“Do I need to? I think it’s pretty obvious why you left. You couldn’t bear being there anymore and I understood that.”
But the expression in his eyes didn’t change, the intensity burning like a beam of sunlight through a magnifying glass. “It wasn’t you, Abby. You know that, don’t you?”
The icy thread of panic pulled tight.
She’d looked up at him after they’d made love that night, dizzy with all her newfound emotion. Knowing that this was it, that he was the one. The words had been there, all ready for her to say. But she’d been too afraid to say them. Too afraid of his rejection. And then he’d turned from her, sliding out of the bed, and reaching for his pants. “I’ve got to go,” his voice hard and sharp. “I’m sorry.”
She’d told herself afterward that of course it wasn’t her, and she’d tried to believe it. But the words her father had always drummed into her were like a slowly releasing poison. Useless. Stupid. Ugly …
No. She wasn’t having him in her head. Never. Ever again.
“Of course,” she said briskly. “Now come on, put this damn shirt on. I’m not going to hold it up all day.”
Sean searched her face as if he didn’t believe her. Ridiculous. Of course she knew he hadn’t left because of her. He’d hated his family, his departure had been years in the making, and she’d always known that one day, she’d turn around and he’d be gone.
Yes, his timing had sucked, but it hadn’t come out of the blue or anything.
Bullshit. You’ve rationalized that like you rationalized everything else.
Sean muttered something under his breath and looked away, his hands going to the buttons of the shirt, pulling it open. Pulling it off and tossing it carelessly down on the table.
Abby swallowed. Holy Christ. No wonder the suit he’d been wearing yesterday had been so small.
Bare to the waist, he was all sharply defined pectoral muscles and chiseled abs, the black tattoos on his biceps in stark contrast to his tan. There was a cross on one arm, what looked like a thorny vine on the other, coiling around his upper arm like barbed wire. His shoulders were wide and looked strong enough to carry the weight of the world if he chose.
She couldn’t stop looking at him. It had been a long time since she’d seen a half-naked guy, especially a guy as beautiful as Sean. But then, he’d always been beautiful, hadn’t he?
Yeah, not that you’ve wanted to remember that.
Then he half-turned away from her and she caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his back.
An angel, wings spread wide, brandishing a fiery sword in one hand. There was writing beneath the angel in a scrolling, Gothic text. Avenging Angels.
The symbol of his gang.
“Wow,” she said, a twist of inexplicable irritation tightening in her gut. “Avenging Angels. Sounds like something you’d get from an Internet gang-name generator.”
Instantly he stiffened, the lines of his shoulders tensing. Then he turned, his eyes full of a genuine and very real anger. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just swept that angry, dark gaze over her as if she’d personally offended him. Which, she supposed, she had. “Don’t say shit like that, Abigail,” he said. “Not when you don’t have the first fucking clue what you’re talking about.”
He only ever called her Abigail when he was really mad. God in heaven, why had she said something so dumb? She’d just seen that tattoo and felt … angry. For no reason she could see.
“I’m sorry,” she said gracelessly, thrusting out the shirt to him. “Put that on and stop wasting time.”
Going back to the couch, she sat down, digging into her purse for her phone and busying herself with her scheduling app, not bothering to look at him this time.
What an idiot. A complete idiot. Why had she said it? Of course he was pissed at her. Dissing his gang was like … dissing his family, she supposed. It was a beautiful tattoo as well so there was no reason for her to be angry about it.
But they took him from you. He chose them, not you.
Abby closed her eyes and pushed the voice in her head violently away.
Maybe once she’d been angry. Once she’d been furious and hurt that he’d gone and left her when she’d needed him.
But as she’d learned, feelings like that made you vulnerable. And she wasn’t going to be that vulnerable.
Not ever again.
* * *
Sean pulled on the shirt with short, angry movements. He had to tell himself to calm the fuck down otherwise he was going to rip the cotton. He turned back to the mirror, doing up the buttons. Reflected in the glass, he could see Abby had lifted her phone, then heard the low murmur of her voice as she began speaking.
No matter that he’d left the club, he didn’t like people dissing it. Where the hell did she get off making stupid comments about the name? Perhaps she’d been trying to make a joke or something. But there had been a sharp edge in her voice. Like she was angry.
He stared at her. The brown wings of her hair were glossy, brushing the edges of her jaw. Her lipstick, a neutral color that made him think of liquid caramel, was perfect, and her dress looked expensive, as did the black pumps she wore on her feet.
Once, her hair had been in a loose ponytail and she’d worn jeans and T-shirts, not caring one iota about what she looked like. He hadn’t cared, either. She was his friend, that was what counted. But now … Now she was as sleek and smooth as a pane of glass. When had that happened? And why? Five years was a long time, though, and given what she’d been through, perhaps it wasn’t any wonder. Still, he couldn’t get rid of the nagging thought that even though she’d been upfront about what had happened to her, she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
Behind him, Abby had finished her call. Putting her phone away in her purse, she leaned over and picked up another one of the ties that the tailor had laid out on the table in front of her, then got up and came over to him.
