by Shayla Black
“Same, brother,” Ash chimes in beside me.
“Terry really isn’t coming?” That possibility distresses me.
Ash shakes his head. “He went to urgent care this morning. It’s definitely the flu.”
“Shit,” I groan. “The next few hours are going to be like the seventh circle of hell.”
Bethany gives me a grudging smile. “My feet already feel like they’ve traversed rings of fire. I don’t know how I’ll last another four hours. At least the tips are good.”
In part because she’s gotten really proficient at waitressing. But also because she looks absolutely stunning with her pillowy lips painted red and a spaghetti-strapped black dress that ends mid-thigh. It isn’t low-cut or flashy like Montana’s bright red number. But it hugs her perfectly, and I’ve spent half the night staring at her. So have most of the guys in this place, including loud-Hawaiian-shirt dude. He’s back—for the fifth day in a row. His behavior is borderline harassing again, so I’ve been trying my best to watch over Bethany. I can’t deny, though, that I simply like looking at her.
I also can’t deny that I’d like to do more than look. In fact, the raunchy fantasies saturating my brain are both making me angry and making it tough to concentrate. I need to snap out of my NC-17 daydreams and focus.
“You doing okay with Mr. Asshole?” I ask.
She shrugs. “About like every other day. He wants another Bud on draft. The honeymooners a few tables over both want Sex on the Beach shots and a fishbowl of the rum punch to share. Then I need a whiskey neat and a dry vodka martini for the two guys at the front who told me they’re looking to ring in the near year with a meaningless fling and asked if I’d be interested.”
I hope like fuck she said no.
My knee-jerk reaction is a kick in the balls. It’s one thing to want her admittedly gorgeous body, but to be jealous?
Fuck.
I’d love to tell myself that I’m simply concerned she’ll be distracted by a couple of tourists and stop focusing on the rapport we’re building—the one that should soon start netting me the information I need. But I know better.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve known Bethany for a handful of days. We’ve only talked a few times. I certainly haven’t touched her. And I’m not going to. Sure, the horny guy in me would love to peel off her clothes, lower my body over hers, and press her to my bed before I find some relief deep inside her. Even if I don’t want to want her, she’s attractive and I’m a guy. Lust is easy.
But this feels uncomfortably like more than mere desire.
God, I can’t pleasure someone who hurt my family so much. I’m here to give Bethany her just desserts, damn it, not orgasms. But to covet her? No. Absolutely fucking no.
“They sound like douches. What did you tell them?” I do my best to sound nonchalant. “Interested?”
Logic tells me she’s not. In fact, she doesn’t seem interested in any man, me included. Because some other guy who apparently couldn’t keep his pants zipped burned her, so she finds me “refreshing?” Maybe. But one thing I do know? Since we met, Bethany hasn’t acted like a duplicitous criminal mastermind. She works hard, does her job, and refuses to fraternize. Then I take her home alone because Ash seems glued to Montana these days. During the drive, I try to coax her to open up to me…but it’s as if the bit she confided the other night scared her from revealing more.
I’m hoping tonight will be different.
The last hour leading up to midnight is particularly grueling. Everyone wants a fresh round to toast the new year. Champagne bottles come out of the chiller, bubbly gets poured, glasses get raised. As people start the last ten seconds of the countdown, accompanied by a tape-delayed feed on the TV from Times Square, Bethany drops her tray on the bar, grabs herself a glass of water, and takes a sip.
“Five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!” the crowd shouts.
Beside us, Ash leans across the bar to mack on Montana. I look away—and my stare locks on Bethany. Around us, everything is pandemonium. Everyone is kissing, their lip locks somewhere between joyous and passionate. Between us, the air is suddenly and completely still.
The urge to lay my mouth over hers storms my brain. Can she read my thoughts? I don’t know. She just gazes back, unblinking. What she’s not doing? Putting distance between us.
I swallow. My blood surges. My cock flares to life.
Yes, I want this to be the year I get retribution for my dad. On the other hand, what if Bethany is innocent?
