by Scott, S. L.
Smart. So damn smart. Making me wonder how she got tangled up in whatever is holding her hostage from her own life.
I’ve had my own stumbling blocks, but nothing to the point of leaving this world behind—friends, family, and the life I live. What is she hiding? Who is she protecting?
The attendant returns, setting my drinks down. “Here you are, sir. Would you like a snack or for a meal to be served?”
“I’ll wait for Ms. Nobleman to wake.”
“As you wish.”
“Thank you.” I take a sip of the liquor, feeling the warm velvet rush through my veins. Watching her—lids closed, dark lashes curving up against the tops of her cheeks, wisps of hair hanging over her eyes—I find her stunning even in her sleep. Her mouth falls open, and a little rumble sneaks out.
Her snoring makes me chuckle. Good to know she has a flaw. Though it’s so cute I’m not sure I can classify it that way.
Shifting, her hand falls in front of her, and I’m tempted to take it, to hold it, to comfort her as she struggles to hold on to those last few moments of peaceful sleep.
I don’t. I take another sip instead and watch as her eyes open, slowly at first, with the sweetest of smiles following. “Hi,” she says, her voice raspy and dry.
When her eyes find my water, she sits up, bringing the seat with her. “Do you mind if I steal your drink?”
“Not at all.”
She gets up, tugging her sweater back in place, and sits next to me. Reaching for the glass in my hand instead of the water, she winks. I relent and watch as she takes a small sip and then a larger one. Resting her head back on the seat, she rolls her neck, facing me. “Did I snore?”
“No.” It’s an innocent little lie, the teeniest of fibs.
“Liar,” she says, stretching over the large armrest to tap my leg.
I catch it before she has time to pull it away and hold her there. With our eyes focused on each other, she takes another sip.
“I have lied to you, but I’m not a detective.”
“I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I said that.” She pulls her hand back and runs the tip of her finger around the edge of the glass several times before she looks back at me.
“I know your father because we were working on a communications deal.” I can’t read her expression because her eyes aren’t on me. I hate it. “He’s worried about you.”
“He’s not. You were just gullible enough to believe him. He doesn’t matter to me right now.” She finishes the drink and sets it between us, taking her hand from me and resting it in her lap. “You and your brothers are in danger. I knew who those men at the park were because they’re the ones who kidnapped me.”
I sit straight up in shock, the lap belt digging into my waist. “You were kidnapped?”
“That’s the first time I’ve said it to someone who didn’t do it.”
Fuck the seat belt. I release it and stand, needing the space to pace. What is she involved in? “Winter, you need to tell me why and by who.”
“I didn’t know why until I met you.” Her voice shakes just enough to hear the fear that’s gripped her.
“Me? What do I have to do with it?”
“I was used to get to you. I didn’t know, though. Please believe me. I would have never hurt you or put you in danger if I had.”
“I don’t understand. You didn’t know me, and I didn’t know you.” My mind starts ticking through the conversations we’ve had and then back to what brought me to Paris in the first place. “Fuck me.”
“What is it?”
“Your father. He’s the key.”
18
Winter
Bennett has been pacing the main cabin of the jet for the better part of an hour. Sometimes, he sits up front on the couch, speaking so quietly on the phone I can’t hear him. The engine noise keeps his call private, but I know he’s talking about what to do when we land and doesn’t want to worry me.
I’m a wrench in his plans, an unexpected detour on his golden brick road. The man was born for success. Everything about him from his personality to his looks to his patience and humor draws you to him like a bee to honey. He’s just as sweet. How, after finding out I had put him in danger, did he want to protect me? He should have left me in Paris.
I can’t be his downfall.
I could never live with myself if he was hurt . . . or worse.
Will telling him the whole truth hurt or help the situation? I’m unsure.
But Kurt McCoy plays dirty, so I have to tell him every sordid detail.
Taking the seat next to me, he fastens his seat belt after stowing his phone in his pocket. “We’re landing soon. Buckle up—”
“Buttercup,” I finish. That earns me a smile. I soak it in, needing his light, his happy, and his charms back in my life.
“I have a million questions but need the security team to hear the answers. You’re coming home with me.”
“Come home with you and spill my lying guts, hoping the truth sounds more real than fiction? You should want me as far away from you as possible. Because of me, you were almost hurt today.”
“I’m not afraid of getting hurt, Winter. Do you trust me?”
I settle into the soft seats and stare at my feet. “I don’t even know what trust means anymore.”
“It means that I tell you the truth, and you tell me the truth. I have your back, and you have mine.” My throat thickens, my heart racing. “It means I give you my heart, and you give me yours.”
“Is that what you want, Bennett?” I glance over. “You want to love me? I’m the most prickly pear out there.”
“The prickliest pears taste the sweetest.”
“Or die on the plant.”
“No, they don’t die. They bloom into the prettiest flowers.”
“Stop being so damn charming. I almost got you killed, remember?”
“Nah, today isn’t my day to die.”
“Then what is it?”
