Ruthless Pride (Dynasties: Seven Sins Book 1)

by Naima Simone

  She shook her head, her golden-brown ponytail brushing her bare shoulders. “No. The people who spoke to me did so on the assurance of confidentiality, and I won’t betray that. And I absolutely refuse to expose them to the wrath of the Lowell family.”

  The wrath of the Lowell family? What kind of shit was that? “My wrath?” he murmured, edging closer. And closer still until one shift of his feet and their chests would press together. Their sweat-dampened skin would cling. His cock would find a home nestled against her taut stomach. “Do you still have your job? Have you found yourself and that paper you work for served with a defamation suit? If you went to any of the stores or restaurants around here, would you still be waited on or served? No, Sophie.” He leaned down, so close his lips almost grazed her ear. So close, he caught the shiver that worked through her body as his breath hit her lobe. “If I wanted to wage war against someone who came after me, after mine, the first casualty would be you. And since you haven’t been shunned or blackballed yet—because believe me, even with the stain on my last name, I have the power to do all I’ve mentioned—you haven’t felt my wrath. Besides,” he added, and this time he let his mouth brush the rim of her ear. Let himself get his first feel of her skin, her body even if it was just something as small as that. “I would never include others in the battle between us. This, sweetheart, is personal.”

  Air, quick and harsh, rushed from her lips, bathing his cheek, stirring the flames already stroking him from the inside out. God, he wanted to... Grinding his molars together so hard he should’ve tasted dust, he inched back, placing between them the space he’d so foolishly eliminated. As it was, he now fought the impulse to rub his thumb over the spot where his mouth had glanced her ear. Rub that sensation into his flesh as if it wasn’t already branded there.

  “Is that supposed to scare me? Should I file that under the threat category?” she shot back. And it would’ve been effective if it hadn’t been uttered in a throaty whisper that rasped over his too-sensitive skin.

  Damn her.

  Damn him.

  “No, Sophie. The last thing I want from you is fear.” Let her translate that how she wanted. “But make no mistake, I intend to have those names from you. And that’s not a threat, but a promise.”

  Not waiting for her response, he turned and strode away from her. But not for long. They had an appointment for a day together at his office. And he would see the vow he’d made come true.

  Sophie would divulge the identities of her sources.

  One way or another.

  And as his blood hummed in his veins, still lit up like a torch from his interaction with her, it was the “another” that worried him.

  Four

  Back in the lion’s den.

  Sophie summoned a smile as she gave the first-floor receptionist of the Black Crescent building her name and waited while she called to verify her appointment. Turning, she stared at the large picture window, not really seeing the parking lot or the ring of towering trees beyond that shielded the property like an inner wall in a medieval fiefdom.

  No, images of Joshua Lowell from when he’d cornered her at the gym yesterday flickered before her eyes. Flickered, hell. Paraded. Him, his lean but large and powerful body encased in a sweaty white T-shirt that clung to tendon and muscle, and loose gray knee-length basketball shorts. God, those shorts. If the shirt had her itching to climb those wide shoulders as if they were a scratching post and she was a cat in heat, then those shorts had her palm itching to slide beneath the damp waistband, skim over his ridged abdomen and farther down to grasp the long and thick length that she’d glimpsed the imprint of under the nylon.

  Joshua freaking Lowell had been hard. For her.

  And he’d called her sweetheart.

  She still couldn’t wrap her mind around that. He hated her. Okay, hate might be too strong a word, but he very strongly disliked her. Okay, disliked might be too soft a word.

  Sighing, she shook her head, dispelling the mental picture, but could do nothing for the sensitive spot just under her navel. The spot where his cock had pressed against her as he’d whispered threats—forget promises, those had definitely been threats—in her ear. Idiot that she was, she should’ve been furious, or even a little intimidated, but no.

  She’d just been turned the hell on.