Is that even possible…or is that simply my libido negotiating with my head because I want her?
“Happy New Year,” she murmurs softly.
“Happy New Year.”
Ash elbows me. “Ring in the New Year right. Kiss her!”
I don’t dare. If I start, I’m afraid I’ll back her against the bar and seduce her into wrapping her legs around me so I can unzip, and we can get busy.
Finally, I settle for cupping her shoulder. It’s friendly without being flirty, right? It’s also not enough. Not nearly. Without conscious thought, I shuffle closer, lean in. I’m shocked when Bethany does the same. My heart kicks my ribs. Holy shit, is this going to happen?
Breath held, I bend to her, my face inches above hers. She bites her lip, clearly wavering and unsure. But breathless. Damn it, she looks as if she wants me to kiss her. How can I? Yet how can I fucking refuse when I want to so badly?
Her pouty, rosy lips lure me closer. My body is on autopilot. I keep leaning in, moving closer and closer, heart thundering. Anticipation buzzes under my skin.
I close the distance. But just before I brush my lips across hers, she turns her head. My lips glide across her soft cheek. I inhale her light, sugary scent, then jerk away in disappointment. In frustration. I’m full of recriminations, even though not kissing her is for the best.
Fuck, I need to get my head together. I also need to lighten the mood between us.
“Back to work for me,” I quip as I somehow find the will to step back. “I’ll get those drinks you asked for.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, then gulps down the last of her water nervously before bustling to a nearby table to pick up empty glasses and cash out their tab.
Over the next two hours, the crowd thins quickly. A little after two a.m., Andy locks up while the staff collectively groans in exhaustion.
“Good job, everyone. Beth, Clint, Samantha? I’ll see you guys on Tuesday. Enjoy your day off.”
“See you.” I wave at him.
Predictably, Ash tosses me his car keys and disappears with Montana again.
When I look for Bethany, she’s standing at the far end of the overhang and tapping on her phone.
“Ready to head home?”
She hesitates. “I’m sure you’re way too tired to drive me. Maxon volunteered—”
“Are you bailing because of what didn’t happen between us tonight?”
For a moment, I think she’s going to demur, but she finally nods. “I didn’t mean to…”
Get that close to me. As much as her last-minute cold shoulder grated on me, I’m glad now it happened. I don’t need my head clouded by Bethany. I still have a million and one problems. Fixating on how much I want to fuck her won’t help.
“It’s cool,” I downplay our almost-kiss. “Look, we’re friends, right? It would have just been a friendly New Year’s peck in the moment. It wouldn’t have meant anything.”
A little frown steals across her face. “Sure. And nothing personal, but I have a lot happening in my life right now. I don’t need anything romantic. Not that you see me that way. I’m older than you, after all.”
“Not that much.”
“Enough that we probably shouldn’t be a thing.”
Five years is nothing, and if Bethany were the target of my lust rather than my retribution, I wouldn’t give a shit how much older she was. She’s crazy if she thinks that matters to me one bit. But if that gives her some false sense of security, fine by me.
I give her a noncommittal shrug. “How about that ride home? There’s no reason to wake Maxon when I’m already up.”
“Actually, they’re awake. All my siblings and their spouses gathered to celebrate the New Year, so…”
“Beth…” I give her my best let’s-be-reasonable tone. “You’d have to wait at least thirty minutes until Maxon arrives, and I’d have to stand here and wait with you. I’m not leaving you alone so Mr. Asshole can find you and harass you some more.” Then I notice she’s sporting fresh finger-shaped bruises on her other arm. Instantly, my temper explodes. “Did he do this to you?”
“It’s all right. I elbowed him in the ribs and told him to keep his hands off me or to get the hell out. He backed off.”
Maybe, but for how long?
Damn it, I wish I hadn’t somehow missed seeing him grabbing her again. What the hell does this douche want? He must know Bethany is not going to sleep with him. “It’s not all right. Did you tell Andy?”