“So, I’ve booked a room at the Four Seasons for you. I can get someone to move your stuff over there.”
“No one touches my bike.”
“Sure.” She stood behind him, clutching the tie. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
He flicked her a glance in the mirror. There was a slight crease between her brows, a genuinely apologetic expression in her eyes. And yet he’d gotten good at reading people and he knew when someone was hiding something. “You’re angry with me.”
“What? No, of course I’m not angry with you. Maybe I was when you left but it’s been a long time. I’m over it.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a smile he recognized. Not like the shy smiles she used to give him when they’d first met in the garden out in back of the Morrow town house. Or the reassuring, sympathetic grins after they’d become firm friends, misfits together. No, this smile was practiced. Polished. A conversation ender.
“It’s a beautiful tattoo actually. I just wasn’t expecting it.” She held up the tie. “Anyway, let’s try this one. It’s got some red in it that I think could look fabulous against this blue.”
Sean turned to face her. “What happened to honesty, Abby?”
“Honesty about what?”
“About everything.”
“But I have been honest with you.”
“Bullshit. I think you’re still angry with me. And hell, you’ve got every right to be.”
Her gaze lowered as she put the tie around his neck, her fingers working methodically. She was very close and he could smell the perfume she was wearing, something subtle and expensive. She hadn’t used to wear perfume before. She used to smell of apples, from the shampoo she loved.
And that night you held her in your arms, she’d smelled of musk and the Chanel No. 5 she’d borrowed from her mother.
Her fingers brushed over his throat and response rippled through him, a heavy languid heat rising in his gut. He hadn’t been with anyone for a month, the last time a one-night stand with a woman he’d met in a bar. One that had l
eft him feeling empty, the way those kinds of connections always left him feeling empty.
They fulfilled a physical need, but he always went away hungry for something more.
God, he was so sick of being hungry.
“There,” she said, smoothing the tie. “I think we should take that one, too.”
“Abby.”
Her palm rested on the tie, pressing against his chest. She didn’t move away, only stood there staring at where her hand rested. “It’s okay, Sean. We’re okay. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Her lashes lifted, smoky green eyes looking straight up at him. Then, taking him utterly by surprise, her fingers curled into his tie and pulled him down at the same time as she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
A fleeting, shocking kiss. Piercing him like an arrow.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her gaze was wide, as if she’d shocked herself as well as him. Then she frowned and before he could move, she did it again. Only this time she didn’t move away, her mouth opening, pure heat washing over him.
Her kiss was hesitant, almost shy, and he closed his eyes for a second because it was so like their first. At the end of the dance as the music trailed away. She’d been the one to make the first move, and her kiss then had tasted like it did now. Of shyness, awkwardness, and heat.
It had set him on fire and he was still burning all these years later.
It seemed like it was the first totally honest thing he’d had from her since they’d met.
But it couldn’t happen. Not again. No matter how much he wanted to.
Crushing the flame of desire that licked up inside him, he lifted his hands and pushed his fingers gently into her hair, tangling in the soft, glossy strands. Then he tugged her head back. “Abby,” he said thickly. “Stop.”
“What?” Her cheeks were pink, her eyes dark. Somehow her hands were on his chest and he could feel the heat from her palms through the cotton of his shirt, smoldering like embers.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded.
Her gaze had dropped to his mouth again. “Because I wanted to.”
“It’s not happening.” He knew he should pull his hands away. Step back. But it had been so long since he’d held her and her hair felt so soft against his fingers. “There’s too much history, sweetheart, and you know it.”
“Just one more. For old time’s sake.” She didn’t wait for him to respond, leaning forward for another kiss and taking it. This time there was no hesitancy, her kiss confident, demanding even. She slid her arms up and around his neck, opening her mouth to explore his, her body arching against him.
He didn’t know what to do. It felt like something in him had woken up, taut and desperate, a starving wolf ready to hunt. An animal that he could not let off the leash.
Christ, she’d been his friend once and that friendship had been the most precious thing in his life. Yet he’d fucked it up. He’d slept with her, taken her virginity, and afterward, when she’d looked at him like he was everything she’d ever wanted, he’d run.
Because he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He’d never be able to give her what she wanted.
Sean lifted his head and pulled her arms away from him, gripping her wrists. “Stop, Abby.”
She was panting, her face flushed. “Why? You want me. I know you do.”
It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out, mainly because his dick was so hard it was almost painful. He let go of her wrists and stepped back. “You should know why.”
“I’m not a frightened virgin anymore, if that’s what you mean.” She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it. “And I can certainly handle you.”
“I don’t care. It’s still not happening.”
She gave him an enigmatic look. “The past is done with, Sean. I’m over it and I think it’s time you were, too.”
“Get over it? You only told me yesterday about a baby I didn’t even know about. You may have had five years to deal with it but for me it feels like five minutes.”
