The huge house glowed with light as she approached. Alighting from the car, Alyssa felt nerves flutter in her belly. She pressed a hand there, trying to quell the response.
Mitch bounded down the stairs to greet her. Familiar with the frequent bouts of self-consciousness that struck her at these kinds of events, he wrapped a steadying arm around her waist. But for once she found she didn’t need the support.
Sure, the nerves were still there, beneath the surface, but somewhere in the past few days she’d found a sense of strength she hadn’t realized she possessed.
Or maybe she was finally getting fed up with worrying about everyone else’s opinion. She was having a hard enough time keeping her own wants and needs straight. She really didn’t have any energy left over to worry about anyone else.
Leaning close, she pressed an appreciative kiss to Mitch’s cheek before pulling out of his embrace. Normally, she didn’t like to walk into these things alone, preferring to have the shield of another person against those sharp, assessing gazes.
Tonight, for some reason, the thought of having every eye in the place trained on her didn’t bother her.
Striding purposefully up the steps, she could feel Mitch’s puzzled gaze trained on her back, but ignored it. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Alyssa let her gaze travel over the crush of people below her.
It was a far cry from the ball she’d attended a few nights ago. Guilt niggled at her. She hadn’t told Mitch—about the ball or Beckett. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not when her own thoughts were so twisted she had no idea what to say.
Slipping up beside her, Mitch leaned close and whispered into her ear, “I’m going to round up some drinks and Vance Eaton. Let’s get business out of the way and celebrate.”
Nodding, she let him disappear into the crowd. The benefit was for a local children’s hospital. It was a charity her father and stepmother had supported for years. In fact, Alyssa hoped to God Bridgett wasn’t here tonight. On top of everything else, she didn’t think she could handle the inevitable emotional hit.
Most of the people here knew her as Reginald Vaughn’s oldest daughter. They accepted her as one of their own, even if for most of her life she’d been followed by hushed whispers. Several people flashed her polite smiles, although none closed the gap to actually speak to her.
Just as well. She wasn’t great with pointless small talk and really had nothing to say to these people.
Melting back into her default position on the edges of the action, Alyssa tried not to hunch her shoulders. There was something about these things that always made the bruised little girl she’d been resurface.
Maybe it was the endless lectures that had preceded any appearance at a public event. Or the weight of worrying about every move she made and every word out of her mouth and whether or not her father would approve.
Ten minutes in, her body was strung tight with tension and the nape of her neck prickling with a warning that made her want to flee.
Out of nowhere, a heavy arm slipped around her waist, heat suffusing her side. Her body responded immediately, coming alive in a burst of awareness that left her skin tingling.
Brushing her with a tight smile, Beckett bent close and whispered into her ear, “I don’t like seeing another man touch you.”
“You don’t have the right to care,” she countered.
“Didn’t say I did. Just that it bothers me.”
It shouldn’t matter, either that he cared or that he realized he had no claim on her. But it did. Mainly because her rebellious body said he most certainly did have a claim, one he’d staked very thoroughly.
Urging her forward, Beckett propelled her onto the dance floor, spinning her into his arms until they were chest to chest. They floated together, Alyssa powerless to do more than follow his lead unless she wanted to make a scene. And the last thing she ever wanted to do at these things was make a scene. She’d eat glass before that happened.
This wasn’t the kind of party that featured top-forty hits or bumping and grinding. The couples gracing the floor were more likely to waltz or, if they wanted to get a little wild, tango.
Beckett tugged on her body, tucking her deep into him. His lips brushed her cheek as he whispered, “Relax. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”
That did little to settle her nerves. In fact, it stoked them higher, because they both knew there was little her eager body would refuse to let him do, even in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, he put more space between them. Staring at her with those stormy blue eyes, he asked, “You and Dornigan have a thing?”
Alyssa’s mouth tightened. Her gaze darted away. She wanted to ignore the arrogant question but found herself answering anyway. “No.”
“Never?”
“Never. He’s my best friend. My family. My only family, really.”
“What about your sister and stepmother?”
Alyssa’s eyes jerked back to his. She held his gaze and reiterated with slow, deliberate words. “Like I said, my only family.”
Beckett nodded, but didn’t ask any more questions. She was used to people dismissing her complicated response to her family. Most just assumed she came from money and therefore had everything she could ever want. Beckett Kayne knew better.
The song ended. Instead of leading her into another, he settled his palm in the small of her back and propelled her to the tables circling the floor.
A few paces in she realized why. Mitch stood beside two men, Vance Eaton and an older man she’d never met before. Eaton was in his late forties. He’d made his fortune by acquiring troubled businesses and making them better. The other man, silver haired and distinguished, appeared to be in his mid-sixties.
She ignored Mitch’s pointed glance at Beckett, held out her hand to Eaton and bestowed a beautiful smile on him. “I’m so glad we could conduct business here, Mr. Eaton. Much more enjoyable than a conference room.”