Suddenly, her phone dings, then she looks my way with a sigh. “Would you mind taking me home after all? Keeley is having contractions for the third night this week. Maxon can’t leave her.”
Fate is smiling on me. “Let’s go.”
Once we’re in the car, I crack the windows to let the sultry Hawaiian air caress me. I’ve got thirty minutes to recover from my earlier slip. But how can I continue to be “just a friend” when it’s getting tough to keep my hands to myself? If I tried to kiss her again, would she let me? Maybe. If I did, how much more betrayed would I feel if I proved her wide-eyed behavior is an act and she’s fucked me over, too?
On the other hand, am I getting anywhere by being her pal? So far, no. I’ve been in Hawaii nearly a week and I’m no closer to proving she’s a lying, stealing bitch than I was the night my plane touched down. I can’t stay here indefinitely…
“Thanks,” she says as I pull onto the highway. “As much as you’ve been driving me lately, at least let me give you some gas money.”
When she reaches into her wallet, I stay her. First of all, I’ve made a few million dollars of my own, and if we ever find my father’s money, I’ll have another million or so on top of that. Second, I’m a little old-fashioned, thanks to my dad. Even if we’re not dating, I wouldn’t take money from a woman simply for doing her a favor.
“No need. I got it.”
“I insist. Gas on the island is expensive.”
True. But why would a thief be so adamant about repaying me? I don’t have an answer for that, just like I don’t have an answer for why someone who’s just stolen hundreds of millions of dollars is working like a slave at a dive bar rather than enjoying the spoils of her scam. Is it a ploy designed to throw investigators off her scent? But if the FBI has publicly stated they’ve already arrested everyone they intend to, does she really need to be duping them?
“Nope. But if you want to give me something, talk to me. I like conversation with you.”
It’s probably shitty to assure her she’s not beholden to me, then use her feelings to get closer. But I have to step up my game, work faster. If I don’t, if I can’t prove who Bethany Banks is and what she’s done quickly, I have a terrible feeling life will pull me away from Maui before the job is done. Or…I’ll get weak, kiss her, get her naked, and stop caring about her past. I can’t live with either outcome.
“I don’t know why.” She shrugs. “I’ve said nothing interesting.”
“I get the feeling you run deep. Honestly, I don’t find that often.”
She looks uncomfortable with the thought that I might be digging into her psyche. “I think almost everyone who reaches of age of thirty has had experiences, some that have left scars. I’m not unique in that.”
No, she’s not. But since I need her to open up fast, maybe if I offer something up personal she’ll feel like reciprocating.
“I hear you. I’ve got scars, too. Do you know how awful it is to live with guilt?”
Bethany falls very quiet and drops her stare to her folded hands on her lap. “Yes. Every day.”
Oh, now we’re getting somewhere… But now what should I share to encourage her to open up?
“My mom died of cancer, and I was away from home for most of her illness,” I blurt. Once I realize what I’ve said, I’m horrified…but I’m stuck. I have to roll with it. “Up until the end, I kept telling myself she wouldn’t die, that she was too young and too healthy. That she would beat this. She’d always been such a go-getter. She tackled everything in life, so I convinced myself this was just a bump in the road. She was always upbeat when I talked to her on the phone. My dad tried to tell me it was serious, but I didn’t hear him.” I pause, frustrated that I’m choked up. “It wasn’t until I came home to surprise Mom for her birthday that I saw how much the cancer had ravaged her and I realized I’d pissed away most of our remaining time together with my denial. I stayed another three weeks. I told her I loved her as she took her last breath.” Tears sting my eyes. Jesus… “Burying her just about killed me. Even as they lowered her casket in the ground, I couldn’t believe she was gone.”
Bethany turns to me, tears shimmering in the dark as she reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “I’m sorry. Have you ever told anyone that?”
I can’t speak, so I just shake my head and squeeze her hand back.
“Not your father or your brothers?”
