Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(67)

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake, it’s daylight on Sunday, and Shane is still holding me as if he thinks I’ll escape like the first night we met. But I don’t want to escape, and he only drives home that point with morning sex, and a suggestion we go for a run together, which I eagerly accept. Both of us dress, Shane in black sweats and a black T-shirt that shows off every perfect line and muscle of his torso. Me in black Nike cropped leggings, a matching tank top and a hoodie. Ready to go, we head down the hall, and when we step into the elevator and he laces his fingers with mine, it’s that moment that I feel us becoming more than the number of amazing orgasms we’ve shared. The fact that he’s proclaimed he doesn’t do relationships and that I never intended to do one either, shakes me to the core. We are more than those orgasms and yet we are still defined by my lies.

The elevator dings at the lobby level, and the instant we step out into the hallway, I am suddenly nervous. “I don’t know why I keep thinking we’ll run into your father. He was just here one night.”

“Actually,” Shane says. “He rented a place here for his mistress.”

I blanch at the news he’s stated as matter-of-factly as he might the weather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were,” he says, and before I can reply, the double glass doors have parted and Tai is greeting us, diverting us from Brandon Senior to small talk.

Five minutes later, we finally break away from the conversation, but my read on Shane is that the moment to talk about his father is gone, if it really even existed in the first place. We’ve already moved on to comparing music, and I’m surprised he listens to Jason Aldean, one of my favorite country singers. “I’m from Colorado,” he says. “A country boy at heart. You’re from L.A. What’s your excuse?”

Because I’m from Texas, I think, hating the way the lies circle me like sharks. “Colorado doesn’t get to claim Jason Aldean,” I say, dashing into a run.

He quickly catches up to me and in agreement it seems, we both reach for our headsets and fall into an even pace together, and even in the absence of conversation, I have this sense of being with him that I’ve never experienced with anyone.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s officially pushed my limits, never easing his pace, and we continue longer than I normally would have on my own, but I like it. “I’m dying,” I say, when we finally start walking, my chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “How far was that?”

“Six miles. Did I push you too hard?”

“It felt like seven,” I say, “but no. It was a great workout.”

“Next time we’ll do seven then.”

“Six will do just fine,” I assure him, and I have not missed his reference to a future run I really do hope happens.

“Coffee?” he asks, stopping next to one of my favorite chains.

“Yes, but what if we run into someone from the office?”

“It only feeds the idea that I’m using you.” His lips quirk. “I am, you know. For sex and coffee. But you can use me too.” He opens the door and waves me forward.

I laugh despite my nerves and enter the building, seeing wooden tables, many filled with people, clustered around me. Shane joins me and we head to the counter, both of us ordering coffee and bagels, and he surprises me by draping his arm over my shoulder.

“You aren’t being discreet,” I whisper as we wait for our order, both holding our pastry bags.

“Am I supposed to be?” he asks, grabbing our coffees, and indicating a free table for two in the corner.

I wait until we claim our seats, sitting across from each other, to reply. “Shouldn’t we be at least a little discreet?”

“No,” he says, and setting his phone on the table next to him, the way he’s monitoring it gives me the distinct impression that even on Sunday, he’s working some angle to take over Brandon Enterprises. “We do not need to be discreet.”

I consider him a moment and nod, pulling my bagel out of the bag while he does the same. I’ve just taken a bite of mine when he surprises me. “I want you to stay tonight.”

I set down the bagel and grab a napkin, only to have him reach across the tiny table and wipe cream cheese from my mouth, and lick it off his finger. “I owed you,” he says softly, and he is close, his mouth a lean away from a kiss, his voice sandpaper and silk on every nerve ending.

“We are most definitely not being discreet,” I manage.

“Stay the night again.”

Surprised, I lean back to look at him. “I have to get ready for work in the morning.”

“So do I.”

“I’m not riding to work with you, Shane. That just makes me look like a bimbo.”

He arches one dark brow. “A bimbo?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“That shoe hardly fits you, sweetheart.”

“I am sleeping with one of my bosses.”

“Yes. You are, and maybe I should just start ordering you to do things.”

“You already do.”

“And yet somehow I struggle to get you to do what I say.”

“Not at work.”

“Then consider yourself at work for a moment, because I’m taking you home early in the morning and you’re staying the night. End of subject.”