  And all she could think of was whether or not that sandalwood, earth and rain scent would transfer to her skin if his naked, big body covered hers. Would she wear him on her? Or would they create a new fragrance together—one made of him, her and sex?

  Stop this. Now. The silent but strident admonishment rang inside her head, and she heeded it. She had to. In several very short minutes, she would once again face Joshua on his turf. Only this time she wouldn’t have the benefit of surprise. He would have home-court advantage, so to speak, prepared for her, her questions, her preconceived perceptions of him. Joshua Lowell would be ready to battle. And as he’d warned her, he wouldn’t lose.

  She had to be focused and professional and, above all, could not think of how that beautiful body would feel moving over her...in her.

  Dammit!

  “Ms. Armstrong, they’re expecting you upstairs. If you’ll take the elevator to the second floor, Mr. Lowell’s executive assistant, Haley Shaw, will be waiting for you.” The woman gave her a polite but friendly smile as she gestured toward the bank of elevators that Sophie was all too familiar with. She’d covertly stole into them to barge into the Black Crescent offices to interview Joshua Lowell.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, and followed the receptionist’s directions.

  Moments later, she stepped out onto the executive floor and approached Haley Shaw’s large circular desk. The pretty blonde stood in front of it, smiling up at a tall, handsome man with light brown hair and a presence that screamed confidence and an intensity he couldn’t mask. It was that intensity that had Sophie frowning slightly as she approached the couple.

  Though both of their voices contained a light note of flirtation, and Haley didn’t appear uncomfortable, the man seemed to invade the other woman’s personal space, dwarfing Haley’s not-inconsiderable height. As a woman who’d often encountered inappropriate advances in the workplace, maybe Sophie was extra sensitive, but it didn’t stop her from nearing them and stopping at the executive assistant’s side, facing the man, whose smile widened to include her.

  Yeah, she didn’t trust that smile at all.

  In her experience, people who grinned that wide and tried hard to appear affable were usually hiding something. Using overt friendliness and charm as a deflection.

  Something whispered to her that this guy was no different.

  “Good morning, Ms. Armstrong,” Haley greeted Sophie, surprising her a little with the warmth emanating from the welcome. The last time Sophie had been here, she hadn’t made such a good first impression. “Can I introduce you to Chase Hargrove?”

  “Mr. Hargrove.” Sophie nodded, and he extended his hand toward her.

  “Ms. Armstrong. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Giving her another of those too-amicable smiles, he switched his attention back to Haley. “I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, Haley. Hopefully see you then, too, beautiful.” With a wink and crooked grin that even Sophie had to admit had her wanting to fan herself, he turned and strode toward the elevators.

  “Wow,” Sophie muttered as soon as the doors slid closed behind him. “He’s definitely...not shy.” She shook her head, huffing out a laugh. “Were you okay with how strong he seemed to be coming on? If not, you should tell—” Joshua hovered on her tongue, but after a brief hesitation, she said, “Mr. Lowell.”

  She scoffed, waving a hand toward the direction Chase had disappeared. “He’s harmless. Believe me, I can handle him.” Pushing off the desk, she swept a hand toward the double doors that led to Joshua’s office. “He’s waiting for you. Did you need anything? Coffee, t
ea, water?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Sophie would die on the hill of denial before admitting it aloud, but her stomach twisted with nerves and wouldn’t be able to handle anything on it.

  Haley nodded, and when they approached the door, she gave it a swift knock, then opened it. “Joshua, Ms. Armstrong is here.”

  Sweat dotted Sophie’s palms, and her heart rapped against her sternum, but she managed a smile of thanks and shored up her mental shields as she moved into the office. After his visit to the Chronicle and their impromptu meeting at the gym, she didn’t even try to delude herself into believing she could prepare herself for coming face-to-face with him again and not be slammed with the intense presence that was Joshua Lowell.