Leaning forward, he kisses my bruised jaw, and then whispers, “Just the beginning.”
* * *
We’ve landed, and a black SUV waits on the tarmac. A large man wearing all black stands at the base of the steps when we descend. Bennett greets him, “Lars.”
The door opens, and I hurry to the back seat while they look around and then load in right after. Lars is up front, and Bennett slides in next to me. I stopped asking where I was going upon arrival. I’m with Bennett seems to be good enough for all of us.
I’m not sure where we’re heading in our relationship, but I do feel a measure of comfort in his words. “It means I give you my heart, and you give me yours.” I’ve paid the price for trusting another man before, but I’m hoping my instinct is right to trust in Bennett. I already do, enough to consider giving him my heart.
I still worry about what he’ll think when he knows the full story. I sank to new lows when playing by the rules didn’t reward me. I can blame my father and brother all I want, but I’m the one who went to work for the enemy.
Nothing can justify my behavior, and it’s time I face the consequences of my actions. A pretty face can’t erase my dirty insides from the life Kurt made me lead under his lock and key.
I cover Bennett’s hand, hoping it’s possible to find our way out of this mess.
“A lot happened today,” he says.
That’s an understatement, but even his optimism rubs off on me. “And we survived.”
“We did.” An incorrigible grin arises. Bridging the gap, his hand lies seventy-five percent closer to me, palm up.
“You could have met halfway.” Fifty percent would have been a good compromise.
“I don’t mind going the distance for you, cactus flower.”
And then I pool into a puddle of mushy feels on the floorboard of this SUV. Plucking my heart up, I wedge it back into place, and reply, “And here I thought you’d go for prickly pear, movie star.”
“Nah. You’re more than the armor that surrounds y
ou.”
Placing my hand in his, I study the size difference. His bear paw engulfs my panther paw, making me smile. He goes on to say, “You weren’t born among the thorns, which makes me wonder why you grew them in the first place.”
“My mother’s death,” I reply without thinking. I glance up to his whiskey eyes, holding my breath in shock of what I’ve admitted. I don’t ever talk about that time, yet I have to him twice.
“That would do it.” He slides all the way over until he bumps into me. Reaching around my head, he pushes the lock down, grumbling about it being up. When he rests back, our fingers fall into place, weaving together a bond built over days of getting to know each other. “I’m sorry about your mother, Winter.”
“So am I, but there’s nothing to be done now. There wasn’t then either. Cancer fucking stole the rug out from under us. In her case, we didn’t notice until we fell.”
“Singer’s mother fought breast cancer.”
“How is she doing?” I ask, praying she’s alive, and I didn’t step in a landmine.
“She’s doing well. The doctors are happy with her body’s response to the treatment.”
“That’s good.” I wish that was my case, but some of us aren’t meant to have nice things. I look at the nails of my free hand remembering how my mom used to paint them dark blue like her eyes. She told me it was a warrior’s color. Although I was only seven, she used to let me paint her nails while she would recite poetry from the heart. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” I spilled the paint the day before she died. I say, “She died on a Tuesday. That was what she called Mommy-daughter day. Every week we spent that day together just the two of us. I found her passed away in her bed instead.”
I hate how my voice trembles. Eighteen years is a long time to let something bother you. I’ll need longer than this lifetime to get over her death. “She was buried the following Tuesday. I painted my nails black.” I hold my hand up, the OPI Bubble Bath polish clean and neat, and the furthest from a warrior’s color I can get.
Noticing the familiar skyline out the window, I ask, “Where are we going?”
“To my apartment.”
“I don’t have anything on me for a sleepover, not even a toothbrush.”
“I have a spare.”
“Clothes? I don’t even have underwear. God, how embarrassing.”
A slow grin slides deliciously into place. Dipping into his pocket, I recognize the lace he pulls out. My mouth falls open and my eyes go wide. “I got that covered too,” he replies.
“With my dirty panties?”
Shaking his head, he laughs. “We can wash your clothes for tomorrow.”
“Well, what about tonight?”
“You can borrow mine.”
“But you’re a beast of a man. They’ll swallow me whole.”
His laughter deepens. “You know. I think you like how big I am.” And then I get his signature wink.
I roll my eyes to play it off like he’s just spoken pure insanity, but I do like it—the wink and his size. “Size doesn’t matter. I’m not that shallow.”
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart, and maybe one day you’ll believe it.”
“You know, sometimes I think you’re the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. And then sometimes you open your mouth, and I just want to plug it.”
“With what? Your tongue? I see how you look at me—”
“You mean the same way you look at me?”
“Maybe.” He shrugs unapologetically. “Maybe not. I think we see things differently.”
“Do we? How so?”
“I think you see men as prey—someone to con, someone to waste some time with, someone to fuck. See? You don’t even balk at the suggestion. You’d be offended if I wasn’t right.”
“I can feign offense if you’d like.” Covering my heart with my hand, I put my other to my forehead. “Oh, mercy me. Whatever would I be without a big, strong man telling me what to do?”
