Richer Than Sin

by Meghan March

  Instead of backing away like I was rabid, Lincoln moved his hand closer to me, and for some reason that, plus his continued silence, made me bolder.

  “Did you not hear me? I’m a Gable. You’re sworn to hate me for life. So, it would be better for both of us if you’d turn around and walk your privileged Riscoff ass out the door and let me get on with my day before my aunt gets back and sees you here.”

  Instead of doing what I told him, Lincoln squatted down until his face was only inches from mine. “I’m a Riscoff, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want, including not hating a Gable.”

  Shock filtered through me.

  “At least now I get why you ran this morning. Gotta say, that was a first for me.”

  He reached down, bracketing my hips with both hands, and lifted me to my feet—and directly against his chest.

  His heat soaked into my T-shirt that was micro thin from too many years of washing. My nipples hardened, and the jump of his Adam’s apple told me he felt the hard points poking through the barely there fabric of my bra.

  “I want to see you again.” His breath brushed my ear as he leaned closer.

  I wanted to push away to put space between us but couldn’t bring myself to break his hold on me. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m a Gable. Whatever you think is happening, it’s not. You need to forget you’ve ever seen me. I can’t—”

  “Then tell me you don’t want more, Whitney Gable. Tell me last night wasn’t as good for you as it was for me.”

  His fingertips dug into my hips, and I wanted to rub up against him like a cat in heat. Last night was incredible, and up until I saw the picture of Commodore Riscoff, Roosevelt Riscoff, and him and realized who he was, I was planning on having as many repeats as possible.

  I forced myself to jerk out of his hold. “That doesn’t matter. Your family stole our farm and burned it all down. You might not have been here for that, but we lost everything because of the Riscoffs.”

  I stalked across the floor, but he snagged my wrist and twirled me back around to face him.

  “You’re going to walk away because of some bullshit feud that should’ve been buried a hundred fucking years ago? Is that what you’re seriously saying to me?”

  “Yes! Maybe it’s easy to dismiss it from up in the tower where you live, but—” I pointed to the bucket of water I’d been using to wash the windows. “Where I am, down on solid ground, we notice when someone takes something from us. We especially notice when they take everything.”

  His mouth twisted, and I thought I’d finally hammered home my point. I should have been thrilled as he dropped my wrist, but a sharp feeling stabbed me in the chest.

  “Fuck that.” Lincoln’s deep voice turned harsh, and his expression went hard. “I don’t give a damn. This isn’t over between you and me.”

  He stepped forward and pulled me against him. My body responded with heat flaring between my legs, but my mind clanged like a warning bell.

  I might as well have been deaf to it.

  Lincoln’s lips crashed against mine, kissing me like he was a dying man and I was his only hope of survival. I tried to keep my hands off him, but I failed miserably as I wrapped my arms around his neck to pull him closer.

  Kissing Lincoln Riscoff was like finding salvation when you’d thought all was lost. It didn’t feel like kissing the enemy.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Aunt Jackie’s voice cut through my rioting emotions, and I jerked back as Lincoln released me. I knew exactly when she recognized who he was by her sharp intake of breath.

  “Holy shit, Whitney. Please tell me he’s not who I think he is.”

  “Ma’am, I’m—”

  I interrupted Lincoln before he could say any more. “He’s leaving. Right now.”

  I could almost hear Lincoln’s brain going to work as he opened his mouth to argue with me, but thankfully he listened to my request. He stepped away, and the next thing I heard was the tinkling chimes of the door as it opened and closed.

  Aunt Jackie’s furious gaze speared me. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of explaining to do, and I suggest you start right now.”

  5

  Lincoln

  Present day

  I shake my head and hide a smile when Cricket Gable swings a U-turn on Bridge Street and narrowly misses cars and pedestrians. But that’s until I see who’s sitting in the passenger seat.

  Fuck.

  Her blue eyes are unforgettable. Ten years. Ten thousand years. It doesn’t matter. I could never forget Whitney Gable’s blue eyes. I’ve been bullshitting myself for a decade if I thought I could.

  Everything comes rushing back like a tornado twisting through my body and into my blood, until I swear she’s under my skin again already.

  Who the fuck am I kidding? She’s always been under my skin. I’ve spent a decade trying to forget, and I was lying to myself if I thought I’d made a damn bit of progress.

  Whitney Gable isn’t a woman you forget. She’s a woman you kill to keep.

  And I failed at that.

  I haven’t failed at anything since then—except marrying a woman and producing the heir Commodore has been demanding. I still don’t know how the old man knew she was coming back, but I’ve spent all day telling myself it didn’t matter.

  More lies to myself.

  She’ll always fucking matter.

  You never forget the girl who shattered your heart and left you a different man than you were before you met her. You never forget how you strapped on armor over the holes she left after you publicly humiliated yourself for her.

  And I would do it again if there was a chance I could have stopped her from marrying Ricky Rango.

  But he’s dead now, and Whitney’s fair game. She’s only gotten better with age. Instead of the beautiful girl she was then, now she’s a devastating woman . . .

  I squint for a better look because something dark mars the side of her face and below her eye. Does she have a black eye?

