We’d circled the ground floor and arrived back at the staircase. I stood on the lower step, which put me at eye level with Samuel. He stopped in front of me, inches away, and met my gaze. Something alive and pulsating zinged between us, hitting me like a thunderbolt deep in my belly, deeper between my legs. His focus dipped to my lips. For a second, I forgot to breathe, a situation made direr when he wrapped one of my escaped curls around his finger and tugged. Our smiles collided. We both looked away then back again.
“Why do you come here?” I followed him out the front door. We sat side by side on the concrete steps of the front porch, shoulders touching. “I thought you were going to take me to some swanky club or something.”
“I like it here. It’s quiet. Peaceful.” His chest lifted and fell with a soft sigh. “It feels more like home than my house.” He cast a sideways glance in my direction. “Someday—when I inherit this place—I’m going to restore it.”
“I think that’s a great idea. Like putting your own stamp on your family’s legacy.”
Sitting on the dilapidated porch together, it was hard to visualize him as the heir to a fortune. He lounged back on his elbows, long legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. A light breeze ruffled his hair. The scent of his cologne, spicy and clean, wafted around me.
“So what’s it like? Being rich, I mean. Having your every heart’s desire.” I said this teasingly, intending to lighten his somber mood, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he cocked his head to one side while he considered his answer.
“It doesn’t suck,” he replied. “But it’s a little like eating ice cream every day for every meal. At first you think it’s great, but after a while you start to get sick of it and all you can think about is a ham sandwich and some chips.”
“Is that what you want? A ham sandwich?” It was hard to believe when he could have anything and everything he wanted. The disparity of our lives wallowed between us. While my family scrimped and saved to afford basic needs, his family spent summers in Europe and organized fundraisers for people like me. “You can have anything in the world and you choose a ham sandwich? Not caviar or lobster?”
“I’m allergic to shellfish,” he deadpanned and bumped my shoulder with his. “What would you have?”
“I’d buy my mom a house,” I answered without hesitation. I’d fantasized about freeing her life from debt and worry. The answer sprang to my lips. “Pay off all her loans.”
“Nothing for yourself?” Samuel cocked his head, eyes narrowing in disbelief, as if I’d spoken a foreign language. I shook my head. “Not a new car or clothes or a vacation?”
“I don’t need anything.” I nudged his shoe with my toe. “Just a roof over my head and clothes on my back.”
“Me too.”
When silence stretched between us once more, I glanced up at him. His gaze searched my face, stripping me bare to my bones. An unfamiliar thickness constricted my throat. What was he looking for? One of his hands lifted to touch my chin. The pad of his thumb stroked across my bottom lip. His eyes darkened. My heart kicked against my ribs as he leaned forward, drawing my body toward his by sheer magnetism.
He tasted of mint, the pressure of his lips soft and chaste against mine. The light contact disoriented my thoughts until I lost track of right and wrong, up and down. His hand cupped my cheek, fingers warm, the way one would touch something precious and fragile. When he pulled back, a small sigh escaped me, half moan, half needy. I’d kissed a dozen other boys, but none of them had ever affected me this way.
“What was that for?” I asked, my voice a whisper.
“I wanted to see if you taste as sweet as you look.”
“Am I a ham sandwich?” I asked then blushed at the idiotic words.
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “All this talk about food is making me hungry. You want to grab something to eat?” He stood and extended his hand to me. I took it, curling my fingers through his, and he pulled me to my feet. We walked back to the limo. He didn’t release my hand, and I didn’t mind.
CHAPTER 5
Dakota - Now
IF I CAN’T get rid of you, the least I can do is make your life a living hell for the next six months. Sam’s parting words stuck with me all the way home. I decided to walk instead of taking the bus and use the time to work off a little of the turmoil swirling inside me. It didn’t help.