  So when he rose from behind his desk, exposing that tall, rangy body to her, she just let herself soak him in. Took in the short, dark blond hair that emphasized the clean but sharp facial features. Met the green-and-light-brown gaze that seemed determined to strip her of all her defenses. Traced the wide, soft-looking mouth with its too-tempting, full bottom lip. Wandered over the muscular strength and animal magnetism that his steel-gray suit accentuated rather than hid in a cloak of civility.

  Maybe not resisting the magnetic pull of his utter sexiness but rather immersing herself in it would strengthen her immunity.

  Like a freaking flu shot.

  “Sophie,” he said, rounding the desk with a confident and commanding stride that shouldn’t have set her pulse pounding. But God, did it. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You doubted I would?”

  He halted several feet from her. And it reminded her of how close he’d been in the gym. How his scent had engulfed her. How his lips had brushed her ear even as he whispered threats into it. No. Not threats. Promises, he’d assured her.

  And how sick did it make her that a part of her wanted him to follow through on them?

  Very. Any therapist worth her or his degree would rub their hands in glee at the thought of getting their hands on her.

  “Not for a second,” he murmured, that gaze skimming over her emerald sheath and nude pumps before returning to her face.

  Her skin hummed from the visual contact, and she fought not to rub her palms up and down her bare arms. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her.

  “Well, thank you again for the opportunity to tour the inner sanctum of Black Crescent Hedge Fund.” See? She could be professional around him. “I’m looking forward to this.”

  He nodded. “If you’ll follow me...”

  For the next several hours, Joshua granted her an exclusive peek behind the curtain. Not only did he introduce her to his employees and explain what they did, but he also revealed how he’d implemented safeguards and a checks-and-balances system so what’d occurred with his father didn’t happen again. In other words, he’d willingly policed himself.

  She discovered a side of the company she hadn’t known existed. Over the years, Joshua had donated a mind-boggling amount of money and time to local and statewide programs that assisted domestic abuse victims, literacy and the foster-care system, including his assistant Haley Shaw’s own nonprofit organization. But not only did he help his community, he also invested in his own employees’ futures by helping put the staff and their families through college with scholarships and almost-zero-interest loans.

  And then there were the reparations he’d made to the families affected by his father’s crimes. Joshua had made good on that agreement to repay the stolen funds.

  By the time she followed him back to his office that afternoon, she was convinced Black Crescent wasn’t the coldhearted, corrupt organization portrayed in the news and even by some of her sources.

  By her.

  “What you’ve done here is remarkable,” she said as he closed the office door behind them. She shook her head. “Especially in the last few years. But I’ve only heard of maybe two of your philanthropic efforts. Why haven’t you shared with the public what you’ve shown me today? I think most people would be amazed and as impressed as I am with all that you do for the community on a local and even national level.”

  “If someone brags about what should be their privilege and right to do, I question not just their motivations but their hearts. Besides—” he slipped his hands into the front pockets of his pants and a faint smile quirked the corners of his mouth “—I’ve found that most people, particularly the press, have never been interested in reporting anything positive about my family or the company.”

  She tried not to wince. And didn’t quite manage it. “Touché. But to be fair, my article didn’t attack you, personally.”

  “Fair?” he repeated, sarcasm hardening his voice. “Forgive me if I’ve never associated fair with the media. And attack? No. But for an article that was supposed to be about the so-called anniversary of the Black Crescent incident, you invaded my personal life in a way that seemed intrusive and unnecessary.”

  Her chin snapped up and her shoulders back, offended. “Am I supposed to apologize for being good at my job? I can’t control what my sources tell me or where my investigation carries me. I won’t apologize for the truth. Ever.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “If anything you should be thanking me for not including the truth about your illegitimate daughter in the article. I can’t say the same would’ve happened if—”

  “Don’t say it again,” he barked. No, growled. And the ominous rumble of it snapped off her words like a branch cracking from a tree. Thunder rolled across his face, shadowing his eyes and pulling the skin taut across his cheekbones. He took a step forward but drew up short the next instant. “I am. Not. My. Father,” he snarled. And somehow, that low, dark statement stunned her more than if he’d yelled it at her. “I would never, ever turn my back on my family the way that bas—”

  He broke off, but the rest of his sentence might as well as have been shouted in the room, it echoed so loud, momentarily deafening her.