  A rush of anger hits my bloodstream when I see the undeniable bruising, even as she fumbles to slip on giant sunglasses like she’s always wearing in the photos that hit the tabloids even I can’t avoid.

  Who the fuck touched her? If Ricky Rango were still alive, I’d put him in the ground, even though he’s been dead too long to have given her a black eye.

  I stare at her through the windshield. Ricky Rango’s Black Widow.

  Can someone really change that much?

  Part of me wants to say yes, she’s savage enough to kill a man, because it nearly killed me when she left ten years ago, but that’s the bitter side of me. The man she rejected all too publicly.

  The rest of me . . . I don’t think it’s possible.

  “Hey, baby!” Cricket yells from the window she’s climbed completely out of rather than opening the door.

  Hunter walks around her piece-of-shit van to talk to his fiancée, leaving me standing on the sidewalk, staring at Whitney Gable through glass.

  Just like it did all those years ago, my mouth grows a mind of its own, completely separate from my brain.

  “Open it.”

  Whitney keeps her eyes focused straight ahead and pretends she doesn’t hear me.

  We both know she’s full of shit, and not just because the muscles of her throat work as she swallows. She made me believe she wanted nothing from me. Made me believe I was nothing to her. From the pulse hammering under the smooth skin of her neck, I know she fucking lied.

  I step closer.

  “Open the window, Whitney.” Her name hasn’t come out of my mouth in ten years, but goddamn, does it feel good on my lips. “You know you’re going to have to face me eventually.”

  Her lips press together into a flat line while she continues to ignore me.

  Cricket and Hunter’s conversation may as well be happening on another planet, because the only two people that exist in this world are me and the woman who wants to pretend I don’t.

 
“Listen up, Blue. You’re back in my town. My world. You can hear me. You can see me. You can pretend I’m not here all you want, but I am.” I rest an elbow on the window and lean closer. “And there’s one other thing you should know. We aren’t fucking done.”

  Her shoulders tense and her chin jerks in my direction.

  Finally, a reaction.

  I wish I could rip those sunglasses off her face and see her eyes again, but I’ll settle for this . . . for now.

  “I’ll be seeing you soon, Blue. Really soon.”

  Whitney’s bottom lip drops and quivers, and more than anything, I want to close my teeth around it and remind her how much she fucking loved to kiss me.

  My body remembers. It comes to life, my heart pumping faster, my fingers itching to touch her.

  The driver door shuts after Cricket climbs back inside, and I step back.

  “This isn’t over, Whitney Gable. Not by a long shot.”

  With a calculating smile, I shove my hands in my pockets and turn away from the van as Cricket guns it, spinning tires as she pulls away from the sidewalk. Hunter and I both stare after it and I try to act casual, even though Whitney Gable bursting back into my life again is anything but.

  “You need to give your girl driving lessons, Hunt,” I say, watching the van head down the road.

  Hunter’s laugh rings out. “Nah, I like her just the way she is. Fucking crazy. Might get her a safer car, though.”

  I shoot a look at my best friend. “A tank?”

  He grins. “Not a bad idea. I’ll look into it.” He glances at the taillights and then back to me. “Will you and Cricket’s cousin be able to make it through our wedding without killing each other?”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.

  “Killing Whitney Gable is the last thing I want to do.”

  6

  Whitney

  “Are you still hungry? Because you look like you’re about to puke,” Cricket says, drawing my attention away from the dash that’s covered in stickers, mostly of pot leaves and unicorns.

  Puke? Maybe.

  Run screaming out of Gable because Lincoln Riscoff scares the ever-loving hell out of me? Definitely.

  But that’s not something I want to admit to my cousin out loud.

  “Umm,” I mumble because I truly don’t know what to say to her. I hate that he got to me so quickly. I hate that he still affects me like that. I also hate that I heard every single word he said, and that bastard knew it.

  “Because if you’re not going to puke, guac and queso make everything better.” She scans my face and apparently finds the answers she’s looking for. “I think you’re still up for Cocko Taco. But all you have to do is say the word, and I’ll promise to hit Lincoln Riscoff if I see him on the sidewalk again, instead of letting him try to talk to you.”

  I whip my head sideways. “You acted like you didn’t even notice he was there.”

  Cricket’s crooked grin and dancing eyes give her away.

  “You did it on purpose? You whore! You’re my cousin. My best friend! How could you do that to me?”

  She bites her lip and shrugs as she pulls into Cocko Taco and parks beneath the sign and next to the giant rooster made of red, blue, and yellow metal welded together like yard art.

  “Cricket . . .”

  She turns toward me as my unspoken threat trails off.

  “You had to face him sometime. When I saw them on the sidewalk, I thought it would be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Now it’s over and done with, and you don’t have to spend time worrying about him anymore. Your anxiety was messing with your energy. You’ve been a hot mess ever since you got in the van. I could feel it rolling off you. I’m trying to help you find some Zen, Whit.”

  I cover my face with both hands and drop my head back against the headrest. “I know what you’re trying to do, but I was perfectly content with my plan to avoid him for the rest of my natural life. It was a great plan. Fucking amazing.”