Ten years ago, I’d done a despicable thing. Sam had married me because he loved me and had given up his inheritance to do so. Two years later, Sam’s father had offered me a million dollars to divorce his precious only son, the heir to his kingdom. I’d taken the money, packed my bags, and left the love of my life without so much as a goodbye. A stringent set of guidelines, set forth by Sam’s father, had accompanied the payoff. The most painful being no contact with Sam. Mr. Seaforth wanted me to leave without explanation or warning. His intention had been to make Sam hate me, and judging by the tension in Sam’s jaw today, he’d been successful.
The sight of those seven figures in my bank account had turned my stomach. I’d refused to spend the money on myself. Instead, I’d used it to fund my mother’s heart surgery and kept my brother out of jail on numerous occasions. I’d used the balance to purchase a condo so Mom would have a place to live in her retirement. No matter how dirty it had felt to take the money, it had gone to good use. Precious little comfort it was to me now.
A few tears escaped and slid down my cheeks. I let them fall. The sidewalk beneath my feet blurred and wavered. The heel of my shoe caught in a crack, and my ankle rolled to the side with a painful pop.
I groaned and tried to place some weight on the injured foot. A shard of pain rocketed up my calf. I hopped to lean against the doorway of Jameson’s Pub. I’d been inside a few times, although my taste went toward edgier, more eclectic clubs. I shuffled inside, limping and wincing with each step.
It took a second for my eyes to adjust after the brilliant glare of sunlight outside. Dark wood, gleaming brass, and Old World ambience closed in around me. The low hum of civilized conversation hung in the air. Once I’d gathered my bearings, I took a seat at the closest table and propped my leg on a chair to survey the damage.
“Wow. That’s impressive.” A deep male voice floated down to me. I followed the stretch of black trousers and starched white dress shirt to the twinkling brown eyes of the bartender, Jack.
“Thanks,” I said. “It’s a talent.”
“Want some ice for that?”
“Would you mind?” My ankle was already swelling, the skin turning an ominous shade of lavender.
Jack returned with a plastic baggy filled with ice. He wrapped a towel around it and squatted beside me before placing it gently over the injury. “I brought you a shot of whiskey. On the house.” His fingers lingered on my bare ankle. The curling lines of a tattoo peeked from beneath the cuff of his shirt. “You look like you need it.”
“Thanks.” I tossed the shot down, enjoying the burn and warmth. “I’ll have ten more.”
He laughed, and two deep dimples winked from his cheeks. Despite the pain of my ankle and inner turmoil over Samuel, I couldn’t help but notice the glossy spill of brown hair over Jack’s shoulders or the way his lips curled at the corners like question marks. I recognized the interest in his eyes. A year ago, six months ago—hell, a week ago—I would’ve been all over this hunk of man candy. I’d been through dozens of one-night stands in an effort to erase Sam’s memory. Now that Samuel was back in my life, the idea of sleeping with another man knotted my insides, as if I’d be cheating on him. The irony of my loyalty to a man who hated me only added to my confusion. I was seriously messed up.
“On second thought, maybe I’ll just call a cab and head home.”
“Are you sure? I’ll be off work in about an hour.” He stood, towering over me, one eyebrow quirked in question. “I could take you home then.”
“Yes, I’m sure, but thanks anyway.”
He shrugged, unoffended. We’d hooke
d up once before—a drunken, impromptu fuck in the pub’s restroom. Jack understood and respected the art of casual sex. Judging by the number of female eyes watching us, he’d have no problem finding another companion.
“I’ll call a cab for you.” He paused, reached into his pants pocket, and pulled out a business card. “Hey, I’m working at my uncle’s club this weekend. Come by and see me. Bring your girlfriends.”
I took the card and shoved it into my purse without looking at it. After my day, the weekend seemed a century away. I was more concerned about surviving the rest of the evening without the heady pressure of tomorrow. Another day with Samuel. A flurry of butterfly wings beat inside me at the thought.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
The cab dropped me in front of the limestone apartment building and was gone before I limped to the entrance. The pain in my ankle had receded to a dull throb but started up again once I reached the elevator. Needless to say, I was in a pretty foul mood by the time I entered my apartment to find my brother, Crockett, sprawled on the sofa and the entire place in shambles.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved Crockett. The things I’d done for him should prove it, but after ten years of lying for him, fixing his problems, and sacrificing my life for his, my patience was worn thin. The sight of him in his underwear at six-thirty in the evening on a Monday didn’t help.