Engulfing her hand with his, the other man matched her smile. “Vance. Please, call me Vance. I never turn down the opportunity to watch a beautiful woman sweep across the dance floor. I hope you’ll give me the chance to show you a step or two.”
Alyssa inclined her head. Beckett’s arm, which she’d forgotten was looped around her waist, tightened. She’d thought it was because Eaton was flirting, until she glanced back at him and noticed his hard gaze trained on the older gentleman.
“Dad,” he said, spitting out the single word in a way that sounded more like a curse than a greeting.
“Beckett,” the man said, a challenging smirk tugging at his lips.
The older man’s eyes dragged across the arm holding Alyssa close. Blue eyes, the same turbulent shade as his son’s, met hers, but they were cold, calculating and...shrewd. The similarities ended with color. Alyssa fought down a shiver.
Whenever Beckett looked at her, her body warmed through with an immediate reaction that irked her most of the time because she couldn’t control it. She always fought the sensation that he could see far beyond what she actually wanted him to notice.
The only thing Mr. Kayne’s perusal made her want to do was turn and run. Her body stiffened. Beckett’s fingers tightened around her hip, pulling her just an inch farther into the shelter of his embrace.
“I was under the impression that Beckett was attempting to forcibly take your company.”
Mr. Kayne’s focus shifted back to his son. Pressed against Beckett, Alyssa could feel the strain stretching him tight. For some reason, she wanted to take the focus away from him...to give him whatever relief she could manage.
Before she could follow through on the thought, Mr. Kayne’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer. “Nice to see you’ve finally wised up. Why settle for one measly app when you can literally screw her out of her entir
e company?”
Alyssa gasped. Mitch’s eyebrows slammed together in an unpleasant frown.
And beside her, Beckett growled low in his throat. The vibrations of the sound echoed through Alyssa and for some reason started an avalanche of reaction cascading through her body—awareness, arousal and elation at his protective, primal response.
Not that she needed it.
“Excuse me?” she asked, her voice tight with warning. She strained forward against Beckett’s hold, glaring at the man who’d just insulted her. Gone were the nerves from earlier, vanished beneath the indignation slamming through her.
“Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t know me from Adam and I resent your insinuation that I’m only worth what’s between my legs. Or that I can be bought with a few well-placed orgasms.”
Mitch’s eyes widened. Eaton’s mouth twitched. Mr. Kayne just laughed, the sound acrid and harsh.
“Well, she certainly is spirited, isn’t she?” The man’s eyes raked down her body in a way that made her skin crawl.
Reaching out, he slapped a hand across his son’s shoulders. “Lucky bastard. The spunky ones are always good in bed.”
Every muscle in Beckett’s body coiled for attack. Alyssa could feel the impending doom gathering to explode. As much as she wanted to lash out at the man herself, some instinct told her the greater threat right now came from Beckett.
She really didn’t want him losing his head over her. Not now. Not in the middle of a party with New Orleans’s upper crust society watching the melee and just waiting to spread their names with the latest gossip.
Leaning back into his body, Alyssa positioned herself as a shield between the two men. Beckett’s tight fingers tried to move her out of the way, but she dug the sharp points of her heels into the floor and stood her ground.
“Don’t,” she whispered, running her fingers down his arm.
Alyssa couldn’t tell if Kayne was oblivious to the tight hold his son had on his control, or if he was purposely trying to provoke a response when he blithely continued. “If what happened at the Bacchanalia is any indication, you could do worse than this little firecracker. Hardly the frigid, uptight bitch your mother turned out to be. This one has just enough tramp beneath the polish to make things interesting.”
Alyssa’s cheeks heated with a blinding combination of anger and embarrassment. She was intimately familiar with humiliation. But no one, not even the stepmother who’d made it her mission in life to insult Alyssa with sharp, veiled barbs, had ever made her feel so mortified.
The problem was, she didn’t want to feel ashamed about what she’d done with Beckett. Not when he’d made her feel alive and treasured, something she’d rarely experienced in her life.
Alyssa met the older Kayne’s cold gaze. He was waiting for her reaction. He wanted her to fall apart or lash out or...something.
Which is exactly why she wasn’t going to give it to him. Instead, she said in a low, calm, almost-bored voice, “Right now, I’m the only thing preventing Beckett from decking you so hard your ass breaks through the floorboards when you fall backward. I suggest you keep any more observations about my personality to yourself or I’m going to forget why holding him back is important, Mr. Kayne.”
He laughed. Actually laughed in the face of her disdain and the three men now wearing murderous expressions. Mitch and Eaton flanked her and Beckett. And although she didn’t necessarily need the show of solidarity, she appreciated it nonetheless.
“Would appear you have some competition, son. Although, we both know there’s nothing you like more than a challenge.” Mr. Kayne’s chilling blue eyes found hers again. “When you get tired of playing with the little boys, come find me. I can offer you so much more than Beckett.”