“You should have gone to drama school. You nailed it.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice.”
The see-saw of our emotions teeters the other way, and he says, “That’s exactly what I mean. You don’t have to practice with me. I’m not battling for control or one-upping you every chance I get. If this is who you are in Manhattan, I choose Paris.”
Despite the fact he’s still holding my balled panties in his hand, his words have such finality to them that I stare at him. “What do you want from me, Bennett?”
“I want you to end the battle before it begins. I understand you’re outside your comfort zone, but I need you not to fight me every step of the way. We’re on the same side. We’re allies.” His gaze lowers to my injured jaw. “No one is going to hurt you again, especially not me.”
“Trust,” I say, remembering how he said if he gives me his heart, I give him mine. He’s been wearing his out in the open for all to see while I’m still trying to protect mine. “How do I learn to trust?”
“You just do it without any guarantees. Take the risk. Think how much better we can be as a team.”
Squeezing his hand gently, and then with more assurance, I say, “Allies.”
“You and me.”
I wouldn’t be alone.
I lean my head on his shoulder and he wraps his arm around me. Allies with Bennett is a good place to be. I don’t need a man, or anyone, to feel complete. But for the first time in a very long time, I don’t feel alone, and that’s worth savoring. That’s worth fighting for.
We spend some time in rush hour traffic before we finally pull into an underground garage. A gate comes down behind us with visible cameras throughout the garage. When we come to a stop in front of a gray steel door, it happens so fast that I’m not sure what to do other than sit tight.
The lock pops up, and my door opens abruptly. Lars says, “Right this way.”
I glance back at Bennett, needing to know what to do. He nods. “It’s okay.”
Stepping out to Lars’s right, I release his helping hand. He looks to his left and then escorts me to the open area by the door but tucks me behind the brick wall. I start to calm when Bennett joins me. “What’s going on?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“I said I’d protect you. Welcome to The Everest.”
19
Winter
Not in front of the elevator.
Just past the stairwell.
Not near the door.
Stay close enough to “save.”
After Lars doled out the firm directives, I stay put right under Bennett’s arm. Lars comes back down the hall to where he left us standing. “All clear.”
“Thank you. I texted my brother, but can you update him on the clearance?” Bennett replies.
“Yes. I’m going up there now.”
Lars continues to a door down the hall. Looking just beyond him, I see another door, and ask, “There’s only one other apartment on the floor?”
“Yes, my oldest brother and the princess live there.”
“Princess?”
“Of Brudenbourg,” he says so nonchalantly that I still don’t know if he’s teasing.
“A for real princess?”
“Yes. A ‘for real’ princess.” He throws in air quotes for fun as we walk into the apartment.
I stare at him. “I don’t understand. You’re not kidding?”
He chuckles. “No, why would I kid about her being a princess?”
“You call me sweetheart?” I don’t even know what I’m asking, but I crave the answer like a kid craves candy.
Pulling me in, he kisses my head. “Because you are,” he replies like the answer was always right there in front of me. “When you’re not my prickly pear.”
“I prefer cactus flower.”
“Me too.”
I force myself to look away from the gorgeous man next to me, my mouth falling open as soon as I enter the “apartment,” which makes me want to use air quotes. I’ve never seen an apartmen
t in Manhattan this big before. Rushing forward to the center of the living room, I stare out the large windows before me. “Good God, Bennett.” It would be impossible to feel claustrophobic in such an airy, wide-open space. “It’s like living in the clouds with no walls confining you.” Finding him over my shoulder, I ask, “This is your place?”
“This is my place.” The smugness isn’t lost on me. But damn, he has every right to be cocky. My place is nice . . . at least I used to think so. But it’s a ramshackle walk-up compared to this palace in the sky. From behind me, I hear him say, “I thought you did your research on me?”
I laugh. “I looked you up. I didn’t research you.”
“Ah, I didn’t catch the difference earlier.” When I look back, he’s reaching into a cabinet. “Something to drink?”
“Whatever you’re drinking.”
The glass of the window is cold when I press my hands against it to see how far the view extends. Pretty damn far. “What did Lars mean when he said he was going up now? Up where?”
“My brother Ethan lives in the penthouse. That’s base.”
“What’s base?” I start to snoop around the place. “Nice view, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Setting a pitcher of water down on the island counter, he hands me a full glass. “Base is home base. Hutton’s apartment down the hall is first base. Mine is second.”
“But you’re third born?”
“I know,” he replies, shaking his head. “Missed opportunity if you ask me. They didn’t.” He chuckles. “Maybe it throws off the bad guys.” He finishes his water in one long chug and begins to refill it.
“Bad guys?” I ask, my eyes going wide. Do they have more than the ones I’ve brought into their lives?
“Kidding. Kind of.” And there’s that wink again followed by a playful nudge as he walks by.
“I think it’s too soon to joke about bad guys.”
“You’re probably right.” Looking back at me, he signals toward the hall. “Come on. Let me give you a tour.”
“Am I staying that long?”
“Is it bad if I want you to?”