“Dude? What the fuck?” I prodded him with a reluctant finger. He rolled onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes, and stirred the odors of cigarettes and beer. I coughed and waved a hand in front of my face. “You stink. Get off my couch.”
“Love you, too,” he mumbled. One eyelid cracked to a slit, exposing a blue iris, then slid shut, overwhelmed by the sight of me.
“I’m serious, Crockett.” I shoved his shoulder, hard enough to make him grunt. “I’ve had a day.” As if to remind me, my ankle cried out, throbbing with every beat of my heart. “What are you doing here anyway?”
With a groan, I sank into the club chair and propped my foot on the ottoman. Crockett sat up and scrubbed his face with both hands, palms rasping over his unshaven cheeks and jaw. We didn’t look much alike, existing on opposite ends of the spectrum. He’d shaved his dark hair into a Mohawk. The gelled ends drooped limply over his forehead and ears. Random tattoos covered his chest. Not the sexy kind. These were angry and crude jailhouse tats, the lines blurred and uneven.
“I got fired.”
“Again? Are you kidding me?” Anger and frustration bubbled up inside me. My nerves were already stretched to the breaking point, and I yearned for someone to take it out on.
“Don’t start with me, Kota.” He held up a hand to ward off the tirade forming on my lips. “It’s just temporary. I’ve already got a line on something else.”
A line. I tried to pretend I didn’t know what those words meant, but years of experience had taught me what to expect. Drugs. Fencing stolen merchandise. Running bets for bookies. Crockett lived on a side of the law I tried hard to avoid.
“I went out on a limb to get you that job. You barely made it two weeks.” I leaned my head against the back of the chair. Exhaustion shimmered through my body, weighting my eyelids. “If you don’t have a job, you’ll violate your probation and go back to jail. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
From behind closed eyelids, I heard the flick of a lighter, the sizzle of the flame as it touched the end of his cigarette, and the hiss of his breath when he inhaled. “You can’t smoke in here. How many times do I have to tell you?”
His footsteps shuffled across the room to the window. I heard him lift the sash. A light breeze cooled my skin, refreshing after the emotional heat of the day. He sighed, the frustration softening my heart a little. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I promise I’ll get something tomorrow.”
Crockett’s broken promises filled the silence between us. We both knew he wouldn’t get a job, but we were stuck in an endless cycle of failure and redemption.
“I saw Samuel today.” The confession escaped haltingly, but I had to tell someone, someone who knew the situation and wouldn’t judge me for it.
“Really? No shit?” Crockett’s tone held the smallest note of sympathy, and I clung to it with the desperation of a drowning woman on a life raft in the middle of the ocean.
“He’s my new boss. He bought the company, I guess.”
“Gee. Sucks for you.” Crockett sank back onto the sofa. I heard the cushions compress beneath his weight. “How is old Sam anyway?”
“Fine. Different,” I said, unable to put all my thoughts into something as insubstantial as words. “Pissed.”
Crockett chuckled. “Yeah? I bet. That family always could hold a grudge.”
Crockett left, and I retreated to my bedroom. For the first time in a long time, I cried myself to sleep. Betrayal and heartbreak haunted my dreams. I’d thought my life had ended when Samuel and I had divorced. With time, I’d made a new life and shoved the pain into the back of mind. I had healed, or so I thought until I saw Samuel. As it turned out, the hole in my heart was still there.
CHAPTER 6
Dakota - Now
BY THE NEXT morning, my ankle felt better but every muscle and nerve in my body vibrated with tension. I entered the building with my shoulders hunched around my neck and a furrow between my brows. As the elevator ascended to the thirty-seventh floor, my stomach began to churn with apprehension. The doors opened with a quiet shoosh, and I stepped into the reception area. Sadie took one look at my face and turned an odd shade of gray.
