“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not my business.” Not anymore.
Jared didn’t answer, and Ari wondered if he’d finally had enough. She tried to think of something funny to say, anything to change the subject and get them back on neutral ground, but then his deep, warm voice penetrated the silence.
“It kills me to see you like this. To imagine you there, totally alone, scared to death while that monster…” Jared closed his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tensing. Ari hated seeing him in pain, especially knowing that she’d caused it, but she was too afraid to speak, too afraid to break the fragile thread of peace between them.
So instead she found his hand, and squeezed it softly.
“Arianne,” he whispered, threading his fingers through hers. He brought her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the center of her palm, the touch of his lips searing her cool skin.
His lids drifted closed as he breathed her in, blazing a trail of soft, fluttery kisses from her wrist to the inside of her elbow, his stubble scratching the sensitive skin. With her free hand, she ran her fingers through his hair, urging him closer, the feel of his soft, thick hair as familiar to her as his touch, his kiss, his scent. The ice packs slid from her shoulders, but Jared’s tender kisses were a better balm, brushing her pink skin with no more than a whisper of lips and breath. Slowly, Jared worked his way up the long, smooth column of her neck, to her chin, across the line of her jaw.
In a soft growl, he breathed the words she’d been aching to hear for an eternity. “God, I’ve missed you.”
Ari’s heart banged wildly, her chest heaving with desperate breaths as the current of Jared’s electric touch flowed throughout her body.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, tracing the same delicate pattern across her forehead, down her nose, slipping his fingers through her hair and behind her head, cradling her in his strong, protective hands. She’d never felt so safe, so trusting, all of her pain and fear melting away at his touch.
His lips hovered teasingly, so close to her own that Ari could taste him. She wanted so badly to take him, to press her lips to his, to welcome the hot, wet slide of his tongue into her needy mouth.
“Arianne,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful. I can’t control myself around you.”
“Then let go,” she whispered. “Just for tonight.”
Unblinking, Jared considered her words, his eyes soulful and passionate and so vulnerable it made her heart hurt. As impossible as it seemed, she saw it, right there between them—their entire future together. Marriage. A family. The kind of forever love she’d never before allowed herself to want. It was like a glimpse into a parallel world, the life she could’ve had if only she’d made a right turn instead of a left.
Jared leaned forward, ever so slightly, the barest brush of his lips flooding her core with heat and desire. Her thighs clenched, every nerve tingling with anticipation. She parted her lips, seeking the familiar warmth of his kiss, no longer caring what it meant. Forever, for a night, for one single minute—she just wanted to taste him again.
But at the last possible second, Jared pulled away.
Without warning, the room turned as cold as the icepacks sliding down her chest.
Jared’s face was suddenly blank. Detached.
Rising from the floor, he ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat. “You should get some sleep. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
Ari pressed her fingers to her lips, still searing from the kiss that wasn’t meant to be. She ached for him, her body wound tight, every need unfulfilled, her heart tearing in two. “Jared, please don’t—”
“No,” he said firmly. Edged in anger, the sudden resolve in his tone startled her. “This?” He gestured back and forth between them. “This can’t happen. Ever. I mean that, Arianne. I said I was willing to help you, and I am. But that’s as far as our arrangement goes. If you’ve got other ideas, kindly leave now.”
Her head spun, the floor bottoming out from under her. Hadn’t he kissed her? “But I wasn’t—”
“Good night, Arianne. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, Jared clicked off the lights and stalked out of the game room, closing the door behind him and leaving Ari alone with the unwelcome guests that were rapidly becoming her constant companions: guilt and regret.
She readjusted the ice packs on her shoulders, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use. Her whole body was vibrating from Jared’s touch, her head throbbing, a single refrain echoing between her ears.
If only… if only… if only…
If only she and Jared had met under different circumstances.
If only she’d been honest with him.
If only she’d been born to a different family.
If only she’d made different choices.
That last one stung the most, because for the first time in her adult life, Ari was finally starting to realize her own responsibility in setting her life to ruin.
For more than a decade, she’d been a willing criminal. Ignorantly, yes, but Jared was right—it had still been a choice. One she’d make again to keep her sister safe. But Natasha… well, her sister hadn’t always been a factor, had she? Ari had worked with her father and his crew for five years before Tasha arrived, and even though she’d never dreamed of standing up to her father back then, maybe she could have.
Maybe I should have.
Ari closed her eyes, dismissing the morbid thoughts. No good ever came from lingering in the past. All she could do now was move forward.
Tomorrow, and every day that came after, was a new day. A built-in second chance that everyone got, no matter how badly things had turned out the day before, no matter how tangled.
So tomorrow Ari would do better. She’d work hard with Jared to figure out how to get the kind of evidence that would guarantee Davidson’s silence. And then, one day at a time, she’d build a new life. A better life.
It just won’t be with Jared Blackwell.
Chapter Ten
Jared always preferred to run at dawn, well before the streets of lower Manhattan overflowed with morning commuters. In these pale hours, his only obstacles were newspaper delivery trucks and trash pickups, easily dodged as he threaded his way through the narrow alleyways that took him to Battery Park and the Hudson River Greenway.