“Dad was going through enough. My brothers were dealing with their own grief. I listened to them. I knew they needed it, but…” I couldn’t unload on Bret and Bry.
“You don’t have to be that strong for everyone. You don’t have to be alone.” She bites her lip as if debating the wisdom of her next words. “I’ll listen.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry for bringing up something that’s so fucking personal.” I sniffle back the threat of tears that just aren’t manly. “I’m supposed to be driving you home, and here I go, bringing up a downer of a topic. If I keep talking about it, I’ll embarrass myself.”
She squeezes my hand again. “Then I can sit here while you get yourself together. You’ve done a lot to help me. This is the very least I can do.”
I give her a tight smile. “Tell me about your mom.”
“She had me young and raised me as a single mother. A couple of years ago, she married a great guy—a widower—and they moved to Salt Lake. It’s been good for her.”
“You two close?”
Bethany doesn’t answer right away. “Not as much as I wish we were. She was twenty-one when she had me. I think she resented me a little bit for forcing her to adult before she was ready.”
“No one held a gun to her head and made her have sex with your dad, I presume.”
She shakes her head. “I just don’t think she realized how much responsibility being a mom would be until I was in her life. When I was a kid, she always looked for ways to ditch me so she could party. I spent a lot of time with neighbors, babysitters, and my dad. He’s older. And wealthy—or he was.” She turns pensive, frowns. “I think from the time I was little I knew that she enjoyed extorting money from him to pay for my upbringing. Dance lessons, piano lessons, and lots of private schools. Dad wasn’t warm, but at least when we were together he wasn’t looking for ways to get away from me, so I kind of resented her for being a bitch to him.”
Wow. For a woman who’s barely opened up, she’s suddenly shared a lot. And since we’re skirting the topic of her dad, I urge her to go on. “So you’re closer to him?”
She shrugs. “Yes and no. He encouraged me growing up. He made me believe I was smart enough to learn everything I would ever need to do great things in life. Up until the last few years, my mom thought the most valuable skill she could teach me was to squeeze money out of a man’s balls. Apparently, I was a miserable failure at this. Anyway, I think falling in love finally brought her some peace, because she’s a lot better to be around now. She’s tried in subtle ways to make my childhood up to me, but I needed a mom when I was three, not so much n
ow that I’m thirty.”
That’s pretty fucking sad. Through no fault of her own, Bethany paid for her mother’s mistakes. She tries to shrug the pain off as if it’s in the past, but I see it still haunts her.
I caress her hand with my thumb and squeeze her fingers. “I’m sorry. You and your mom have a lot to work through, it sounds like. You have time, though. You can still do it.”
“And you can’t. My whining sounds insensitive.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m giving you the silver lining. She’s still here for you to mend the rift. You said the other day that your dad left you a voice mail. Have you called him back? You guys still in touch?”
She shakes her head. “Which also makes me sound terrible because your dad isn’t here anymore, either. Honestly, I don’t know if we’ll ever work our differences out.”
“Did you fight?”
Bethany falls really silent. I hold my breath, wondering if she’s going to tell me something helpful. Guilt niggles me for luring her into this conversation, but now that we’re here, it’s raw and stark and real. And I feel as if I’m beginning to understand her in a way I just didn’t during our previous conversations.
“Let’s just say that I recently came into contact with his unpleasant side.”
Like she didn’t know he was a douchebag all along? How is that possible? I want to press for more, but Bethany appears to be struggling to hold herself together.
“And you didn’t like it,” I finish for her. “I’m sorry.”
“It was…a shock. I grew up thinking he was so proud of me. He always pushed me to succeed. I was in a gifted and talented pre-K program by the time I was three. I was reading and doing simple math at four. I never went to kindergarten, just jumped directly into second grade. I also skipped fourth grade, eighth grade, and did concurrent high school and college course work as a senior. School was really awkward. I was so much younger than everyone. I used to cry. Dad did his best to convince me that everyone was simply jealous that I was so much better than them and that I should ignore their crap. But the truth is, to those kids, I was a freak.”