“Mr. Seaforth wants to see you right away,” she said, voice quavering.
“I’m just going to put my things in my office first,” I said, breezing by. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Um, that’s the thing.” She dropped her gaze to the desk. “It’s not your office anymore. He gave it to Dahlia.”
I halted then retraced my steps to her desk. She studied the pen in her trembling hands with rapt fascination. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. “He had your things moved to the cubicle outside his office last night. He said he needed you where he could keep an eye on you.”
Rage, embarrassment, and disbelief flooded through me. It wasn’t Sadie’s fault, but I glared at her anyway. The office fell quiet as I stomped down the hall, heedless of my bum ankle. The rapid tattoo of my steps echoed off the tiled floor. Valerie jumped to her feet, hands waving to stop me. I pushed past her and threw open the door to Sam’s office. He was standing near the windows and turned to face me when I entered, a menacing scowl darkening his brow.
“What the hell, Samuel?” I hissed through my clenched jaw. “You threw me out of my office? Is this how it’s going to go?”
He had been on the phone when I interrupted. He clicked off the call and regarded me with bland amusement. I tensed as he walked toward me then passed to close the door in the faces of my curious coworkers. His cool silence only served to fuel my indignation.
“Sit down, Ms. Atwell.” He gestured to a chair as he returned to the desk. When I didn’t sit, his eyes narrowed. I crossed my arms over my chest. He remained standing, legs braced as if I might suddenly rush him.
“I understand that you hate me, Samuel. I get it, and I don’t blame you, but it doesn’t give you the right to toss me out of my office—”
“I can do anything I want, Ms. Atwell. Do I need to remind you that it’s my company now and my office?” He mirrored my defensive stance.
“I worked hard for that office,” I said, feeling my blood pressure rise. “And I will continue to work just as hard for you, but it’s not fair.” As soon as the childish words left my mouth, I wished I could suck them back in.
“Do you want to know what’s not fair? Having your wife leave you like a thief in the night without so much as a goodbye. Learning she loved your father’s money more than she loved you. That’s not fair, Dakota.” He sank into his chair and kicked back. Th
e blood in my veins turned to ice. He knew about the money. Had his father told him? Of course he had. Mr. Seaforth had wanted me out of Sam’s life, and nothing would cement the transaction more than Sam’s hatred.
“It was never about the money.” Bile churned in my stomach. “If you’d let me explain—”
“I have no interest in your explanations. I owe you nothing. Less than nothing. And that’s what you’ll get from me.” Although his words held conviction, his tone remained impassive. “So suck it up, sweet pea. Welcome to the big leagues.”
The use of his pet name for me renewed my distress. We stared at each other while I tried to regroup my composure. The nickname conjured up visions of snuggling together in bed on rainy Sunday mornings and eating Chinese food from paper cartons in the kitchen of our shitty off-campus apartment. We’d been in love then, not mortal enemies. The memory closed my throat, and I made a small strangled sound. My irritation dissipated, replaced by bittersweet nostalgia.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” I inhaled deeply, renewing my resolve to get through this charade. This was his game. His rules. “Whatever you need, I’ll do it.”
My answer seemed to take him by surprise. He pushed back in his chair and cocked his head. The gesture was familiar and foreign at the same time. After a slow blink, he said, “Great. Then let’s get to work. I’m going to need your help with some things.”
CHAPTER 7
Samuel - Now
DAKOTA DROPPED AN armload of reports on the conference room table Tuesday and stood in front of me, waiting for her next assignment. By the frown on her face, she didn’t care much for the tasks I’d given her. Over the course of the day, I’d sent her out for coffee to the farthest location in the city and had her pick up my dry cleaning. To cap the afternoon, I’d requested lunch from a sandwich shop I knew didn’t deliver, then sent her back twice to change my order. Menial tasks more suited for an entry-level assistant than the Project Acquisitions Director. In fact, I’d spent more time inventing “punishments” for her than I’d spent going over the company information. I’d waited ten long years for my revenge, and I intended to enjoy every minute of it.
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