A Second Look: A Forbidden Second Chance Romance

by Lexi Aurora

  “You’d better come with us,” the other officer said gravely. I nodded, following them out of the house without a thought to even grab my jacket.

  Chapter 10: Eve

  I glanced at my phone, checking whether I had missed a call from Sebastian for what seemed like hundreds of times. I hadn’t heard from him in three days, and though I was waiting for a call from him, I couldn’t bring myself to go to his place or see him in person. The kiss at the party was lingering in my head, and it seemed to me like every time I thought about it I could almost taste him all over again. I sighed and spun in my chair in my office, staring at the ceiling, feeling miserable and bored. I got on my computer again and started to browse, pulling up world news, reading through the articles for something interesting. My eyes lit up on seeing a small news story from the UK, the theft of a valuable heirloom from a family that was descended from royalty. I clicked on it with interest, taking a deep breath when the article confirmed what I had thought—the knife had been stolen from a wealthy family in London at some point in the last month, and there were no leads as to when it happened or who took it. Several people had been in and out of the estate since the piece disappeared, but I knew it was Sebastian who had taken it.

  I wrote down the name of the family who owned the estate, quickly looking up a way to contact them. The only thing I could find was a line for their family lawyer, and I decided that it was better than nothing. I dialed the number and held the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” came a polite voice.

  “Hi,” I said. “My name is Evelyn Fox. Maybe you can help me.”

  “Certainly,” the man said.

  “Is this Mr. Reed Baker?” I asked.

  “Mr. Baker is out right now,” the man said. “But I’ll be happy to leave him a message.”

  “Do you know anything about the missing dagger of the Julliard family? Anything at all?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

  “Who are you, exactly?”

  “My name is Eve. I’m a private investigator. I’m interested in helping you with your case.”

  “There are investigators on the case already,” the man said. “I’m sorry—”

  “I can help,” I said. “I think I have a lead.”

  “Do you?” he asked, interest in his voice. “And who is that?”

  “Somebody here. I’m looking into him. I can share whatever information I get with you as long as you help me with something.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “It’s not going to be much.”

  “I just need the guest lists of all of the events that have been held at the estate in the last month,” I said to him. “And a list of the dates. Is that possible?”

  “I think I could pull that up,” he said. “I can email it to you as soon as we’re done.”

  “Thank you,” I said to him. “That’s all I need for now. Is there a direct line to the family or should I call this number again?”

  “Go ahead and call back. I’ll connect you to Mr. Baker.”

  “Okay,” I said, telling him goodbye before hanging up the phone. A few moments later, he sent me a long list of all the events that had gone on during the month—more than half a dozen. I scanned through the list and my eyes landed on one name.

  September 4th. Sebastian Cunningham.

  “God, Sebastian,” I said, sighing, printing out the list. I printed out the photos, also, of Sebastian going into the antique shop, as well as the article about the dagger in the news. I put them all in a folder, glancing at the clock to see that it was already late in the day. I left the folder on my desk and left, feeling more stressed than I had before I’d gotten proof of what he had done. I thought about calling Lola but decided not to. For some reason, though I’d gotten what she wanted, I didn’t want to tell her what I’d found just yet. I went home, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of my head that told me to call her immediately and get it over with. Instead, I got ready for bed, getting undressed and slipping under the covers. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep, and when I did I dreamt of Sebastian. His smile, the sound of his laugh. I woke up the next morning in a terrible mood, motivated finally to call Lola and finish the job once and for all.

  When I got to my office, I was surprised to find that the door had been broken in, knocked nearly off of its hinges. I went inside cautiously and looked around, my eyes landing on my desk. My computer was smashed into pieces as if it had been pulverized with a hammer, and the folder that had been on the desk was gone. I gritted my teeth, hurrying over, searching the desk for the folder. I knew it was gone, though, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to find it.

  A moment later, I was in my car, filled with anger as I drove to Sebastian’s house. I had no idea how he’d found out about the evidence, only that the photos I needed as proof were gone. Without them, all I had was a guest list with hundreds of other names on it, and no way to say for sure that he’d had anything to do with the theft. I pushed the intercom on his gate.

  “Sebastian,” I said. “Let me in.”

  The gate swung open without a word on the intercom and I went up the drive, parking in front of the mansion. I got out and knocked on the door, waiting impatiently until he opened it. The instant I saw him, I was stricken by his appearance. He looked haggard, his skin pale rather than golden, eyes dim, filled with anguish. He had stubble on his chin and jaw and he stared at me with a dull look.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him, frowning in concern. He didn’t answer me, but gestured for me to follow him inside. I did so without speaking, waiting for him to talk. I could tell just by looking at him that he needed to take his time, and I wasn’t surprised when he crossed the front room to go to the rolling bar in the corner. There was a half-empty bottle of brown liquor on the counter, which he picked up and poured into two glasses.