He’d been running regularly for more than a decade, and the fresh air and physical exertion had never ceased to clear his head, calming him through even the most challenging business conflicts and stock market fluctuations. But today, even after running the Greenway all the way up past the Intrepid and back down again, punishing his muscles for ten hard miles, Arianne was still lodged in his mind like a bad dream he couldn’t shake.
Dreadful, beautiful woman.
He’d spent the first half of the run berating himself for getting involved, for offering help to the woman who’d just as soon sell him out. But deep down, despite all the lies and schemes, Jared knew in his gut that Arianne wasn’t bad—just a woman who’d made a few wrong turns and gotten herself so deep into the game she no longer believed there was a safe way out.
Jared was adamant about not letting her back into his bed. But he couldn’t turn his back on her, either.
He’d promised to help her, and that was that.
Shaking off his conflicting thoughts, he allowed the latter part of the run to refocus him on last night’s conversation, combing through Arianne’s story for details he might have missed, something—anything—they might be able to use against Davidson.
Davidson.
Jared could hardly think the name without seeing red, his entire body tensing for a fight. He had a mind to ask Evan to have the security guys put a tail on Arianne, just so he could track the bastard down.
Still, despite his rage, he knew the best way to beat the man was to find something and make it stick, just like they’d talked about. Arianne might not realize it, but she had to have something on the man. Ten years working together, seeing what she’d seen, all
that stolen artwork…
Artwork. Hermes. Of course.
Suddenly, Jared felt as if his shoes were winged just like the Greek god’s, speeding him back down around the southern tip of Battery Park and up northward again. On a surge of new energy, he sailed past Bowling Green and eased onto the long stretch of Broadway that would take him home.
The fucking Hermes.
Arianne had come clean about a lot of things last night, but the story of Hermes and the LaPorte painting was a mystery she’d too quickly dismissed—one Jared was absolutely determined to crack open, especially now that he knew she and Davidson had been involved in the initial robbery of those pieces.
If Davidson was involved, there was evidence of it somewhere. There had to be.
Jared hadn’t been able to uncover anything through his art broker; even the other names on the man’s list had revealed little, coming to a dead halt with a bloke named Kyle Errington. But maybe the trail wasn’t completely cold. Evan’s security guy had done a thorough job with Arianne’s background check—perhaps he could dig into Errington’s history as well. It might turn out to be a dead end, but at this point it was the only lead Jared could follow up on without Arianne’s knowledge or involvement. She’d put herself in enough danger. Besides, he didn’t know how long it would take her to remember anything useful, and sitting around waiting for something to happen was not part of Jared’s skill set.
He needed to get to Davidson. Errington was his way in.
By the time he reached his building, waved to his doorman, and dashed into his private elevator, Jared had resolved to look into it.
Back in the penthouse, he did a few light stretches, then stripped off his shirt and tossed it over a barstool in the kitchen, desperate for cold water. He hesitated at the ice dispenser, not wanting to wake Arianne, but then he remembered that it was his goddamn penthouse; he could do whatever he goddamn well pleased. If she didn’t like being startled awake by the grind and clink of the machine, she could save her own beautiful ass from the wolves at the door.
He’d just pressed his glass to the lever when a heart-stopping clatter ripped through the silence.
It was coming from the game room.
Arianne was in trouble.
“No!” she screamed. A crash, and then she shouted again. “Get off! Die, asshole!”
Running on pure instinct, Jared dropped his glass and grabbed the closest weapon—a fire poker—and bolted down the hall, adrenaline giving his tired muscles new life. He barged in through the door, poker raised high, eager to strike down the bastard who dared lay a hand on her…
But there she was.
Alone and unharmed.
Perched on the gaming platform in nothing but his T-shirt, kneepads, and gaming gloves, her skin slick from exertion. Arianne was breathing hard, shirt damp with sweat, the thin fabric clinging to the glistening curves of her body. On the screen behind her, a male avatar lay crumpled on the pavement, a female standing triumphantly behind him.
Brawler. That’s what she’d been screaming about.
“You.” Arianne’s eyes widened when she saw Jared. She stabbed the air with an accusatory finger. “You deleted me! I had to set up a whole new profile!”
He tossed the fire poker to the ground, probably scratching the hardwood, but he didn’t care. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I can’t believe you.” She jammed her hands on her hips, shaking her head furiously. On the screen behind her, the larger-than-life Brawler avatar mimicked her every move, head cocked, hands on hips, shoulders squared for a fight.
Jared felt like he was getting scolded by both of them.
“You just couldn’t wait, could you,” he said. The adrenaline was fading from his blood, but he was livid that she’d made him so worried—even more livid that his ridiculous mind had allowed him to care. But as his eyes drifted down her face to her breasts, his resolve faded. It was hard to stay mad; those two perfect globes of flesh stretched the fabric of his shirt teasingly, their dark centers raised beneath the thin cotton like a forbidden invitation to touch. To tease. To taste.
The kneepads urged his fantasies in another dangerous direction, flooding his mind with images that made his balls ache.
“My stats,” she said. “My high score, my outfits, my badges, everything. You just…” She made a starburst motion with her fingers. “Poof! I’m gone, just like that.”
