by Ivy Layne
Lucas met Evers' eyes and shook his head. "Lost him. I waited too long, but I didn't want to leave Summer alone when we didn't know what was going on."
"You did the right thing," Evers said immediately. "We'll have to check her office to see if he got anything else, or just the laptop and phone."
For the first time reality sank in. My laptop and phone were gone. Stolen. I had everything on them. What wasn't on my laptop was on my phone.
I reminded myself to relax. They were both backed up. Getting a new laptop and phone was an added expense, and inconvenient, but it wasn't the end of the world.
I didn't bother to ask. I already knew the break-in had nothing to do with Cynthia. Someone interested in Cynthia would have gone straight for her. Instead of my office, they would have headed to her bedroom to raid her lingerie drawer. A few years ago, she had a stalker who'd done exactly that.
Her housekeeper had walked into her bedroom, a stack of clean, white sheets in her arms, and screamed bloody murder when she saw a portly little man with a goatee pawing through Cynthia's underwear drawer, his pockets stuffed with wisps of silk and lace. Yuck.
After that, Cynthia had kicked up the security. This wasn't about her.
No, whoever it was had gone straight for my laptop and phone. I didn't have any digital information worth stealing. Somehow, I didn't think he was after the contents of my modest savings and investment accounts.
If he was looking for proof of contact with my father, he was out of luck. Smokey Winters wasn't the email type, and he hadn't called me in weeks.
"How did he get away?" Evers asked.
"The best we could tell," Riley said, "he went over the wall like some kind of goddamn spider monkey. It looked like he had the laptop strapped to his back and he just—" Riley mimed climbing. "By the time we got to the other side, he was gone."
"Fuck."
"Summer need a doctor?" Riley asked.
"No," I said, struggling to sit up. "Griffen said I was fine."
Evers turned, giving me a sharp look. "Don't even think about getting up. Keep that ice on your ankle and stay where you are."
"Bossy," Charlie said under her breath, earning a tiny giggle from me and scowls from all of the men in the room. She rolled her eyes at me and I smiled back.
"I have to get back to the party," I said. "Cynthia—"
"Cynthia is covered," Evers said shortly. "Nothing is going to happen to her. I'm staying here with you."
I opened my mouth to object, then took in the resolve in his ice-blue eyes, the mulish set of his chin, and kept my mouth closed. I didn't have the energy to argue with Evers, but more than that, I didn't want him to leave.
I was tired and beat up. Exhausted and scared.
Evers made me feel safe.
I didn't understand myself.
I didn't trust him. I was still angry with him.
And when I thought about who I wanted most, the answer was Evers. Only Evers.
I wished that this time it wasn't about a case. That this time it was about me and not his job.
Chapter Fifteen
Evers
"Cynthia, I want you to reconsider this meeting with Perry. We both know it's a bad idea. He's unpredictable and—"
"I want him to go away, Evers. If this is what it takes, I'm doing it." She flounced across the wood-paneled bar, her heels silent on the thick Persian rug, and sat in a wide leather chair, scowling at me.
"Fine," I said shortly.
I was tired and not in the mood to argue with Cynthia about Clint Perry. I'd stayed up half the night sitting with Summer, watching her sleep.
I'd fucked up. Somewhere there'd been a hole in our security. The intruder must have had an invitation. The cameras hadn't caught him coming over the wall to get in, but they'd certainly caught him on his way out. Riley had been right, he'd scaled the tall limestone wall just like a fucking spider monkey.
Somehow, he got his hands on an invitation. He'd been close enough to Summer to hit her. Twice.
When I thought about what else he could have done, alone in her little office, Summer at his mercy—
I couldn't picture it without wanting to tear him apart. I was here to keep her safe. To get her help finding her father, yes, but mostly to keep her safe.
I'd fucked it up. After Riley, Lucas, and Charlie had left, she'd pushed me away and disappeared into her closet, emerging in a long T-shirt before she crawled into bed and murmured, "You can go. I'm fine."
I hadn't left. I made myself comfortable beside her on the bed, ignoring her protests that she was fine, waiting until she fell asleep. More than once, I’d stopped myself from reaching out to stroke her hair. She wouldn’t allow that. Not yet. Maybe not ever at this rate.
When she was asleep, I left two guards on her door and went to meet with the rest of the team.
The guests had been filtering out, Cynthia tipsy, giggling, and having the time of her life flitting from one group to another, bestowing hugs and air kisses as she said goodbye.
It annoyed me to see her basking in the success of Summer's hard work while Summer herself lay asleep in bed, in pain and alone. Riley, Lucas, Griffen, and I met in the control room and had a quick debrief. After, I returned to Summer's room where I lay beside her, staring at the ceiling and listening to her deep, even breaths.
I left before the sun came up, knowing she wouldn't appreciate opening her eyes to see me beside her. Never before had I regretted my mistakes with her this much.
"You look tired." Cynthia watched me with curious eyes.
"I didn't sleep well," I admitted.
Cynthia stood from the deep leather armchair and sauntered across the room toward me, her eyes intent on mine.
Intent and predatory.