  “Drink up,” he said, handing it to me. I looked into his eyes and downed the drink.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” I said to him. He took his drink in one swallow, slamming the glass down on the counter.

  “Eddy’s dead,” he said in a bitter voice.

  “What?” I asked numbly. “Your brother?”

  “Yes, my brother,” he snapped.

  “How?” I asked, keeping my patience in spite of his tone. All I felt for him was sorrow. The look on his face was almost painful to see, and I had to glance away from him to get relief from the pain I saw in his eyes.

  “He was killed. Found in the park.”

  “Oh my god,” I said. “When?”

  “After the party.”

  “And you didn’t call me?” I asked him. “Sebastian—”

  “I don’t expect you to comfort me. I don’t want that,” he said, his voice dry. “You don’t want that.”

  “I do,” I said to him, putting my hand on his arm. “You loved your brother. I know how bad that feels.”

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Who—”

  “The cops have no idea yet. They’re interviewing everyone at the party. Have they not come to you yet?”

  “I haven’t heard from them yet,” I said to him.

  “You will. They’re going through that list.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  His jaw went tight, frustrated, filled with fury.

  “I don’t know,” he said in a defeated tone. “Eddy and I—I loved him, but we weren’t as close as we should have been. We should have been closer. It was my fault that we weren’t.”

  “It wasn’t,” I insisted.

  “It was,” he said sadly. “He was almost ten years younger than me. I didn’t think—I thought Eddy was invincible. I didn’t take care of him. I should have gone to him the moment my uncle implied that he was in danger.”

  “What did Mike say?” I asked him.

  “He told me to take care of Eddy. That’s all he said.”

 
“Did you ask him what that meant after you found out about Eddy?”

  “Yes,” he said. “He keeps saying it was just a feeling. It was just a feeling. I can’t even—I can’t even fucking look at him anymore.”

  “Hey,” I said, taking his hand, holding it between both of mine. “I’m so sorry about your brother.”

  He gazed at me, studying my face. I felt compelled to comfort him, despite the fact that we had never been close, never gotten along. Even while we were doing the story, we had butted heads the entire time. Yet I found myself bringing my hand to his cheek, stroking it with my fingers.

  “What can I do?” I asked him in a quiet voice, touching his lips, allowing my body to take control. “What can I do for you?”

  He kissed my fingers, taking my hand.

  “I’m not going to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said. “Comforting me is not what you’re here for.”

  “It is what I’m here for,” I said to him, meaning every word, almost forgetting why I had come in the first place. “I promise.”

  “I don’t know what I need,” he said, kissing my fingers again. I touched the stubble on his cheek, rough against my skin.

  “You need to shave,” I said to him. He laughed, then looked surprised at his reaction.

  “You’re being mean to me? Now of all times?”

  “I’m just trying to help you out,” I said, grinning at him.

  “Are you going to force me to shave?”

  “Yes,” I said. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Great,” he said. “Just what I needed. You to come over here and boss me around.”

  “You always need someone to boss you around,” I said to him teasingly. “Otherwise you’d never get anything done. You’re hopeless.”

  He laughed again, and this time didn’t look surprised. Even when he stopped smiling, there was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before I’d touched him. He led me into the bathroom and we went inside. I sat down on the toilet seat, watching him as he stood in front of the mirror. He lathered up with the shaving cream and started to shave the stubble from his chin. I saw him wince and put his fingers to his jaw, pulling them back to see blood there.

  “God,” I said, standing up, taking the razor from his hand. “You can’t even do this right.”

  “You’re so mean to me,” he said, but he was grinning and staring into my eyes as I brought the razor to his cheek. I lowered my gaze to focus on what I was doing, carefully shaving his jaw and his cheeks, unsure of why I was doing so. I could feel him staring at me with a smile on his lips, teasing me. He held very still and seemed to be holding his breath the same way I was, the tension between us so thick that it felt almost solid and tangible.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  “Because you look like a mess,” I said to him. He laughed and I gave him a stern look.

  “Stay still,” I said to him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Finally, you listen to me.”

  “That’s because if I don’t, there’s a very real possibility that you will cut me.”

  I laughed.

  “You’re right. Stop talking.”

  “Okay,” he said, closing his lips. I finished up and he looked at himself in the mirror.

  “Thank you,” he said softly. I tilted my face up to plant a soft, fluttering kiss on his lips. Then I turned around and turned on his shower, holding my hand under the water until it ran hot. I met his eye as I peeled my dress off, gesturing for him to undress as well.

  “What—”

  “I’m just helping you shower,” I said to him in an innocent voice. He stared at me, glancing at my lips, leaning in to kiss me. I slid away from him and into the tub, pulling him after me. He tried to pull me against him but I stepped back under the falling water.

