Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(19)

She glances in my direction, her eyes meeting mine from a distance. This time I’m not sure what I read in her face, but holy hell, I feel this woman in ways that make no sense. I start toward her and she rounds the car, making her way to the passenger door. I’m there in time to open it for her but she doesn’t get in the car. She faces me.

“A Bentley was my dream car,” she announces, apparently throwing her vow to say nothing to the wind. “No,” she amends, gripping the rim at the top of the window. “Is my dream car. And Harvard’s my dream school. And you have them both and somehow I’m with you. I’m not sure if you’re a kiss good-bye to my dreams or a promise they aren’t over.”

“Don’t let the universe decide what it means. Don’t let it have that power. And don’t let what you want get away from you.” I step closer to her, my hand settling on the window next to hers but I do not touch her. “What I want is what I told you in the restaurant. To f*ck you so right and well you never forget me.” Her lips part, her eyes widening in surprise, chest rising and falling. “Now. Your turn. Don’t censor your answer and don’t think about yesterday or tomorrow. Right here, right now. What do you want, Emily?”

“You know what I want.”

“Say it,” I command, pushing her limits, a precursor to the rest of the night intended as a test to find out if she can really handle where I plan to take her.

She knows it too. I see it in the lift of her chin, and the hint of rebellion in her eyes. “You. Nothing but you.”

And with that simple, perfect answer, she turns and slides into the Bentley. I immediately close the distance between us, kneeling beside her, and yanking the belt from the panel. She grabs my hand midway across her body.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” she says, and she isn’t talking about a seatbelt any more than I am, but for different reasons. I know what I see in her eyes because I’ve lived it. She’s alone, trying to convince herself that’s just fine by her.

Reaching over her, I connect the belt, my arm brushing her breast, her reaction a soft gasp that I feel in the tightening of my body. I inhale and settle back on my heels, my hand finding the bare expanse of her knee just beneath her skirt. “Tonight,” I say. “You’re mine and I take care of what’s mine.” I don’t give her a chance to object as I stand and shut the door.

Rounding the trunk of the Bentley, I stop dead in my tracks as my brother’s 911 pulls in and parks three spaces from my car. Without question, he is up to something, and I can’t help but think it has something to do with the woman who’s with my father. Damn glad Emily is in the car, and out of his line of sight, I step forward to greet my brother.

He exits the 911, his gaze landing hard on me, a smirk appearing on his chiseled features. “Ah, sweet brother,” he calls out, moving to the trunk of his car, his jacket now removed. “Working late I see.”

I take three steps, bringing us close enough to ensure Emily won’t overhear our conversation. “What are you doing here at this hour, Derek?”

“Rolling up my sleeves and getting the dirty work done, of course. A necessary evil considering I’m at war with my own brother, but at least I know who’s in my corner. I wonder if you do.”

It’s not a question and he doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and walks toward the elevator, leaving me standing there, his words left behind as a taunt. His intent is to make me question myself and everyone around me. Of course, I know my father is ultimately on his side. Perhaps he even has more of the stockholders in his pocket than I suspect. Or not. In my experience, those who talk the loudest use language as a smokescreen. Why, if he had everything locked down, as he’d like me to believe, did he feel the need to plant a woman in our father’s life to spy on him? And I’d bet money that’s what’s happening. Whatever the case, all is fair in love and war, and I’m starting to believe all there is left for Derek is war. I inhale, feeling the darkening of my mood, like a monster taking over. I need an outlet and I need it now.

I start walking toward the Bentley, and I’m pretty damn sure the woman inside, and the pleasure I’m going to give her, are about the only honest things in my life right now.





In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns.



—Mario Puzo





CHAPTER FIVE


EMILY


Shane is a man of absolute control, readable in his every action and reaction, including his long, calculated strides toward the Bentley to rejoin me. Too calculated, I decide, and I have the distinct impression he’s overcompensating for whatever emotional whirlwind he’s just had stirred to life. He makes his final approach, and I steel myself for the end of a night I’d finally decided to embrace, or whatever else, his mood brings to the table.

He opens the door, claiming the driver’s seat, and sealing us inside, inky shadows consuming the small space. I inhale the scent of him, autumn and spice, wholly male, and it assaults my senses right along with a wave of cutting dark energy. He doesn’t look at me or speak, wasting no time pressing the ignition to start the car, his hand going to the gear shift as if he can’t wait to get the hell out of here. But he doesn’t put us in drive. Instead, his wrist settles on the steering wheel, his spine stiff, and I have the distinct impression he’s suddenly back in the battle he’d had with that man outside the car.