A spark glowed briefly in her eyes, a spark of the temper he saw only rarely even at the height of their friendship. Then the flame flickered and died. “This is true,” she said evenly. “I should have given you some time to catch up. Never mind. Bad timing and all that. Now, I think we’ll take all the shirts and maybe the ties, too, hmmm?”
Jesus, so she was just going to move on as if nothing had happened. It should have made him happy and yet all he felt was pissed. And turned on. And pissed that he was turned on. Wanting her with an intensity he hadn’t felt for years while she smoothed her hair and talked about getting over the past.
Well, perhaps she could. She looked like she’d spent the last five years developing “getting over it” into a fine art. But it wasn’t something he could do, not after what she’d told him. Things had been bad for her after he’d left. Worse than he could have imagined. And that meant he had one hell of a debt to pay.
The only thing left for him to do now was figure out how he could pay it.
Chapter 4
Abby told the Morrow limo driver she’d be fifteen minutes tops, then hurried out of the car and into the elegant marble and gold of the Four Seasons lobby. Her heart was beating fast, nervousness churning in her gut. Stupid. It had been a couple of days since she’d seen Sean, surely the embarrassment of that kiss would have faded by now.
Apparently not.
She’d been an idiot to do it and yet she hadn’t been able to think of any other way to deflect him. He saw too much. Was way too perceptive. And the answers he demanded of her … Well, she just hadn’t been ready to give them.
She didn’t want to talk about her feelings. Not the anguish when he’d left or the pain of the miscarriage. The usual sick, helpless anger as her father greeted her pregnancy announcement by telling her what an utter disappointment she’d been to him. The shame and humiliation as he’d told her to get out while her mother just stood there, shaking her head.
No, she didn’t want to talk about any of that. Didn’t want to revisit it. After she’d woken up in the hospital, woozy from drugs and blood loss, and the doctor had told her what happened to her baby, she’d realized something: that she could see the miscarriage as her ultimate failure, to believe everything her father had ever told her about herself, to be the broken, useless person he saw. Or she could harden herself and prove him wrong.
She’d decided to prove him wrong.
Now she had a job, friends, a great apartment, and pretty damn good taste in clothes. She was successful. Strong. Invulnerable.
And she didn’t want anything to threaten that, which meant going back over old ground with Sean had been a dumb move.
Especially since you now can’t stop thinking about him.
Abby grimaced as she entered the lobby. She wasn’t thinking about him. Not at all.
At least not until she saw who was waiting by the reception desk. Tall, built, and tattooed.
Sean.
She’d come to get him for the “welcome home” party Donovan had organized, a small, exclusive function for a select few, designed to announce in a subtle way that Sean Morrow was back and part of the family again. They were holding it in one of the function rooms of the Morrow building and Abby had let him know she was arriving early to give him a briefing on how it was all going to go.
She hadn’t thought he’d come down to meet her, though.
In jeans and a T-shirt, with chains hanging from his belt and heavy black boots on his feet, he stood out from the rest of the elegant hotel guests like a wolf among a flock of sheep.
The sensuality his presence always seemed to arouse inside her shivered in response. He’d felt so good when she’d kissed him in the fitting room. His mouth on hers unexpectedly soft, in contrast with the hard heat of his body. She found herself looking at that mouth now as she approached him, which was just insane because he’d made it very clear that there would be no more of that.
No, she couldn’t think anything like that. It was too tempting. Not when the last time with him had laid her heart open.
“What are you wearing?” she said as she approached. “You’re not going in jeans, are you?”
He looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with jeans?”
“Sean, it’s not that kind of party. You need to put on a suit.”
“Why?”
“Select members of the press will be there and we don’t want to be slapping them in the face with your past.”
He frowned. “I’m not hiding who I am.”
“I’m not asking you to. But we want to be discreet about it.”
A look of irritation crossed his face. “Fine. I guess you’d better come upstairs then. Come on, the elevator’s this way.”
Her heels tapped on the marble as she followed him over to what was clearly a private elevator. Interesting. She’d booked him one of the more expensive suites but nothing like that warranted a private elevator surely?
As he swiped his card and the doors opened, he must have seen her surprised look because he said, “They upgraded me. I’ve got the penthouse suite at the top of the building.”
“Oh my God, really?”
“Yeah.” He stepped into the elevator car and held the door open for her. “Idiots. I don’t need that kind of fancy-ass shit. But apparently being a Morrow entitles you to all kinds of crap.”
“And yet you didn’t refuse, I see.”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t be bothered arguing. Plus … I was curious, I have to admit.”
“Jax’s credit card isn’t going to be pleased.”
“I’m sure my big brother can handle it.” He leaned back against the rail as the doors closed, his gaze moved over her in a long, slow sweep. “You look beautiful.”
She felt her cheeks heat in a silly teenage blush. “Thank you.”
“Interesting color choice.”
The simple cocktail dress she’d chosen for the evening was a formfitting, silk, off-the-shoulder number, a piece she’d picked up at a Barneys sale and had loved instantly.
The Billionaire Biker Page 4