  “The way your father did,” she whispered, the words rasping her throat.

  Joshua’s face could’ve been carved from stone, but his eyes. God, his eyes damn near glowed with fury...and pain. Such deep, bright pain that the breath caught in her throat, and she ached with it. Ached for him.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him, eyes momentarily closing. Until this moment Vernon Lowell had been a story, a shadowy, almost urban legend–like figure who’d committed an infamous crime, then disappeared into thin air. But now, in his son’s eyes, she saw him as a father—a father who had abandoned and hurt his son so deeply with his actions that even years later, that son suffered. Suffered in ways he hid so successfully that no one—least of all Sophie—had suspected.

  That emotion—the intensity of it—couldn’t be faked. So was Joshua telling the truth about the child? Did he really not know of her existence? Not only did she rely on her investigative skills in her job, but her instincts. And they were screaming like a pissed-off banshee that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t.

  Pinching the bridge of her nose, she bowed her head. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But her heart had made the decision seconds before her brain caught on. And she moved toward the laptop bag she’d left on the couch in the sitting area of his office before leaving for the tour of the company.

  Moments later, she had her computer removed and booting up on the coffee table. Glancing up at a still stoic and silent Joshua, she waved him over. “I have something to show you, Joshua,” she murmured, using his name for the first time. Something had shifted inside her with that glimpse into his eyes. Standing on formality seemed silly now.

  After a brief hesitation, he strode over and lowered onto the cushion next to her. Resolutely attempting to ignore the heat that seemed to emanate from his big body, she focused on pulling up a password-protected file. In several clicks, a report filled the screen.

 
; A DNA report.

  He stiffened next to her, and his gaze jerked to her. Silence throbbed in the office, as loud as a heartbeat, as he stared at her. She met his penetrating study evenly, not betraying the wild pounding of her pulse in her ears or the sudden case of dryness that had assaulted her mouth. She couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. Common sense railed that she was making a huge mistake, maybe even violating her ethics. But her sense of decency—her soul—insisted that if she could somehow make this right, she should. If she could ease the pain that he would probably deny even existed, she needed to. Whether that was by confirming his daughter’s existence or even having a hand in reuniting them... She didn’t know. But she had to try.

  He turned to her laptop and, leaning forward, scrutinized the report. Taking in his name at the top and the mother’s name, which was blacked out. Scanning the results that ended in one determination: Joshua Lowell was a match for a baby girl born four years ago.

  Slowly, he straightened. Shock dulled his eyes, flattened the lush curves of his mouth. Only his fists, clenched so tight the knuckles bleached white, betrayed the hint of a stronger current of emotion that could be coursing through him.

  Finally, he shifted his gaze to her. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his deep voice like churned-up gravel. It scraped over her skin, abrading her. “Who sent it to you?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Goddammit, Sophie,” he snapped. “How can you show me this and then deny me the resources to determine whether it’s true or not. Real or not?” he demanded, fury sparking his eyes.

  “I can’t, Joshua,” she insisted. Shaking her head, she spread her hands wide, palms up, on her thighs. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I will tell you this, though. I believe the report is authentic. My source... I’ve held the actual report in my hand. If it’s faked, it’s a fabulous forgery.”

  “Dammit.” He surged off the couch and stalked across the floor to the floor-to-ceiling window that made up one of the walls of his office. Thrusting the fingers of both hands through his short hair, he uttered a soft “dammit” again, then pressed a fist to the glass and cupped the back of his neck with the other. “How would they even be able to run a DNA test? I’ve never been asked or consented to giving a sample.” He whirled around, his sharp features drawn, taut. “This doesn’t make sense. Someone is playing games. They have an endgame that I don’t know about and can’t figure out.”