Oh, shit. I'd known this was coming. I still hadn't decided how to handle it. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but there was no fucking way—
"You know," Cynthia said in a sultry voice, "if you're not sleeping well, I could help you with that."
She came to a stop in front of me and lifted her hands to rest on my chest, leaning in and tilting her head up, lifting her mouth to mine, perfectly positioned for a kiss.
Objectively, I looked at her and wondered how any man could tell her no. She was perfection from head to toe, every strand of hair, every curled eyelash, every toned muscle and rounded curve the feminine ideal.
There was nothing about her that wasn't gorgeously sexy, and still she left me cold.
I wanted Summer.
Cynthia was no substitute.
I wrapped my fingers around her wrists and drew them from my chest, backing up to put distance between us, searching for something to say that would explain without leaving her feeling rejected.
I liked Cynthia, and she'd been having a bad time of it where men were concerned.
I didn't want to hurt her. I just didn't want her.
I opened my mouth to say something, I wasn't sure what, when Cynthia pulled her wrists free and waved her hand in the air in dismissal.
"Don't bother. Whatever you're going to say is bullshit. You're not interested."
She didn't sound angry so much as intrigued. I was glad she wasn't angry, but intrigued made me nervous.
"I'm not. I'm sorry, it's not—"
Another wave of her hand, brushing away whatever I'd been about to say. "I know, It's not me it's you, blah blah. Except it's not me or you, is it? It's Summer."
I went still. The last thing I needed was for Cynthia to butt her head in the middle of my problems with Summer. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Good try. I've been watching you two. The way she won't look at you. The way your eyes follow her whenever you're in the same room. I'm not blind. I wasn't sure exactly what was going on, figured I'd make a run at you since you were here, and she said she didn't mind."
I started in surprise. "She said what?"
Cynthia shrugged and gave me a knowing grin. "I asked if there was anything going on, an
d she said absolutely not. Then I asked if she minded if I made a move, and she said you were all mine."
She strode behind the bar and opened the small refrigerator. Pulling a bottle of champagne from inside, she poured herself a flute and sipped, studying me like I was a bug under a microscope.
I've faced down people a hell of a lot more intimidating than Cynthia Stevens, yet under the weight of that gaze, I wanted to turn and run. This conversation was not going to go well.
"So, what happened? Did you fuck it up, or did she?"
Defeated, I went to the bar and poured myself a finger of whiskey. It was the good stuff, and I sipped slowly before admitting, "It was me.”
"Not a surprise," she muttered.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Evers, come on. You're the original rolling stone. You go from one woman to another, flash that charming smile, remind them you don't make any promises, and then you're gone. You've been like that since you first discovered what your dick is for.”
I grunted in half-hearted protest. Cynthia ignored me.
"Summer is not that kind of girl. Nothing wrong with taking your fun where you find it, but that's not her. I've known her for four years, and she doesn't sleep around. She doesn't do one-night stands. That's all you do. If somebody fucked this thing up, it's an easy bet it was you."
"Thanks a lot."
"I'm just being honest. You know I'm right."
I didn't say anything to that. She was right, and I was disgusted with myself.
"What are you going to do about it?" she asked, sipping her champagne. "Do you have feelings for her, or do you just want to nail her again?"
"It wasn't like that," I said, irritated at her words. I never nailed Summer. Even at the beginning, Summer was so much more than that.
"Then what is it? Don't tell me Evers Sinclair is in love."
"That's our business, not yours," I snapped back. If all she was going to do was make fun of me—
"You are," Cynthia said in quiet amazement. “You’re in love with her. I never thought I'd see the day. You couldn't have picked a better girl. So, what's the problem? Did you finally find a woman you can't charm?"
I tossed back the rest of my whiskey to avoid scowling at Cynthia. It was generally a bad call to scowl at the client, but Cynthia didn't really count. We'd known each other too long, and this wasn't a business discussion.
"You might as well tell me," she said, sounding pleased with herself as she leaned against a table and drained the last of her champagne. "Unless you want me to ask her."
The threat was delivered in a sweet tone, but that didn't make it any less of a threat. I sighed and poured myself another finger of whiskey, swirling the dark liquid in the cut crystal glass and taking a long sip before I answered.
"She was a job, okay? We discovered her when Axel met Emma. Found out she was related to the Winters. Her dad has issues, and we wanted to keep an eye on her. It seemed like too much of a coincidence, her turning up in Atlanta."
"You thought she'd knock on the door to Winters House with her hand out," Cynthia said quietly. "But she didn't, did she?"
"No, she didn't. It all went on longer than it was supposed to. Their lives got hectic and her father—" I cut off and shook my head. The Winters’ problems, Summer's father, my father—none of it was Cynthia's business.
"Long story short, he's trouble, and until things calmed down for the Winters we thought it was best to keep them apart. I kept an eye on her."
"Oh, I get it. You kept an eye on her up close and personal."
I looked away. When she put it like that it sounded sordid. Ugly.
"It was like that, but it wasn't. The first time we—"
"Yeeees?" she asked, drawing out the word, prompting for more.
“The first time we were together it wasn’t about work or the Winters. That was Summer and me at a wedding, a few too many drinks, and I just…" I floundered for words. "She's Summer. I lost my head."