  “It was a terrible plan.”

  “And why’s that?” I peek through my fingers to see my cousin looking at me like I’m an idiot.

  “The wedding? We have a bunch of wedding festivities planned, and he’ll be there. Plus . . . Hunter’s mom insisted it all be at The Gables.”

  My fingers snap closed and I stop looking at my cousin because I don’t want her to see my look of horror.

  The Gables. Great. Only one of the fanciest mountainside resorts in the world, and owned by the Riscoffs.

  “Are you sure you don’t want Karma to be your maid of honor?” I ask the windshield.

  Cricket lays a hand on my arm. “No, Whit. I want you. If you truly can’t handle it, I’ll understand. But . . . I will hold it against you forever.”

  “Whore,” I mumble under my breath.

  “No, that’s Karma. I’ve got zero kids, and she has two with no baby-daddy in sight.”

  I draw in a deep breath and try to find the strength to tell my cousin it’s fine. I can do this. I won’t flake out on her like I basically have for the last ten years.

  “I’m picking out my own dress, and I get to throw you whatever kind of bachelorette party I want.”

  Her squeal fills the van. “Fuck yes!” She lunges across the center console and wraps her arms around me. “Thank you, Whit. You’re the best, and I love you so much. It’ll be great. I promise. You won’t even notice he exists.”

  And that’s where Cricket is dead wrong. Pretending Lincoln Riscoff doesn’t exist is impossible.

  I already tried it once, and I remember exactly how that turned out . . .

  7

  Whitney

  The past

  “I’ve got something you might want.”

  His voice.

  My head jerked up and I looked around, thinking I must have been hallucinating, but no. I wasn’t.

  Lincoln Riscoff was standing in the doorway of the Havalins’ bathroom, holding my abandoned boot, while I was on my hands and knees scrubbing grout.

  Awesome. Why don’t we just take a scene right out of Cinderella? The prince bringing around a shoe to fit the maid.

  I tore my gaze away from my favorite boot dangling in front of my face and forced my attention back to the grout.

  I will not acknowledge him. I will not give him the satisfaction.

  I also wouldn’t think about how my lips tingled when I remembered what it felt like to kiss him.

  “Whitney—”

  “Go away.” I bit out the words as humiliation burned my skin. I wasn’t ashamed of cleaning. It was honest work, and I needed all the money I could save if I was ever going to get out of this town. But I hated having him standing over me like he was better than me.

  “Give me a goddamned chance, Blue. You did when you didn’t know my name.”

  “I’m working. Leave me alone.” I scrubbed harder, digging the toothbrush between the edges of the expensive tile.

  “Just look at me. I’m not giving up. I’ll stand here all day, if that’s what it takes.”

  My lips screwed together in an angry moue and I bolted to my feet, one hand on my hip and the other jabbing the toothbrush into his chest.

  “You can stand wherever you want. That’s what Riscoffs do, right? Whatever the hell they want. Guess what? Not everyone has that privilege. Some of us have work to do, and you’re in my way.”

  Something flashed across his hazel gaze, and it softened.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His roughened words sounded completely honest.

  It was such a simple thing to say, but it was beyond effective. When was the last time someone thought about me? I’d always been the afterthought.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. It would be so easy to fall under Lincoln’s spell, especially because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him or how he made me feel.

  Until I found out his name.

  “Why can’t you be someone else,” I whispered, wanting to take the words back as soon as they escaped
my lips.

  When his hand closed over mine, the toothbrush fell to the tile, and the boot landed beside it.

  “Why can’t you see me the way you did before you knew who I was?”

  I looked away, down toward the corner of the room. “It’s not that easy. You don’t understand. You won. We lost.”

  Lincoln’s fingers curved under my chin and redirected my gaze to his. “I wouldn’t say I’m winning right now. I’m looking at the only thing I want, and you’re telling me it’s impossible because of our last names. I don’t buy that. I will never buy that. Just give me a goddamned chance. That’s all you have to do.”

  “Whitney? You done up there yet?”

  My aunt’s voice cut between us more effectively than a freshly sharpened ax. She was downstairs cleaning with my mom and cousin. After Jackie saw us together last time, she spared me the lecture, but her harsh stare said more than enough. Basically, what the hell are you thinking? If my mom were to come up . . .

  “I need ten more minutes!”

  “And I need ten more years,” Lincoln said, his voice rougher as it turned deeper and more desperate. “Maybe that would be enough to get you out of my system, but I doubt it.”

  His words hit me hard and my blood heated. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone.

  “We can’t do this. If my family found out . . . they’d disown me.”

  “No one has to know but us. Not until we want them to know.”

  “They could never know.”

  Victory flashed in his gaze, making me want to snatch back the words, because it sounded like I’d made a decision.

  Have I?

  As soon as his knuckles brushed along the skin of my bicep, my entire body trembled, telling me I had decided.

  I was going to go against everything I’d been taught my entire life—that Riscoffs were evil, money-grubbing, dishonest, no-good cheats—and I was going to have an affair with the heir to the empire.