.
I swallowed. I’d worn low-heeled sandals today, partly because they were comfortable to walk in and partly because my toes were still a little smushed from the abuse I’d given them the day before. It had seemed like a smart choice at the time, but now the difference in size between us was more noticeable than ever. I felt tiny and helpless, and even though it made something clench at my core to know that his anger was on my behalf, it also pissed me right the fuck off.
Of course, I wasn’t the only one who noticed the difference.
“At least you picked decent footwear today,” he remarked, moving back slightly so he could look down at my light pink toe nails. “That may have been the only smart choice you’ve made. Why the hell didn’t you wait for the car I told you I’d send?”
“Because I’m a grown woman?” I suggested smartly. “Because I was ready early and there was no reason to sit around…”
“Bullshit! All you had to do was call,” he growled. “I thought yesterday you needed your ass spanked, and today you’ve only confirmed that suspicion.”
Arousal thundered through me, but I shoved it away. “Oooh,” I taunted. “We’re kinky now, too?”
He glowered at me, and I quickly scanned the bathroom to see if there was room in here for him to make good on his threat, and if I had a chance of escape if he did. Quickly, I changed the subject.