Cynthia let out a wistful sigh. "I remember those days. Your head tells you to hold back and the rest of you dives right in. I bet she scared the hell out of you, didn't she?"
I was getting really fucking sick of people implying that I was a coward. Just because I didn't do relationships didn't mean I was scared. I wasn't afraid. I was discerning.
Yeah, right. Whatever I had to tell myself.
"I saw her on and off for a year," I said, changing the subject from my cowardice, "and then she found out that she was a case, that we were keeping tabs on her and her father—"
"And she threw your lying ass out."
"Pretty much."
"So, what’s your plan? You don't seem to be having any luck winning her back. She tenses up every time you walk in the room."
"I'm working on it," I said. "She doesn't trust me, and I don't know how to change her mind."
"You could start by telling her about us."
"There's nothing to tell," I protested. There wasn't. Cynthia and I never had more than a fling, and that fling was over a decade old.
"Trust me, Evers, it matters." Ready for my protest, she went on, "Not because there's something going on now, but because there was, and if she figures out you didn't tell her? You just look like a liar again."
“How am I supposed to tell her? Just blurt it out?"
I set the crystal glass on the wet bar, not interested in more whiskey. I didn't need a drink. I needed to figure out how to fix things with Summer.
"I don't know," Cynthia said, clearly amused at my dilemma. "That's for you to figure out. I'm just giving you some friendly advice."
The tap of heels sounded in the hallway, the gait slow with a slight hitch. Summer.
I was so occupied trying to figure out what I was going to say to Summer about Cynthia—what she might believe and what wouldn't dig me into a deeper hole—that I didn't notice Cynthia sidle up beside me.
I didn't catch the way she turned to face me, positioning herself so that whoever walked through the door would get a clear view of the two of us.
The door opened just as Cynthia rose up on her toes, threw her arms around my neck, and planted a hot, wet kiss right on my mouth.
Chapter Sixteen
Evers
Summer stepped into the room and came up short, letting out a breathy Oh of surprise. I clamped my hands around Cynthia's waist and pushed, trying to disentangle myself from her embrace.
She was like an octopus, her lean arms sticky tentacles that grabbed on and wouldn't be dislodged. I tore my head back from hers and caught a glimpse of Summer’s red face, the flash of anguish in her eyes.
Her words barely more than a whisper, she said, "Excuse me," and dashed from the room.
"Cynthia," I growled, trying to pry her off of me, "what the fuck are you doing?"
Cynthia released me, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a grin and a wink.
What the fuck?
She gestured to the door of the library through which Summer had so recently fled.
"There you go, champ. Now you have to explain. Maybe if you beg and tell her the truth about how you feel, you might have a chance in hell of winning her back. Might. But you’d better hurry."
"Thanks a lot," I grumbled, leaving the bar at a dead run, following the click of Summer’s heels on the hardwood floor. I caught up with her outside the door to the library.
Grabbing her arm, I yanked her inside and shut the door behind us, turning the lock.
"It's not what you think," I said immediately, the cliché tumbling from my lips.
Summer straightened, wrapping her arms around her chest, refusing to look at me. "It's not my business. I didn't realize—but it's not my business."
"It is your business. And it isn't what it looked like."
Summer lifted her head, spearing me with a hot blue gaze, tears swimming in her eyes.
"It looks like you and Cynthia were kissing. You're both adults. It doesn't have anything to do with me—"
&
nbsp; “It has everything to do with you," I burst out. "The whole thing was about you."
"I don't understand." Her voice cracked, tears spilling over her cheeks. She dropped her head to hide her face and pushed past me, intent on the door.
I was screwing up again. I was done making excuses. I needed to come clean. To tell her everything.
Everything.
Including the stuff I didn't want to admit, even to myself.
I stepped in her way, sliding to the side when she would have moved around me. "Just hear me out. Please."
Summer shook her head no, but she didn't move. I had to start talking, fast, before she took off on me again.
"Cynthia and I had a thing. A long time ago. Before she was famous. Back when she still lived in Atlanta. She wasn't my girlfriend. It wasn't serious. We hooked up once or twice when she came back, but not in years. It ended way before you went to work for her. There's nothing going on with Cynthia."
"Then why were you kissing her?" Summer studied the carpet between her feet, refusing to look at me.
"I wasn't kissing her. She was kissing me."
Summer let out a breath. "She said she was interested."
"She made it clear," I agreed. "And when I turned her down, she figured out that there's no way I would hook up with her when the only woman I want is you."
I waited for Summer to say something. Anything. She lifted her gaze from the carpet and stared me, eyes wide and watery, mouth closed. Waiting.
Shit. Of course, telling her I wanted her wouldn't be enough.
To me, wanting Summer meant everything.
I didn't just want to sleep with her. I wanted her. Wanted to talk to her and laugh with her. I wanted to fall asleep with her and wake up with her.
To me, I want you covered all of that.
From the hesitant look in her eyes, the confusion clouding her gaze, I knew it didn't mean the same thing to her. She needed more.
I tried again. "Summer, I screwed everything up with you. We started, and it was just about sex. I let you think it was always about sex. It was easier."