Alyssa’s blood went cold. Beckett’s fingers tightened, rubbing the bones of her wrist together painfully. Covering their joined hands with her own, she stroked her fingers down his—not just a silent request for him to let up, but in reassurance she’d been far from ready to offer five minutes ago.
For some reason, this little spectacle changed everything. It was no secret that Beckett’s father was an asshole. He’d thrown Beckett out when he was eighteen, cutting him off from everything without so much as a second thought.
Not that it had stopped him. Beckett was smart and determined. He’d become successful despite the things his father had done.
If there was one thing Alyssa understood, it was dealing with the fallout from a crappy father-child relationship.
“I seriously doubt that, Mr. Kayne. You have no idea what Beckett gives me.”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “Oh, but I do. And I have the photographs to prove it.”
10
BECKETT’S BODY SEIZED. Every single muscle froze. But his mind raced.
His father wasn’t bluffing. He could tell by the smug smile tugging at the man’s lips. He thought he had Beckett backed into a corner.
The familiar helplessness washed through him, along with a red-hot rage. The combination dragged him right back to when he was eighteen and powerless against the painful words his father had flung as he’d yanked the life Beckett had always known out from under him.
But he wasn’t that useless teenager anymore. He’d made something of himself, fought tooth and nail for every penny he now had stashed in the bank.
And his father’s continued disdain wasn’t his problem.
The photographs were, though. If it had simply been him, Beckett might have laughed in the man’s face and dared him to do his worst. But Alyssa was involved and he’d do anything to prevent her from experiencing any more humiliation at his hands.
However, a charity ball wasn’t the time or place to discuss it.
It cost Beckett quite a bit, but he ground his teeth together and prevented the litany of curse words from falling through his lips. Alyssa’s calming hand on his arm was like an anchor, one he needed to keep from losing his head.
“Don’t,” she whispered in a low, calm voice. “That’s what he wants.”
Beckett knew she was right. His father was always poking and prodding to get a response. No matter how much he tried to cut the man out of his life, his father still remained Beckett’s one weakness. The ghost he couldn’t exorcise or ignore.
Mitch and Vance managed to pull his father away from their small group. Beckett watched the three men disappear into the crowd, his hands still clenched into hard fists.
Somehow he and Alyssa ended up in his car, heading back toward town. He drove, pouring all of his frustrations into handling the powerful machine.
Alyssa remained silent, which only made the guilt and anger build and build unchecked inside him. He waited for her outburst—and she had every right to it—but it never came.
“Dammit all to hell!” he ground out, unable to contain his frustration any longer.
Alyssa watched him, her eyes luminous in the darkness of the car. “So you think he really does have photos?”
He stole a glance at her, wishing he could give her another answer. But lying wouldn’t solve anything. “Yeah. He’s been a member of the society for years. I’m sure he was there. Or had someone keeping an eye on me. I’m so sorry, Alyssa.”
She shrugged her beautiful bare shoulders. Her body rubbed against the soft leather seat of his car with a whooshing sound that echoed through him. He wanted to reach out and pull her into his lap, wrap her in his arms and prevent anything from touching or hurting her ever again.
But he couldn’t do that. Especially since he was responsible for this latest mess. No, he hadn’t taken the photographs, but he’d put her in the position to be exposed.
And it didn’t matter that he’d thought the ball was protected and the balcony safe. Or that he’d shielded her body with his own to make sure she wasn’t on display.
Or that she’d enjoyed the experience.
He didn’t care how, but he was going to fix this.
With a sigh, Alyssa turned to look out the window. He’d almost prefer it if she yelled. This pensive woman was too close to the broken girl he’d envisioned when she opened up and shared her past with him last night.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“My place.”
That drew her gaze back to him. Her eyes glowed through the murky shadows, penetrating and contemplative as she studied him. He could practically see the wheels spinning and not for the first time wished he had a direct line to the thoughts running through her head. She was intelligent and intriguing. Solitary and contained, even if last night proved there was a well of passion just waiting for the right catalyst to erupt.
Knowing she didn’t give that to many people made him want to stretch and preen and beat his chest...and run his fingers gently down the slope of her jaw and soft skin. It made him crazy and more than a little panicky.
His fingers gripped harder around the leather-covered steering wheel, waiting for her to protest and demand he take her somewhere else.
But she surprised him, finally nodding her head before turning again to look at the city whizzing past them.
Her quiet acceptance should have had the anxious energy buzzing through him subsiding. Instead, the low thrum of the powerful engine rumbled up through his body, doing nothing to dispel the pressure building inside him. In fact, the vibrations seemed to ratchet it higher. By the time they pulled into the garage beneath his building, Beckett was balanced on a knife-edge—ready to devour Alyssa the moment they reached a private space.
Nestling a palm in the small of her back, Beckett guided her to the private elevator and into his penthouse apartment. Each staccato click of her heels against his floor reverberated through him like a shot.
He could have afforded a mansion with historic roots. Or one of the renovated properties in the Quarter. Neither of those options had appealed, but the clean lines, gorgeous view and simplicity of this place had spoken to him.
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