Jared dipped his head, trying to hide his smile.
“This isn’t funny, Jared Blackwell! You erased me!”
“Yet here you are, love. In the flesh. And feeling much better than you were last night, I see. I take it the ice helped?”
When he met her eyes again, she was smiling, too.
They faced off in silence for a moment, each trying not to laugh, the tension evaporating.
“Good morning, Miss Holbrook,” he finally said.
“And good morning to you, too, Mr. Blackwell.” Her gaze slid down his torso, leaving a trail of heat Jared swore he could feel. “Why are you half-naked and sweaty?”
“I was on a run,” he said. “I’d just finished stretching when I heard the—well, what I assumed was a struggle.”
Arianne pressed a hand to her chest, the T-shirt riding up her thighs to reveal the satin, rose-colored triangle of her panties. Christ, what he wouldn’t give to press his lips to that silky scrap of fabric…
“And you charged in to save me,” she said. “Brandishing a fire poker. My knight in shining… half-nakedness.”
Jared raked his eyes over her scantily-clad body. “I see we’re well matched in that department.”
“Indeed.”
She’d been teasing him, but now she didn’t hide her raw desire, a deep and desperate look that nearly undid him. His cock bulged obviously against his thin running shorts, battling his brain.
Just one more time.
Don’t be daft.
What’s the harm in giving each other a bit of dark pleasure?
She tried to rob you, bloody idiot…
“Arianne,” he said, finally forcing out the words, “I meant what I said last night. We can’t—”
“Play Brawler,” she said. “I know. That’s why I waited until you were gone. Had I known that you erased me from existence—”
“Virtual existence. And what did you expect?” He raked a hand through his hair. “You broke my bloody heart, woman.”
Fuck.
He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, to open himself up again. Quickly, smoothly, he leapt up onto the other gaming platform and booted up J-Black, not sparing her a glance.
“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said, scanning her new stats. In the two hours he’d been gone, she’d done pretty well for herself, racking up a dozen KOs. Jared was impressed. “Let’s go, Warianne.”
“Oh, J-Black. Sweet, sweet J-Black.” Arianne laughed. “Thanks to you, Warianne’s dead, remember? The name is now C.O.B. Guess what it stands for.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Crusher of Balls.” She crouched into position, cracking her knuckles. “Bring it.”
Ignoring the sight of her long, toned legs, the T-shirt hiding nothing as she crouched on the platform, Jared nodded brusquely. “Oh, I shall bring it.”
“Oh, I shall bring it,” she mocked. Her British accent was bang on. “Shall you bring a spot of tea and biscuits as well? Perhaps a bit of jam from your pantry?”
Jared turned to say something witty, but the moment his eyes left the screen, she sucker-punched the air in front of her. He tried to duck, but it was too late. His avatar took a direct hit.
“That’s what you get when you don’t keep your eyes on your own paper,” she said.
“Noted,” he said. On screen, J-Black regained his balance, faking her out and landing a solid right hook that sent Crusher skittering backward.
Arianne cursed.
“You know what your problem is, Crusher?” he said.
“Lack of decen
t competition?”
“No, love. You fight dirty.”
“Gets the job done, doesn’t it?”
“In Brawler, sure. Sometimes. But you lack technique. In a real fight—”
“I’d just grab your fire poker. And no, that’s not a euphemism.” She crouched low and kicked, trying to sweep J-Black’s legs out from under him, but he evaded the move with a quick hop, responding with a fierce kick that knocked Crusher flat on her back.
He could’ve ended it right there, pounced on her and gone in for the kill. But suddenly he pictured Davidson—some greasy, faceless thug—jumping her in an alley, catching her totally unaware.
“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “In a real fight, you might not get a second chance—the other bloke won’t look away. You’ve got to stay cool, be smart under pressure. You’re not a large woman, so chances are you’ll have to outthink rather than out-fight your opponent.”
She nodded silently, turning to face Jared. The fact that she hadn’t taken advantage of his being distracted from the game told him she understood the gravity of the warning.
This was no longer about a video game vendetta. It was about reality—Arianne’s reality. And the moment either of them forgot about that, the moment her life—or Tasha’s—could end.
“You want to take the most effective shot you can,” Jared said, recalling the scrappy schoolyard fights of his misspent youth. “One that will take even the largest opponent down fast. The average bloke will expect a woman to kick him in the balls, scratch his face, squirm if he’s got hold of you. But what’s most effective?”
Arianne shrugged. “Punch him in the gut?”
“You could try that, sure, but unless you’ve got proper technique and enough power behind the hit, it won’t make a difference, and you might just break your hand.”
“I have no idea, then. I would say go for the eyes or the balls.”
“Eyes are okay. But even better? A direct hit to the knee or a stomp to the foot,” Jared said simply. “You can’t always wriggle your way out of someone’s grasp, especially a man twice your size. But you might be able to knock his knee joint out of place or crush the small bones of his foot, right at the instep. No matter how big he is, that kind of impact can take him down.” Jared nodded toward the screen. “Let me show you.”
Bared to the Billionaire: The Complete Series Page 30