  “Hands to yourself,” I said to him. He laughed, shaking his head, but dropping his hands to his sides. I wasn’t just teasing him—in the back of my mind, every reason that I needed to stay away from him was nagging at the part of me that wanted to offer him comfort. It was that part that won out, but for some reason I felt that it would be going too far to let him touch me, especially since I had told him he never would. He was also a criminal, and my target, but it didn’t matter—I reached for the soap, lathered my hands and put them to his chest, letting myself go. I ran my hands over the hard planes of his muscles, down over the lines of his abdomen. I saw his fists clench at his sides when I lingered there, then moved my hands back up over his broad shoulders and his thick, strong arms.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said as I took his hands, massaging them with my own.

  “Do you want to get out?” I asked him with a sly smile.

  “No,” he said gruffly. I let go of his hands and he dropped them again, holding them behind his back. His whole body went tense and hard as I grabbed his shampoo and poured some in my hands. I started to wash his hair, gazing at his face, wishing more than anything that I could bring myself to take back my command that he not touch me. Instead I pulled him forward, massaging his scalp as I rinsed his hair in the hot water.

  “How are you going to get clean without my help?” he asked. I took the soap, lathering up again while boldly holding his eye.

  “I can do it myself,” I said to him, moving my hands to my breasts, fingers running over my sensitive nipples. I nearly gasped at my body’s reaction to my own touch, my skin bursting into flames of pleasure, pussy growing even wetter and hotter than before.

  “Goddamnit,” he growled as I slipped my hand down my stomach to twirl into the curls between my legs. He met my eye with an almost desperate look on his face, one that was beyond intoxicating. His lips spread into a grin as I slid my hand down to touch my aching pussy, slipping a finger between my lower lips. I allowed him to lean in and kiss me as I started to rub myself more fervently, gasping against his lips, shuddering as I came within minutes. The kiss continued for a moment as I caught my breath, realizing only then that he had wrapped me in his arms. I pulled away from him and rinsed myself, turning the water off and grabbing a towel for each of us. We dried off in silence and he watched as I got dressed, drying my hair off.

  “How do you feel?” I asked him. He gave me a warm smile.

  “Better,” he said. “For now.”

  “What are you going to do about Eddy?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know. I’m going to find out what happened.”

  “How?” I asked him.

  “No idea,” he said, then paused.

  “Why did you come here today? You seemed angry.”

  I stared at him for a moment, remembering only then why I’d come.

  “The evidence. In my office. The photos I got of you—”

  “Photos?” he asked. “What photos?”

  “The ones you destroyed on my computer, Sebastian. The ones of you in the antique store.”

  “I didn’t go anywhere near your computer. Have you been following me?”

  “Yes,” I said to him.

  “I knew it,” he said. “You went into the store. You saw the dagger.”

  “I did. I know you stole it.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked, anger creeping into his voice. “For an article?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m—not a writer.”

  “You’re not a journalist,” he said.

  “No, I’m a private investigator. I was hired by someone to look into you.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “I can’t tell you that,” I said to him. He sighed in frustration.

  “You’ve been tailing me. Taking pictures of me. And lying about what you were doing,” he said. “Is that right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I have.”

  “What about this—the kissing, the shower?”

  “That was—” I paused, reading the anger on his face. “A mistake.”

  “A mistake,” he repeated, his voice going icy and stiff. “Just now,
you mean.”

  “I know you’re in pain. I just wanted to help.”

  “Get out of here, Evelyn,” he said. “Now.”

  “You didn’t steal the evidence,” I said without moving. “Who did?”

  “How the fuck should I know? Go.”

  “But—” I began, something sinking from my chest to my stomach for some reason I didn’t understand. One moment he had been looking at me with such tenderness, and now he had rage all over his face. The grief was back, too, and that felt even worse.

  “Go,” he repeated in a soft voice. I nodded and left his bedroom, heading downstairs and going out to my car. I looked back one last time at his house and wondered what I would do, if I even believed him, though something in my gut told me that he was telling me the truth.

  Chapter 11: Sebastian

  “Tell him it’s important,” I said through a tight jaw into the phone. “I need to speak with him now.”

  “Detective Brand is currently not taking calls, I—”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said to her slowly. “But this is important. Please get the detective on the phone. Tell him it’s Sebastian Cunningham.”

  There was a reluctant tone in her voice as she complied, putting me on hold. I waited impatiently for the detective to answer, immediately feeling irritated at the sound of his voice.

  “Cunningham,” the man said cordially. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me what the hell is going on, detective,” I said to him. “I’ve been asking for an update for days.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” the detective said. “So far, you’re the only one at the party that night without an alibi at the time of your brother’s murder.”

  “I wasn’t the only one who left,” I said, and regretted it immediately. The last thing I wanted to do was drag Eve into it if she hadn’t already been interviewed. I knew they would get to her eventually—my only hope was that they caught whomever it was before they came to her on the list, that they wouldn’t get to her at all. I was angry at Eve but I didn’t want her dragged into it, though it was my fault she was in that position in the first place.